Winter 2013 I Spring 2013 I Summer 2013 I Fall 2013
Figs In Season… Fall 2013
Of Brevity and Substance… THE SEASON of WIT and WISDOM
…and then Autumn comes
When leaves yellow…
Giving up the sap of their attachment…
They fall from their branches like superfluous words
That hang from tired tongues…that must now rest…
So that they may be revitalized again by a season of quiet…
And a Spring of Wisdom…
(From an untitled unfinished poem by the author)
The story is told of a country preacher who was well known for speaking in very ostentatious terms. Never mind the fact that his congregants were for the most part simple country folk, most of whom were more accustomed to the forthright and culturally recognizable thoughts and expressions of their everyday lives rather than the imposed circumlocutions of “learned” men.
One Sunday, after embarking on a rather drawn out sermon, the preacher mercifully indicated the coming end of his protracted embellishment of a not so well known text with the phrase “And so, in conclusion…”; after which he proceeded to speak for another twenty or so minutes. Wearied by the length and verbosity of the sermon, the congregation let out a collective and impatient “Amen!” on what they all knew had to be his final words.
Approaching the preacher afterwards, an elderly woman remarked to him about her lack of comprehension of his use of the term “conclusion”. “What” she asked, “did you mean by that word given the fact that you just kept going on and on after saying it. Not grasping the obvious exasperation of this congregant, the man started to explain the meaning of the word in terms he thought the old woman might understand. “Well”, he said, “conclusion means the tail end…” at which the old lady just shook her head, smiled, and walked away.
Not too long afterwards as the congregation dispersed, the preacher mounted his horse to depart for home. Indulging a sense of being mischievous upon noticing what could be called a rather remarkable protrusion from the rear of the parson’s horse, the old lady declared quite loudly: “Preacher! Preacher!… there is something protruding from your horse’s conclusion.” At which the whole crowd burst out laughing. “Well said sister!”, came an anonymous endorsement from the crowd.
As a seminarian I heard many sermons from my peers, my professors, and the many guest speakers who came to demonstrate their hermeneutic abilities on various occasions. One of the very few I remember was the most brief of the many, and was delivered in the form of a short story by a bishop from the African Methodist Episcopal Church. I have forgotten the text and context; but making provision for the loss of a few details, the story goes as follows:
A young and rather creative minister was assigned to serve a congregation that was riddled with numerous issues which impeded its growth. Many who had gone there before him ended up frustrated as to the possibility that this church could be turned around. The common sentiment was that the church was “dead”.
Having given much thought to his predicament and the obvious challenge that was before him, the young preacher sat down and carefully prepared his inaugural sermon. In preparation for this service he ordered that a casket be made. Instead of the usual first Sunday communion service, he sent word out that the congregation should come prepared for a burial. This, he told all the leaders and other members of the congregation, was to be a unique funeral service.
Arriving at the church that Sunday, no one knew what to expect. There in front of the podium stood a covered casket. No one had died as far as anyone knew, so who was being buried…? Out of pure consternation a great crowd showed up for this spectacle; some wondering aloud if this new preacher was “a little out of his mind.” The church was filled to capacity, as word spread far and wide about the new preacher’s announcement.
As the time to begin the service approached, the young man stood before the gathering and introduced himself. Having done so he then made the following pronouncement: “I have been told by everyone that this church is dead. Many have told me that not even a miracle could revive her. And so today we will do with this church what is done with every dead thing. We will bury it.”
Not knowing what to expect, everyone was silent. It was a silence born out of the latent expectations of people who had long lost any spark of dynamism. They had all shrugged off any hope for a revival. The preacher continued: “And so, as the custom is, I will now ask that you all line up and take a final look at the dead before we inter it. Please approach and take a good last look at the dead.”
And they all did; because in the bottom of that casket was a mirror.
That church has never been the same since.
TRUTH
She requires but a few words to serve her…
For she is forthright and of an open face
And knows not the guile of those
Who are wise in their own conceit…
She needs not the defense of any worldly conspiracy…
For she is content with her own company…
She needs no propping up
Since hers is the only sure foundation
Built to withstand the assault of every fraudulent reason
And the most aggressive ravaging of time…
In her essence she celebrates no emotion…
She neither laughs nor cries…
But looks with a level eye
On every condition of the heart…
One might say she hopes…
The kind of hope that holds that all
May find real balance in this life…
And if we say she is “relative…”
We may be right…
In that we are all related to her…
And she is the origin and destiny of all our quests…
But…she is no closer to us…
Than we are to her…
And when we know her…
She sets us free…
And is that not our desire…?
( “Truth” is from the book “Of Scattered Seed and Broken Souls” by Roy Alexander Graham)
One Love!
R.A.G.
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