The following are a few illustrations, humorous anecdote, quotes and other stories that may be used to celebrate ministry. Some speak of the life, labor and laughter of ministry, using gifts and not allowing them the decay, and others talk of expressing ‘thanks.' These may be woven into stewardship message, children's sermon, or other aspects of worship. There are hundreds of sources for additional material, which may be preferred to those offered here. Where provided sources have been listed.

--I recently read about an old man, walking the beach at dawn, who noticed a young man ahead of him picking up starfish and flinging them into the sea. Catching up with the youth, he asked what he was doing. The answer was that the stranded starfish would die if left in the morning sun. ‘But the beach goes on for miles and miles, and there are millions of starfish,' countered the man. ‘How can your effort make any difference?'

The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and then threw it to safety in the waves. ‘It makes a difference to this one,' he said.” Hugh Duncan, Arthur Myers in Berkshire Sampler

--Fred Craddock, in an address to ministers, caught the practical implications of consecration. “To give my life for Christ appears glorious,” he said.

“To pour myself out for others … to pay the ultimate price of martyrdom—I'll do it. I'm ready, Lord, to go out in a blaze of glory. “We think giving our all to the Lord is like taking $l,000 bill and laying it on the table—‘Here's my life, Lord. I'm giving it all.' But the reality for most of us is that he sends us to the bank and has us cash in the $l,000 for quarters. We go through life putting out 25 cents here and 50 cents there. Listen to the neighbor kid's troubles instead of saying, ‘Get lost.' Go to a committee meeting. Give a cup of water to a shaky old man in a nursing home.

Usually giving our life to Christ isn't glorious. It's done in all those little acts of love, 25 cents at a time. It would be easy to go out in a flash of glory; it's harder to live the Christian life little by little over the long haul.” Darryl Bell, Source unknown

--Ministry that costs nothing accomplishes nothing. John Henry Jowett.

--Unamuno, the Spanish philosopher, tells about the Roman aqueduct at Segovia , in his native Spain . It was built in 109 A.D. For eighteen hundred years, it carried cool water from the mountains to the hot and thirsty city. Nearly sixty generations of men drank from its flow. Then came another generation, a recent one, who said, "This aqueduct is so great a marvel that it ought to be preserved for our children, as a museum piece. We shall relieve it of its centuries-long labor.” They did; they laid modern iron pipes. They gave the ancient bricks and mortar a reverent rest. And the aqueduct began to fall apart. The sun beating on the dry mortar caused it to crumble. The bricks and stone sagged and threatened to fall. What ages of service could not destroy idleness disintegrated. Resource, Sept./ Oct., 1992, p. 4.

--Most people wish to serve God -- but in an advisory capacity only. --Quoted in Sunday Express, London .

--I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, but for you my heart has no bottom. -- Author Unknown

--Gratitude is the memory of the heart. – Jean Baptiste Massieu

-- We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. – Thornton Wilder

--I am just a plow hand from Arkansas , but I have learned how to hold a team together. How to lift some men up, how to calm down others, until finally they've got one heartbeat together, a team. There's just three things I'd ever say: If anything goes bad, I did it. If anything goes semi-good, then we did it. If anything goes real good, then you did it. That's all it takes to get people to win football games for you. --Bear Bryant

--Thankfulness seems to be a lost art today. Warren Wiersby illustrated this problem in his commentary on Colossians. He told about a ministerial student in Evanston , Illinois , who was part of a life-saving squad. In 1860, a ship went aground on the shore of Lake Michigan near Evanston , and Edward Spencer waded again and again into the frigid waters to rescue 17 passengers. In the process, his health was permanently damaged. Some years later at his funeral, it was noted that not one of the people he rescued ever thanked him. --Our Daily Bread, February 20, 1994.

--Life is a matter of building. Each of us has the opportunity to build something -- a secure family, a good reputation, a career, a relationship to God. But some of those things can disappear almost overnight due to financial losses, natural disasters and other unforeseen difficulties.

What are we to do? Daniel Webster offered excellent advice, saying, "If we work on marble it will perish. If we work on brass, time will efface it. If we rear temples, they will crumble to dust. But if we work on men's immortal minds, if we imbue them with high principles, with just fear of God and love of their fellow men, we engrave on those tablets something, which time cannot efface, and which will brighten and brighten to all eternity. --Morning Glory, July 3, 1993.

--During World War II , England needed to increase its production of coal. Winston Churchill called together labor leaders to enlist their support. At the end of his presentation, he asked them to picture in their minds a parade, which he knew would be held in Piccadilly Circus after the war. First, he said, would come the sailors who had kept the vital sea-lanes open. Then would come the soldiers who had come home from Dunkirk and then gone on to defeat Rommel in Africa . Then would come the pilots who had driven the Luftwaffe from the sky. Last of all, he said, would come a long line of sweat-stained, soot-streaked men in miner's caps. Someone would cry from the crowd, 'And where were you during the critical days of our struggle?' And from ten thousand throats would come the answer, 'We were deep in the earth with our faces to the coal.'" Not all the jobs in a church are prominent and glamorous. But it is often the people with their "faces to the coal" that help the church accomplish its mission. --Don McCullough, Waking from the American Dream.

--The great violinist, Niccolo Paganini willed his marvelous violin to city of Genoa on condition that it must never be played. The wood of such an instrument, while used and handled, wears only slightly, but set aside, it begins to decay. Paganini's lovely violin has today become worm-eaten and useless except as a relic. A Christian's unwillingness to serve may soon destroy his capacity for usefulness. --J.K. Laney, Marching Orders, p. 34.

--Boarding the SS Dorchester on a dreary winter day in 1943 were 903 troops and four chaplains, including Moody alumnus Lt. George Fox. World War II was in full swing, and the ship was headed across the icy North Atlantic where German U-boats lurked. At 12:00 on the morning of February 3, a German torpedo ripped into the ship. "She's going down!" the men cried, scrambling for lifeboats. A young GI crept up to one of the chaplains. "I've lost my life jacket," he said. "Take this," the chaplain said, handing the soldier his jacket. Before the ship sank, each chaplain gave his life jacket to another man. The heroic chaplains then linked arms and lifted their voices in prayer as the Dorchester went down. Lt. Fox and his fellow pastors were awarded posthumously the Distinguished Service Cross. --Today in the Word, April 1, 1992.

--At the close of life, the question will not be, "How much have you gotten?" but "How much have you given?" Not "How much have you won?" but "How much have you done?" Not "How much have you saved?" but "How much have you sacrificed?" It will be "How much have you loved and served," not "How much were you honored?” --Nathan C. Schaeffer.

--Come work for the Lord. The work is hard, the hours are long and the pay is low, but the retirement benefits are out of this world.

--Anne Lamont, in Traveling Mercies, writes about having an irregular mole removed and biopsied. She was particularly anxious about it because her father had died of melanoma in the brain. She writes:

“There were no available surgery appointments until six weeks hence. And I know me: I would feel a little more advanced bone loss each day, a little less small-motor control. That night at bedtime I looked down at my mole, and now instead of looking like a small sow bug, it suddenly seemed to be alive and spreading, like a stain. I was too young to die – or at least, I was too upset to die. You don't want to die when you're this upset – you get a bad room in heaven with the other hysterics, the right-to-lifers, and the exercise compulsives. But thinking of heaven made me remember something: that I believe in God. And I smote my own forehead.

So I wrote God a note on a scrap of paper. It said, “I am a little anxious. Help me remember that you are with me even now. I am going to take my sticky fingers off the control panel until I hear from you.” Then I folded up my note and put it in the drawer of the table next to my bed as if it were God's In box.

…Two days later I went to church early, wanting an extra oat bag of faith that Sunday. There was another woman there already, named Marge, who is in her late seventies. She has a granddaughter with a tumor on her heart – on her heart – who is getting chemo and is doing OK in many ways, because she is loved and has a lot of faith. So Marge asked how I was doing. I hemmed and hawed and said that I had a dark irregular mole that the doctor wanted to remove, and that I was sort of worried because my daddy died of melanoma in the brain. And she did not say, “Oh for Chrissakes – my granddaughter has a tumor on her heart. And you want me to feel sorry for you because you have a weird mole?” What she said instead was “Honey, that must be scary for you, loving that little boy the way you do.” I said, “Oh, you got that right, baby.” She said, “You just give it all to God. You just give it all to the Boss. We used to say in the South, if you pray, don't worry, and if you worry, don't pray. So now, why don't you and me pray?” So we did. It was vaguely embarrassing – I mean, honest to Pete, praying in a church. But afterward I mostly felt that no matter how it all shook down, we were going to be OK, me and my boy. --Anne Lamont, Traveling Mercies. (New York, Anchor Books: 1999), pg. 179-81.

-- Rachel Remen, a physician and counselor who suffers from Crohn's disease, remembers moving into a new residence the night before beginning medical school when she was 20 year old:

Hugging myself, I turned toward the only window. Earlier, I had glanced out and noticed that it looked onto the city street. I had a brief impression of unrelieved grayness. But it was night now and there across the street was the main entrance of the hospital, one of the best-known in the world. It was blazing with light.

From where I stood I could see the main building and the two wings enclosing the great semicircular driveway. An endless flow of cars came and went, bringing sick people, people in trouble, and those to whom they mattered. I stepped to the window deciding to watch for a while, just until the lights went out. A little before midnight a crowd of people, many wearing white, arrived and a little after midnight a great many other white-clad people left and found their way to the cars in the parking lots. The shift had changed. I got the blanket from the bed, wrapped myself in it, and pulled up a chair. Cars, ambulances, taxis, and police cars continued to come and go. I nodded off several times, awakening each time to find nothing had changed. By four A.M. I realized that these lights never went out. People were there, always for anyone in crisis, anyone in pain. The lights were being passed from hand to hand. And as of this morning, I was a part of this. I knew nothing yet, but I belonged.

In my grandfather's synagogue there was a light that never went out. All synagogues have such an eternal light. It signifies that the unseen presence of God is always in this place. Comforted, I got up and went to sleep. Over the next four years I can't remember ever having the time to look out that window again.--Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D., Kitchen Table Wisdom (New York: Riverhead Books, 1996) pg. xxiii - xxiv.

--For many years now I have listened to the stories of people with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses as their counselor. From them I have learned how to enjoy the minute particulars in life once again, the grace of a hot cup of coffee, the presence of a friend, the blessing of having a new cake of soap or an hour without pain. Such humble experience is the stuff that many of the very best stories are made of. If we think we have no stories it is because we have not paid enough attention to our lives. Most of us live lives that are far richer and more meaningful than we appreciate.--Rachel Naomi Remen, M.D., Kitchen Table Wisdom (New York: Riverhead Books, 1996) pg. xxx.

--Forgive Me When I Whine
Today upon a bus, I saw a lovely maid with golden hair; I envied her -- she seemed so gay, and how, I wished I were so fair; When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle; she had one foot and wore a crutch, but as she passed, a smile. Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two feet -- the world is mine.

And when I stopped to buy some sweets, the lad who served me had such charm; he seemed to radiate good cheer, his manner was so kind and warm; I said, "It's nice to deal with you, such courtesy I seldom find"; he turned and said, "Oh, thank you sir." And then I saw that he was blind. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine, I have two eyes, the world is mine. Then, when walking down the street, I saw a child with eyes of blue; he stood and watched the others play, it seemed he knew not what to do; I stopped a moment, then I said, "Why don't you join the others, dear?" He looked ahead without a word, and then I knew he could not hear. Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two ears, the world is mine. With feet to take me where I'd go; with eyes to see the sunsets glow, with ears to hear what I would know. I am blessed indeed. The world is mine; oh, God, forgive me when I whine.

--We come to know truth not only reason, but still more so through our hearts. B. Pascal.

-- The heart has its reasons that reason does not know. B. Pascal.

--In 1846, former president John Quincy Adams suffered a stroke. Although he returned to Congress the following year, his health was clearly failing. Daniel Webster described his last meeting with Adams : "Someone, a friend of his, came in and made particular inquiry of his health. Adams answered, 'I inhabit a weak, frail, decayed tenement; battered by the winds and broken in upon by the storms, and from all I can learn, the landlord does not intend to repair.'" --Today in the Word, April 11, 1992.

--The only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want, drink what you don't like and do what you'd rather not. -- Mark Twain.

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