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Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
September 26, 2021
Published as Family History
in a Gramma Letter dated
September 20, 1994, and in
a WoW dated June 29, 2008.
© 1994, 2021 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
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Double Doors (1993)
© 1993 by Bud Grossmann
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KNOCK, AND IT SHALL BE ...
Tuesday, September 20, 1994
Dear Gramma,
Do you remember Vicar Kevin Cortez, your “student pastor” last year at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Pardeeville? I suppose Kevin went back to seminary at the end of the summer of 1993, and I hope he is about ready now to be ordained as a pastor in your denomination.
That same summer, do you recall going over to Pardeeville one sunny afternoon after many days of rains and high water? Your granddaughter Janie drove you and me and my son David. We stopped first at the Cummings Family burial plot in Wyocena Cemetery and paid our respects to those of your branch of our family who are laid to rest there. Then Jane drove us to Pardeeville just to take a look at the flood waters—some of the streets of the town were still impassable—and you thought maybe you’d like to go inside your church building. You hadn’t been to a Sunday service at St. John’s in some months. “But it won’t be open on a weekday, will it?” you asked. “Well, Granny, we shall see,” I said.
You were right, the door was locked. But we found Vicar Cortez at home, next door. He was busy making phone calls arranging a funeral for a parishioner, and he was alone with his baby daughter who was napping, but he grabbed the church keys and sprinted over to open the sanctuary. “You are always welcome here,” the vicar told us. We went inside and sat down to pray and enjoy the silence and majesty of the place.
When we thanked the vicar, I decided to impose upon him for one more favor: I asked if he would stand with you for what I call a “tourist picture,” a look-at-the-camera-and-smile snapshot. I took one, as I recall, with my 35mm camera, but I had my dad’s video camcorder with me, too. So I quickly turned on the “movie” camera—a camcorder makes moving pictures and sound, you know—and without thinking at all, I began narrating: “Here is Vicar Kevin Cortez, the finest Wisconsin Synod Lutheran I ever ...”
I was going to say more, but the vicar looked horrified. “Oh, no!” he cried. “What about, well, what about your grandmother here?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied, “my grandmother is a saint, but I never heard a Wisconsin Synod clergyperson say ‘You’re always welcome here’ to some other brand of Christian before. Kevin, you’re the finest, friendliest Wisconsin Synod person I ever...”
At that point I began to realize that I was paying this poor fellow a terrible back-handed compliment. I was praising him for his warmth but castigating the church that had called him to service for the Lord. But, so it goes. I didn’t feel too bad about it.
This past Sunday, Gramma, I “preached” a children’s sermon during Sunday worship at my church here in Hawaii. I’m enclosing a printed version of what I said. Lest you worry that I lack humility, I’ll explain to you that the title, “A Great Story,” is a joke.
In the scriptural text for my remarks, Jesus urged his followers to welcome and serve children and other “lowly” and powerless persons. When I was reading that gospel lesson, Gramma, I thought fondly of you and all the hospitality and acceptance you have shown to people of all kinds. And I thought especially fondly of Pastor Kevin Cortez; I gave thanks to God for men and women like your vicar, and I wished Kevin a long and joy-filled career in the church.
Gram, I’ve gone a long while without a letter from you. Crack your secretaries on the knuckles with your cane, won’t you, please? I want some news from Wyocena.
Love,
Buddy
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A Great Story
(A Children’s Sermon reflecting on
the 7th Chapter of St. Mark’s Gospel)
© 1994 by Bud Grossmann
In the name of Jesus, I welcome you to this story. By the time I finish, you will know why I greeted you that way.
If you have a television in your home, I bet there are times when the grownups in your family tell you, “Whoa! Hold it! Stop! Change the channel or go read a book. That show you are watching has too much—” What is it they say? Too much violence? Too much fighting?
When I was a kid, back in the 1950’s and 1960’s, parents didn't know as much about violence as parents do nowadays in the 1990’s. My mom and dad let me watch a show called “The Friday Night Fights.” The story was always the same: two men would punch each other until one guy couldn’t stand up or until a referee made them stop. Then two more guys would do the same thing. On and on.
Most of these fighters, these boxers, didn’t talk very much. They wore rubber cushions in their mouths to keep their teeth from getting broken, and they just didn’t say much. But there was one guy who did like to talk. He used to take the tooth protector out, and he would say all kinds of things, poetry and stuff. One thing he liked to say was, “WHO’S THE GREATEST? I AM THE GREATEST!” Very few people dared to disagree with him. “WHO’S THE GREATEST? I AM THE GREATEST! Wham! Bam!” I must say, he was pretty great, that guy.
St. Mark, in the 9th chapter of his Gospel in the Bible, tells a story about Jesus and twelve of his best friends, his disciples. One time they all were walking together from one town to another, and on the way the disciples began arguing among themselves. No punching, just arguing.
When they got to where they were going, Jesus asked them what they had been arguing about, and no one wanted to answer him. You see, they were embarrassed because they had been discussing “Who Is The Greatest?” And each disciple had insisted, I AM! I am the greatest follower of Jesus. Jesus sat down and gathered his friends around him—some families were with them, too—and Jesus said, “Let me tell you how to be The Greatest. If anyone wants to be first, that person has to be last of all and the servant of all.”
That idea must have surprised the disciples. They probably thought great people would have servants of their own. They probably thought that to become great, they would want to make friends with rich and powerful people.
Jesus called a boy over to stand beside him. This was “just” a kid—nobody great, just some kid with no money, no power, no nothin’. Jesus put his arrn around the boy and said. “Whoever welcomes a child like this in my name, welcomes me. And whoever welcomes me, welcomes not only me, but the One who sent me—God the Father. God the Creator.”
So. In the name of Jesus, I welcome you, the children hearing this story. And I will tell you, I feel great! Amen.♦
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