Life Woven into God

Sermons for the Lectionary, Year B, Pentecost through Christ the King

Bruce L. Taylor

• Publisher: Wipf and Stock
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN:
  9781725276468
  9781725276451
• eBook ISBN:
  9781725276475
• Topic: Théologie et religion
• Subtopic: Église chrétienne

Continuing his series of sermons for the Common Lectionary (Revised), Bruce Taylor offers theologically rich, sacramentally sensitive, and biblically centered proclamations for the Sundays and major feast days of Year B, from Pentecost through Christ the King (Reign of Christ), and a sample of preaching from the Daily Lectionary. As in his other sermon collections, readers will find here a strong testimony to Christian unity and a deep appreciation of the heritage and contemporary relevance of the church as well as the importance of individual discipleship. Taylor's examples of story sermons are poignant and demonstrate how this style of preaching can be profound as well as engaging. Preachers and devotional readers alike will find Life Woven into God a welcome companion to their discovery of the treasures of the liturgical year and faithful exploration of Mark's Gospel, along with the accompanying Scripture passages commended for use in Christian worship.

Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

First Presbyterian Church, Dodge City, Kansas

September 21, 1997

Proverbs 31:10–31 James 3:13—4:3, 7–8a Mark 9:30–37

“The Greatest”

Rick Glenville looked into the bathroom mirror in his hotel room. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was disheveled. He had tossed and turned much of the night, though he had been exhausted when he went to bed. And that was after only two and a third innings. But they had been two and a third long innings. He had expected to be pulled after he allowed a base hit and then a double, which scored the lead runner. McClary’s fault, he thought to himself. If that moron of a center fielder had just been where the scouting reports said Holloway would hit an inside fastball, the runner on first wouldn’t have gotten past second base. An out, and the pitcher up—an easy out if there ever was one—and he would have fooled Parker into chasing curves for a strikeout to end the inning. But with one run in and a runner on second, Dutch Stevens, the manager of the opposing team, had put in a pinch hitter with a .256 average who drilled Rick Glenville’s first pitch over the right-field wall. Rick tried not to look into the dugout, but eventually his eye caught the icy glare of his manager, Tony Bianco. The next batter he faced in his first inning of relief grounded out to shortstop. Then he hit the next batter for a walk, and allowed a double before Sweeney flied out to shallow center.

Bianco, the manager, had continued to glare at him all the way from the mound to the dugout. He had sat down in a heap at the opposite end of the bench, pulling off his glove and dropping it on the bench beside him. No one said anything to him. Three runs, which wiped out a three-run lead. That’s when Glenville’s head had started to hurt. Was his shoulder hurting, or did he just imagine it? Yeah, his shoulder was hurting by then. He shouldn’t be pitching, but he wasn’t about to tell the trainer. A reliever who couldn’t go in on two days’ rest wouldn’t have much of a future with this club.

His second inning—the seventh—hadn’t been any better. Bianco, he knew, didn’t have many options, with two of his left-handed relievers on the disabled list and a third held in reserve for a closer. He walked the first batter in the seventh, allowed a double, which was followed by a pop fly to deep right, scoring the lead runner, and it went downhill from there. If the pitcher’s position had come up in the batting order, he knew, Bianco would have yanked him then and there. But the visit to the mound didn’t happen until the lead-off batter in the eighth homered. “You’re history” were the only words Bianco said to him as he held out his hand for the ball—words that Glenville imagined summed up Bianco’s opinion of his career, not just that night’s game.

The telephone rang. Glenville crossed the hotel room to answer it. “Hello,” he said.

“It’s Lou,” said the voice at the other end of the line—the voice that belonged to Lou Vincent, Rick Glenville’s agent, who wore loud ties and drove a Cadillac convertible.

“What’s it look like?” Rick asked.

“No dice on an increase,” Lou said, matter-of-factly, “and that was before last night’s performance.”

“Look,” Rick said, “that guy in the sky box is rakin’ in the dough. He can afford—”

“It’s not a matter of ‘afford’,” Lou interrupted him. “It’s a matter of ‘deliver,’ Rick,” he said. “They’re talkin’ decrease, and I can’t find a single team interested in pickin’ you up.”

“Listen,” Rick said, “someone out there with decent fielders wants a seasoned pitcher.”

“All of ’em out there want a winning pitcher,” Lou corrected him. “You’ve got to face the facts of your age and your ERA.”

“It wasn’t that long ago that I had the highest winning percentage in the league,” Rick objected, his head starting to hurt again.

“Three years ago, and since then, you’ve been in the steepest tailspin in modern baseball history,” said Lou. “I’m doin’ my best. But I’m tellin’ ya,’ if you wanna be in a big-league uniform next year, you’re gonna haft’a produce or take a cut. And doin’ somethin’ to court the fans wouldn’t hurt.”

Glenville muttered a curse and slammed the receiver.

Within seconds, the telephone rang again. “Rick?” the young woman asked after his curt “Hello.”

“Yeah,” he responded.

“This is Linda in public relations. I’ve got an appearance for you when you get back to town tomorrow.”

“What is it this time?” he asked. Normally, Rick Glenville was not so abrupt, but just now his disgust was invading every part of his personality.

“Children’s Hospital. A little boy named Miguel.”

“Miguel?” he asked with a tone of revulsion.

“Miguel Ortega,” she answered, ignoring his manner.

“Look,” Rick said, “I’m awfully tired after this road trip, and I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow before practice. Can’t you just tell ’em I’m booked up or something? Maybe get someone else to go and take him a taco?”

“The kid’s terminal,” she said. “The parents say you’re his hero.”

Rick Glenville was too sore to be a hero just now, even for a white kid.

“Are you going to go or not?” Linda wanted to know.

“I’ll call you back,” he said after a pause, and hung up.

He looked out the window. Where was he? Suddenly, he couldn’t remember. What city was this? They had all begun to look alike. What ballpark was he in last night? Green—the outfield walls were dark green. The whole stadium was dark green. It must be Cincinnati. He went back into the bathroom and looked again into the mirror. Thirty-two years old, and he felt like a hundred this morning. Thirty-two years old, and three years after being the winningest starting pitcher in the league, his golden season, he had been relegated to middle reliever. Never had there been such a meteoric rise from promising to outstanding, and never had there been such a dismal decline from outstanding to abysmal. The only thing soaring during the past year was his earned run average, and his innings pitched per game had been declining all season, dramatically, as his team became a serious contender in the division pennant race. But eleven losses in the last fourteen games had knocked them out of contention.

Rick’s poor performance was as much a puzzle to himself as it was to analysts like his pitching coach. Deep inside, he knew that the problem wasn’t a dumb center fielder. The divorce might have had something to do with it, or losing the starter’s designation. No—he realized that his play had been deteriorating even before those things; in fact, his disgust with himself when spring training made clear to everybody that the wonder season was long over had been the main thing that led to his divorce. “Alone and washed up at thirty-two,” he thought to himself. And all he had to show for it was that he was some Mexican kid’s hero. “Whoopee,” he thought.

He packed his suitcase and took a shower, then dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Some of the guys were in the coffee shop, but only Dirk Ellis greeted him with more than a grunt. “You look awful,” Dirk said as Rick walked past his table. “Why don’t you sit down and come back to life with coffee and scrambled eggs?” Rick managed a slight smile and fell into the chair. “They were kind of rough on you last night, weren’t they?” asked the backup outfielder.

“Yeah, well, if that idiot McClary—” Rick started, and then waved his hand in a gesture of disd...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Introduction
• “Where the Spirit Is”
• “Nicodemus’ Diary”
• “God Has No Law against Love”
• “And They Said, ‘He’s Gone Mad!’”
• “To See Aright”
• “God on Board”
• “The Priorities of God”
• “Strength through Weakness”
• “Predestined for Glory”
• “And the Walls Came Tumbling Down”
• “Fish, Loaves, and Faith”
• “Growing Up Together”
• “Rogues to Riches”
• “A King’s Wisdom”
• “Where We Meet the Infinite”
• “When Cleanliness Is Next to Godlessness”
• “It All Begins Here”
• “Words on Words”
• “The Greatest”
• “Life Woven into God”
• “Are You Too Grown Up for the Kingdom?”
• “Stripped-Down Faith”
• “Faith”
• “Lessons Over a Stale Biscuit”
• “Anticipation”
• “Love Beyond the Law”
• “Sacrificing”
• “What Impresses You?”
• “The Most Difficult Commandment”
• “Where Jesus Reigns”
• Appendix: “Living Water”
• List of Sources Cited