I love a good story

Crash Course 7

            I barely tolerated the non-fiction cards in the SRA reading program we used at East Brook Elementary School in Park Ridge, NJ. I happily worked through the fiction cards and then begrudgingly read non-fiction when I’d completed fiction. 

            As I matured, I developed a tolerance and then an appreciation for non-fiction. But stories are still best. For every non-fiction book I read, I probably read twenty novels. 

            Jesus told great stories; we call them parables. 

            I relied on William Barclay when preparing to teach my students about parables. Barclay taught me how to recognize a parable. The most obvious way:  The Gospel writer says it is, like “And he taught them many things by parables…” (Mark 4:2) Some other good ways:

• ·         It sounds like a story:  “A certain man had two sons…” (Luke 15:11)
• ·         It makes a comparison:  “It is like a mustard seed…” (Mark 4:31)
• ·         It begins ““What shall we say the kingdom of God is like…?” (Mark 4:30)    

           Barclay also gave guidelines for interpreting a parable. Sometimes Jesus comes right out and says what everything means, like in the parable of the farmer and the soils in Mark 4.

• ·         If Jesus doesn’t explain it, look for one main point, usually at the end.
• ·         Parables are not highly developed allegories where every blade of grass stands for something. In the parable of the two sons, starting at Luke 15:11, the pig slop was just pig slop, a great detail to add description to the setting. No secret meaning, just pig slop.
• ·         What circumstances or questions led to the parable? The three parables in Luke 15 are preceded by the complaint, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” (Verse 2)
• ·         Finally, notice how the original audience reacted to the parable. In Mark 12:12, “Then the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders looked for a way to arrest him because they knew he had spoken the parable against them.” 

            Jesus told three stories of lostness—is that a word?—which are recorded in Luke 15. He told about a lost sheep, a lost coin, and a lost son. 

            The sheep was naively lost. It just wandered away. I’ve heard that sheep are not the brightest animals. 

            The coin was unwittingly lost. We can’t even give it as much blame as the sheep. The coin was not even alive and self aware.

            The son was willfully lost. He chose to get lost, to get away from rules and responsibilities.

            I see two threads connecting the three stories:  The desire of the owner to find each lost item and the overwhelming joy when each item is found. 

            Whether we are naively lost, unwittingly lost, or willfully lost, we are valuable to God and he wants us back. Jesus not only hung around with people disapproved of by self-called good people, he also told these three stories comparing sinners and tax collectors to items of great value in his day—livestock, gold, and sons.

            If we doubt God’s joy at finding us, look at the tenderness of the shepherd toward the found sheep:  He carried it home on his shoulders. Look at the tenderness of the father toward the returning son:  He ran to greet him, hugged and kissed him, cleaned him and clothed him, and barbecued a huge rack of baby back ribs.

Luke 15

Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. ² But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

³ Then Jesus told them this parable: ⁴ “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? ⁵ And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders ⁶ and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ ⁷ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

The Parable of the Lost Coin

⁸ “Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins^[a] and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? ⁹ And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ ¹⁰ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

The Parable of the Lost Son

¹¹ Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. ¹² The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

¹³ “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. ¹⁴ After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. ¹⁵ So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. ¹⁶ He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

¹⁷ “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! ¹⁸ I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. ¹⁹ I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ ²⁰ So he got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

²¹ “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

²² “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. ²³ Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. ²⁴ For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

²⁵ “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶ So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. ²⁷ ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’

²⁸ “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. ²⁹ But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. ³⁰ But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

³¹ “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”

Luke 15, NIV, via www.biblegateway.com

The 2013 Advent Blog Challenge

ad·vent

noun

1.

a coming into place, view, or being; arrival: the advent of the holiday season.

2.

( usually initial capital letter ) the coming of Christ into the world.

3.

( initial capital letter ) the period beginning four Sundays before Christmas, observed in commemoration of the coming of Christ into the world.

4.

( usually initial capital letter ) Second Coming.

So says www.dictionary.com. Modern Americans might revise definition #3 to begin mid-October and run through the after Christmas sales.

I’m going with definition #3, unrevised, and challenging myself to put up a new blog post each day of Advent. It might be prompted by a scripture verse, a Christmas memory, whether funny or poignant, a line from a favorite carol or poem, or who knows what. 

I’m still on industrial strength painkillers for my fractured and fixed ankle, so expect some random creative thinking. I promise to kiss and tell under the mistletoe, reveal what turned my brother’s skin red, relive caroling in Park Ridge, NJ., and occasionally offer insight. 

Please suggest any topics you want me to cover. And feel free to join me in the Advent Blog Challenge on your own blog.

Women and the Appliances We Love

            My mother frequently sang the Washing Machine song, which she apparently composed, since I’ve never heard it anywhere else. As I remember it:

The washing machine, the washing machine is Mommy’s bestest friend.

If I didn’t have my washing machine, I’d come to no good end.

Oh, I’d wash & I’d wash, & I’d scrub & I’d scrub all the live long day,

‘Til by night I’d be so tired that I couldn’t go out to play.

            Many times her bestest friend was a fickle friend and had to be repaired. Somehow those were the times my siblings and I always chose to play bakery in the back yard outside our home in Iselin, New Jersey. Four kids making mud pies out back and one baby making his own version of mud pies in cloth diapers.

            No wonder my mom worshiped her washer.

            My appliance idolatry is focused elsewhere.

            Growing up, my sister Taffy or I occasionally mentioned to our dad the family needed a dishwasher. To which he always gave the same hilarious (to him, anyway) reply, “We have two dishwashers, you and your sister!” Cue laughter.

            And so the unjust child labor continued for years. David and Brett, my older brothers, had intermittent and seasonal chores. Take out the garbage a few times a week. Rake leaves in autumn. Shovel snow in winter. Taffy and I had the daily monotony of dishwashing.

            As the baby, Tim’s only job was to be cute, very easily accomplished with his uncut golden curls.

            Taffy and I found ways to endure the boredom as we took turns washing and drying. We created our own version of Tip-It. Whoever washed would precariously pile the pots, pans, and dishes in the drainer so that whoever dried had to carefully remove each item without knocking the whole business onto the counter and floor.

            (To watch the original TV commercial for Tip-It, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YmnK9F6rf8. Doesn’t it make you long for 1965?)

            I learned years later that my mom cringed whenever Taffy and I did the dishes, as she watched soapy water drip down her brand new kitchen cabinets in her new split-level house in Park Ridge, New Jersey. She would have rather done them herself, but my dad was strict. One summer evening we failed to do the dishes immediately after supper. Dad found us—gasp!—watching TV. Instead of sending us to the kitchen, he gave us each a licking and sent us to bed. My mom had to wash the dishes herself. In retrospect, I think we were all happy with the outcome.

            Another fun game was to neatly put the silverware away in the drawer…and then SLAM it shut. Raucous laughter erupted when we opened the drawer and saw its disheveled contents. We’d straighten the silverware again and SLAM. It amused every time.

            One summer my parents went to California to visit my mom’s brothers. My dad’s sister, Laurel, came to babysit us, bringing along our cousins, Jeffrey and Robin. When Aunt Laurel learned Taffy and I washed supper dishes, she decided we could wash them after breakfast and lunch, too. Of course Jeffrey and Robin didn’t have to do anything since they were guests.

            Little did we know, Aunt Laurel was sitting on the back patio after lunch, listening to an annoying series of sounds repeatedly wafting out the kitchen window:  SLAM. Clink Clash. Hahahaha. SLAM. Clink Clash. Hahahaha. Cousin Robin stood in the kitchen, wistfully watching our fun. We graciously offered her a turn.

            SLAM. Clink Clash. Hahahaha. Aunt Laurel burst into the kitchen. “Who is making that racket?! Robin?!!” It’s hard to say which I enjoyed more, the game or Robin’s punishment.

            As we matured, we stopped slamming the silverware drawer, and started the singing game. I would start singing and end abruptly in the middle of a line. Whatever word I last sang had to be the first word in the next song started by Taffy. We went back and forth using pop songs, choir anthems, and Broadway show tunes.

            Fast forward to my young adulthood:  Living in a church parsonage in Pennsylvania with my husband and our four sons. Preparing many meals and washing lots of dishes. I enlist my two oldest boys as dishwashers and dryers…and watch the soapy water dribble down the wooden cabinet door.

            I naively mention to a church board member how nice it would be to have a dishwasher installed in the parsonage kitchen. His answer and laughter echo Dad’s decades earlier. Somehow the conversation comes to the attention of an older church lady who says to me, “I have a portable dishwasher that I only use once a year when I houseclean my kitchen cupboards. Would you like to have it?”

            No church council was consulted to canonize Saint Irene of West Chillisquaque Township. I blessed her name and prayed for her health and happiness every time I connected that hefty appliance to the kitchen faucet. Since it drained into the sink, I would put greasy fry pans or grimy Corningware in the path of the draining hot soapy water. They’d be almost clean by the time I had to hand wash them.

            Now I own a home with a built-in dishwasher. I thank God for it every day. It makes me 99% delirious with happiness.

            That missing 1% would be achieved if I could interest other family members in my cult of dishwasher devotion. Don’t they understand idols need to be fed? It doesn’t require a high priestess; anyone can feed it plates and bowls.

            However, not everyone can load a dishwasher properly. To my logical female mind, it seems that a person who empties it—and doesn’t suffer short term memory loss—should be able to fill it. Just remember the arrangement of the clean dishes you removed and arrange the dirty dishes in the same pattern. I usually end up rearranging their random placement of dishes, but I’m happy when my sons interact with the appliance in any way.

            Whenever I go away for more than a day, I remind my sons the dishwasher will have to be run while I am gone. I cannot come home from southern New Jersey or western Pennsylvania or Jamaica to turn it on. They seem to grasp this, but they continue to find one aspect confusing: There are little transparent packets of measured detergent; the material dissolves, releasing the detergent. And there are little blocks of compressed detergent wrapped in crinkly plastic which doesn’t dissolve and which must be removed before placing in dishwasher. Which kind do I use? Whichever is on sale at the Surplus Outlet. Although the packaging of both brands gives clear usage instructions, my extremely intelligent and highly literate sons don’t read packages. So they have been surprised to open the dishwasher and see the little wrapped detergent block, its red eye staring up at them.

            Can I get any participation from my highly successful and overly educated husband? (He has an Associate’s degree, a Bachelor’s degree, and two Master’s degrees.) Rather than put away clean dishes and load dirty ones, he will hand wash a kitchen full of plates and cookware and diabolically pile them in the drainer in a manner that makes the childhood sisters look like amateur Tip-It players. This treachery triples my workload: I have to put away drainer dishes and dishwasher dishes and then sweep up all the glasses that crashed on the floor.

            Nevertheless, 99% is a good grade in delirious happiness or anything else. I’m so happy I sing about the appliance I love.

God save my dishwasher,

Protect its jet-stream clean,

Built by Maytag.

May every fork and dish

Crusted with tuna fish

Be spotless. That’s my wish.

God save my dishwasher.

Epilogue

            The Maytag died right before I left for five days at St. Davids Christian Writers Conference. I posted a warning sign on her door:  Broken! Clean your own dishes. I bought large packages of paper plates and plastic cups for my menfolk, and then enjoyed not cooking and not washing dishes at Grove City College.

            A week ago, Dan the Appliance Man installed my new Frigidaire dishwasher. I’m singing on a new song.

Getting to know you,

Getting to know all about you…