Three Stories

Everybody loves a good story, and I have three in mind to tell you about. To begin with, The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien is one of the best. I’ve read it all the way through three times. If you’ve read it or seen the film version, you know it’s about a struggle between good and evil. It takes place in Middle Earth, which is inhabited by Elves, Dwarves, Wizards, Kings and Queens, and the small, insignificant Hobbits who mostly worry about what their next meal will be. I have to say I identified completely with the Hobbits. There are monstrous evil beings like Orcs, Balrogs, Cave Trolls, and the terrifying Nazgûl.

The Kingdom of Gondor represents the good and Sauron, the Dark Lord of Mordor represents evil. At the time the story takes place, there were no Kings in Gondor because the last king had died with no heir. So the realm was governed by the Stewards of Gondor. They were charged with watching over and administering the kingdom until it would be claimed by an heir of Elendil—the rightful King. The Stewards of Gondor never sat on the throne of the King. They sat in a simple chair of black stone placed below it. In the end, the Stewards relinquish their authority, because the rightful King, Aragorn Elessar, returns to take the throne.

So a steward is a person put in charge of the affairs of a large household or estate; one who acts as a supervisor or administrator of finances or accounts or properties for another who has more authority and power.

The Lord of the Rings is fiction, as you know. But the story I’m about to tell you is nonfiction; it really happened. It’s how I received insight into who I really am.

I have chickens at home that I raise for their eggs. I love chickens; I love to watch them free range, pecking and scratching, eating the petunias. Everybody loves chickens, especially coyotes, raccoons, and children with BB guns.

But I have a large dog and she protects them pretty well. For a long time, I had no problems. But then one of the chickens got sick.

The first thing I did was call the vet. The first thing the vet said was, “We don’t treat chickens.” However she told me about an over-the-counter medicine I could get at a feed store. I got it. It did not help.

I went to Plan B—the internet. I typed in the symptoms and looked for remedies. I added apple cider vinegar to her water, and I tried various other things. But nothing worked.

All this took place over the course of two weeks. And lest you think I am completely heathen, I prayed all during that time for help. I prayed God would help me figure out what to do. Well, I didn’t figure it out.

So then I decided God didn’t need a middle man. He could heal her directly. I prayed God would do that. I put my hands on the hen and prayed over her, asking God to heal her.

It didn’t work. In fact, the more I tried, the worse she got. The worse she got, the more frustrated I got. One afternoon, I went out to check on her. It was pitiful. She had stopped eating. She was bedraggled, weak, listless, and sitting with her head bowed down and eyes closed. And I couldn't do anything about it!

As I left the enclosure and walked back to the house, I was fretting and fussing at God. I practically yelled, “Come on, God, You can heal this hen. Why won’t you heal her?”

Then, out of the blue and clear as day, I heard these words, “IS SHE NOT MINE?”

I literally ducked and looked up. “Yes, she is. Everything is yours, Lord.”

Well, I was shocked. I realized a lot of things all of a sudden. First, I felt relieved. The hen belonged to God, and she was in His hands, not mine. He claimed ownership of the hen. He was in control, and her fate was up to Him. It took a burden off my shoulders.

Secondly, I felt naked, exposed and completely transparent. The Lord knew my every thought and everything I did.

Standing out in the yard, I looked at my house and the land it sits on with a new perspective. If the Lord owned the hen, which I thought was mine, then he owned everything else, too. God had given the house and land to me, but I realized that none of it was mine. Like everything else, it all belonged to the Lord.

That was when I realized I was a steward, a steward of all the good things He had given me. I was to take care of them, but I didn’t really own them. I would even say that of my son. He’s mine, but not mine—he belongs to the Lord.

Later that day, the hen died.

But death is never the end of the story. I don’t know why she died. The Lord’s purpose is His own. It is often mysterious, and we cannot see the end of it, so we have to trust Him. But it was a comfort to me that the Lord was present in the experience and aware of a little hen and aware of all my thoughts.

So if the Lord notices a small, insignificant hen, and if he knows all my thoughts, then he also knows all your thoughts, your hopes and fears and concerns down to the smallest detail.

This experience deepened my faith, broadened my understanding of who I am, and made me very thankful.

There is so much to be thankful for. The Lord has made the earth and everything in it. He has made you and me in His own image. He has provided all we need to live. He has put us into His own great and everlasting story. And this is the third story I mentioned.

This story is also nonfiction. God is its Author. It begins with the Creation of the world and the perfect Garden of Eden. Then comes the Fall of Man and the entrance of sin and death into the world. The giving of the law to Moses. After long years, God intervenes in the story in the form of Christ Jesus—his sacrifice and our redemption. And now amidst what appears to be growing evil, we wait with all Creation for the triumphant return of the Rightful King.

No story ever told can compare with the power and majesty and scope of this one.
And we are part of that story. God Himself has given us life and put us on this earth at the right time and in the right place in the greatest adventure ever. The Author of all things visible and invisible has given us a role to play.

There are many characters in this story. On the visible side, in addition to us, there are Kings and Queens, presidents, soldiers, and priests, musicians, and all manner of people. On the invisible side there are angels, archangels, principalities and powers. Some of them are evil—the fallen angels, demons, and Satan himself.

But standing at the beginning, at the end, and in the very center of this story is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords—the One who has given us everything.

There is so much to be thankful for. Therefore it is right to honor the Lord with our tithes. It is right to be the good stewards who await the return of the Rightful King.

Remember, way back in this story we’re in, there was a young, generous boy who gave everything he had, which happened to be his lunch. His lunch consisted of two fishes and five barley loaves. The Lord multiplied it so that it fed well over 5,000 people. And the young boy who had given all he had, lacked nothing. I’m sure he had plenty to eat, too. Giving to the Lord never results in lack—it only results in abundance.

But back to the present. This story we inhabit doesn’t end with death. We have the promise of the next world, too. Isaiah said it first, and it is quoted in Corinthians I: Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

For them that love Him. That is the key. To condense it all, really, that’s our job, to love the Lord with all our hearts and minds and soul and strength and to love our neighbor as ourselves, and to be good stewards of His creation, all He has given into our hands.

One way to show that love is by cheerful, generous giving to the One who has given us more blessings than we could ever count.

When you write your check to St. Peter’s Episcopal Church (or whatever church it may be) out of love and gratitude, the real recipient is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

And now to him be all thanks and honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.

(A talk on Stewardship delivered on Sunday, October 29, 2017 at St. Peter's Episcopal Church, Brenham, TX)