“Letters from Wendy”

Mark 1, 14-20

14 Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, 15 and saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."

16 As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea — for they were fishermen. 17 And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people." 18 And immediately they left their nets and followed him. 19 As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. 20 Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

June 1 – Email message

Dear Rev. Fry:

I’m surprised to be writing you. I really didn’t want to, but my mom made me. I kept bugging her with the question, and she finally said, “Wendy, why don’t you just ask him yourself?” So, that sounded like a good idea so I’m asking you. Well, here goes: we all call you “Rev. Fry” – a lot of the folks at church. I’ve even seen your Kayla and Murphy run up to you, and Kayla say “Rev. Daddy” and they both just laughed and laughed. They are so cute. I can’t wait to go to Montreat this summer with them.

Anyway, before you there was Rev. Bayler, and before him there was Rev. Juel, and before her there was Rev. Florence, and the next one we will call Rev. too. It’s just that we call all of our Pastors “Reverend.” So, I was looking through the newsletter the other day. I have to admit that I never read it – I just look at the list of birthdays. The rest just looks like words words words – too many words for me to read outside of school. But I just happened to look at the front story and I saw “Matt’s Musings.” I wasn’t sure who Matt was. Aren’t you Rev. Fry? Why does it call you Matt? Doesn’t whoever wrote it know better? I mean, what’s the difference between Rev. Fry and Matt?

Thanks for taking time out of – what is it that you do with your time? People say that you only work one hour a week. Anyway, thanks for taking time out of whatever you do to answer me. Tell your girls and Melissa that Wendy says “hi.” And that I can’t wait to hang out at Montreat this summer.

Your friend,

Wendy

June 20 – letter

Dear Rev. Fry:

Hey, this is Wendy again. I can’t believe that you asked me to write you a LETTER with my questions. What’s up with that? I NEVER write letters. I’m used to jotting out a quick e-mail and sending it off. Can’t you join me in the 21^st Century?

Well, my mom said that I needed to write you and not to e-mail you and so I writing to thank you for your letter – for your very, very, very long letter. Not to complain, but it seemed that your explanations were, well, very, very complete. One thing for sure – from the length of your letter, it is quite obvious that you write your own sermons (Just kidding, ha-ha). I read that story you gave me about Jesus calling those disciple folks, but you really didn’t answer the question.

But it got me to thinking – I’m not sure I get that story. All he said was “follow me.” That’s it – and what do they do? They all line up right behind him and follow. I don’t mean to be mean, but that sounds crazy to me. You know my mama always said, “If your friends jumped off the Empire state building, would you follow them.” Well, it looks like they are all jumping off the building, and they don’t even know Jesus. There is NO WAY I would have gone. I mean, “Follow me” is scary.

I remember one time my brothers said those words “Follow me.” “Follow me, Wendy, we’ll show you a little puppy dog.” I was a little girl, and I didn’t know better. I followed them down into the basement. Then, they ran back upstairs, laughing, and they locked the basement door. It was dark – I couldn’t even see where I was walking. Back then, I was too short to reach the light string. I just stumbled around in the dark, bumping into darkness and hearing it crash. I cried and cried for someone to let me out, but I just heard them laughing upstairs. I don’t know how long I was down there, but it was horrible. Finally, mom came home and rescued me. Boy, did they ever get into trouble. After that day, I hid a flashlight in the basement, just in case.

So, if some stranger had told me to “follow me” like in the story, I would have run the other way. No telling what trouble you might get into.

My hand is so tired from writing all of this. I’ve got to stop now and do my homework. Ugh, more writing!

Your friend,

Wendy

July 5

Dear Rev. Fry:

No, Rev. Fry, I never told my mom how scared I was that day. I don’t like to talk about things like that. When I started writing, it just sort of came out. Thank you for the good advice on – what did you say? – learning HOW to trust and learning WHO to trust. I wonder how those guys in the story knew that Jesus was someone they can trust. I have to really know someone before I trust them. But, even after they decided to trust Jesus, doesn’t it seem weird to up and leave?

Where were they going? How would they get there? What would they eat? Who would help their kids with homework? Where would they go to church? What would their moms say? How would they get money? Who would do their laundry? Where would they stay?

I remember when my brother went to scout camp a couple of weeks ago. We spent, like, weeks trying to get all of the stuff he would need. He took everything, absolutely everything. He had a waterproof bright-blue tent that looked like some kind of giant Smurf turtle. He had a fluffy sleeping bag that squeezed down into a tiny pack. They took food and mats and just the right kind of bug spray (since when is Skin-so-soft not too girly for Boy scouts?) and canteens and matches and maps and pots and pans and hammers and shovels and duct tape and compasses and walkie talkies. And they were just going out for a week. What did Jesus and those disciples take with them? How did they make it?

By the way, did I tell you I’m going to a new school next month? So long middle, hello high. Well.

Bye,

Wendy

July 28

Dear Rev. Fry:

Did you hear that Jenny and her family are moving away? That’s my second friend this summer. I don’t know who is gonna be left when school starts. No, I have NOT read the rest of that book yet. And, no, I won’t be reading it anytime soon. I’ve got a summer reading list as long as your arm, and I’m taking summer computer classes, and mom says I’ve got to start taking lessons to get ready for my college boards – I’m not even in High School, and already she’s got me out and in college. So, I didn’t get a chance to read the rest of Mark – that’s why I asked YOU those questions.

I did re-read that one story like you asked me to, at least. Last time, I got so hung up on the “follow me” that I didn’t catch that whole part about fishing. Why does Jesus want to fish for people? I went fishing with my brother and my dad a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to go to the mall, but they said, “Com on, you’ll have so much fun.” Well, THEY had fun, but not me. There was too much heat and too few black cherry vanilla cokes, too many mosquitoes and not enough Skin so soft, too many squiggly worms and not enough help getting them to stay on the hook, too much sun and not enough sunscreen, too much sore bottom and not enough cushion. Overall, a nice air conditioned mall would have been so nice. In the midst of my displeasure, my brother caught this fish. The fish wasn’t doing anything wrong, just hanging our in the lake looking for a snack or friends to play with or something. My brother put this sharp hook in the water and, before we knew it, it was dug into the fish’s mouth. The fist started wriggling and squirming and hopping. I mean, he was mad, and I didn’t blame him. Finally, my brother dragged the fish, still kicking and screaming with all his might, to the boat. My dad then double-teamed him with this net. That poor fish didn’t have a chance. He just landed with a thud in the boat and flopped helplessly back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, trying to find his way back to the water. He stared accusingly at my brother. “What did I ever do to you?” said his eyes. Then, he gave up. He stopped jumping, and he died. That night, we ate him. Well, they ate him – I had seen too much horror, so I had some Easy Mac.

Is that what Jesus is saying that the disciples will do? Go out and drag in unsuspecting people and do God only knows what to them? By the way, did you ever answer my first question about the difference between Rev. Fry and Matt? Or are you answering it now?

I’ve got to go study words vociferously for my PSAT. BAM, vociferously.

Jealous

Wendy

August 15

Dear Rev. Fry:

Hey again, Rev. Fry. I started my new school today. The teachers give a lot more homework than I’m used to. I’m in classes all day and I get home and go to dance twice a week and I’m trying out for the fall play and I’m taking advanced classes. I barely have time to breath, so, no, I’ve not read the rest of Mark. Its surprising how much has changed since last year. Two friends moved away. Two others are on different schedules, and I hardly see them at all except to just say “hey” in the hall. In a school as large as this one, is it possible to be alone?

By the way, in your last letter, you just proved my mama right. She says that when someone begins to answer your question by saying, “Now, that’s a good question,” you know that the question was better than the answer will be. If that story doesn’t mean that Jesus and his disciples are going around, dragging people out of their happy homes against their will, then why does it say that?

You sound like my English teacher, “It’s all a metaphor” – Jesus loves everybody, that this is the beginning of his work. But, all I can think about is that poor fish jerked out of the water, dead. That’s kind of scary. Is that why we have so many empty pews these days? Do we scare people away from us?

I’m just kind of hung up on this. Let me go start my book. We have some umpteen chapters of All Quiet on the Western Front due by tomorrow…and then math…and then science.

Always,

Wendy

September 1

Dear Rev. Fry:

Great news! I got a part in the play! This mean I practice every day after school. I guess mom will have to rearrange my dance classes or something. Guess what. There is a new girl in school whose name is just like mine, Wendy. Her family just moved down from Ohio. She talks kind of funny – she thinks we do, too. Do you think I have an accent, Rev. Fry? She doesn’t seem to know any one. I watch her at lunch, and she just sits there, slowly eating that apple, turning it over and over as though she hopes that she will never finish. I keep thinking that maybe I should go sit with her. I don’t know – maybe she wants to be alone.

She reminds me a little bit of that guy in that story – that guy who was left in the boat. I wonder if he felt lonely, like Wendy. I wonder if he felt like the new guy in school…like the one guy not invited to the party. I’ve been there before. When I was little, I was best friends with four other girls – Tiffany, Sammie, Cameron, and Jenny. We would have sleepovers and play with Barbies and ride bikes to get Icees. We were all best friends. Then, one time, Sammie had a birthday party and didn’t invite me. I never knew why. I felt so lonely that Saturday afternoon – I stayed in my room and cried real softly, so no one would hear. It felt like my world had ended.

I guess I sort of know how Zebedee felt – lonely, left out. I’ll bet he was thinking, “What am I, chopped liver? Why am I not good enough?”

Hmm – I think I WILL say hello to that Wendy from Ohio.

Your friend,

Wendy

September 13

Dear Rev. Fry:

I did what you said. I just took my tray and marched over and sat down with Wendy from Ohio. Guess what. She likes reading and hates math and watches American Idol and likes Golden Retrievers, just like me! She’s coming to spend the night at my house. I think I’ll invite her to church. Is that okay?

Now, back to the question. Tell me again, how can Zebedee be a disciple if Jesus didn’t call him that day? How can “anyone” be a disciple? There were just 12 disciples, right? All of them were men? All of them were adult? All of them were chosen there by Jesus back in those days thousands of years ago, when people used words like Thou and Thine and Art? THOSE are the disciples. So, how can anyone else be a disciple? How can I be a disciple – I’m not anything like those guys?

Thanks,

Wendy

September 29

Dear Rev. Fry:

Wendy from Ohio and her family say they enjoyed meeting you at church the other Sunday. They said they liked the whole thing. They didn’t even mind you not getting us out until 3 minutes before 12. You really need to watch that.

I asked Wendy from Ohio about what you said about God using all of us – calling all of us to be disciples. She said that her uncle is a doctor and helps people get well. I said that my mom can’t be a doctor, but she teaches Sunday school. Is that what you mean by following God? Is that what you mean by being a disciple?

Just wondering,

Wendy

October 11

Dear Rev. Fry:

Yes, Rev. Fry, I know that Wendy’s last name is Knox. I understand that. We just don’t use last names very much. So, since I’m THE Wendy, I just call her Wendy from Ohio. It’s easier that way. By the way, she’s coming to youth group with me.

Why didn’t you answer my question? Not even a clue on Zebedee being a disciple, or a doctor or a Sunday school teacher following Jesus. And, why that suggestion about the soup kitchen? I mean, I understand that you need folks to help feed the people, but why me and Wendy from Ohio? I’ve heard about that place. I’ve heard the people are overwhelmed by stink. I’ve heard that the folks are usually drunk or high, or both. They are rude and crazy and talk to themselves. Why would you want me to go? I don’t want to.

But, I talked with Wendy from Ohio about it. We decided that it might be okay, if we stay together. So, okay, we’ll give it a try.

Thank you,

Wendy

October 30

Dear Matt:

I had to write you right away. We’ve just come home from the soup kitchen, and I’ve got to tell you what happened. It was a lot like I thought. There were many dirty and sick and crazy-looking people. But there was a lot more light than I expected. And there was more color—the tables in garnet and gold, the posters on the wall. The smells – we served some tasty vegetable soup (I tried some, it was good) and some golden grilled cheese sandwiches. They put me in charge of filling all of the cups with ice. Freezing! My fingers were frozen after about the 10^th cup. Meanwhile, Wendy from Ohio just had to help put out the silverware. What an easy job.

People seemed so grateful when they got their food. Some of them said “thank you,” even to me, and all I did was put ice in the cups. At first, I just stared down at the food, afraid to look them in the eye. I was afraid that they would yell at me, or laugh at me, or something. After a while, though, I heard them talking. They talked about the good meal, about the nice people, about their families and the cost of medicine, about places that are hiring. When I finally looked up, they seemed different. Somehow they seemed just like people.

When the line was about at its end and almost everyone had food, a lady came up to me. She had on a tattered green and red plaid dress, but she wore it proudly. Her face was weathered and full of more cracks than a shattered windshield. She was a short woman, though she had not always been this short. It seemed that life had not been kind to her, and she looked tired. She came up to me and said just four words, “This is for you.” She reached out a gnarled hand with something in it. I was confused, and I didn’t know what to do. So, I took it, with a meek, “thank you, ma’am.” I looked down, and there was a doll. Not a brand new doll like our Barbies or the new bad girl Bratz dolls. This doll doesn’t sing or cry or eat or spit up. It doesn’t walk or crawl or turn over or open and close its eyes. It doesn’t fill its diaper of solve math problems or provide wireless access, like other dolls. No, this is a simple doll. It is beautiful. It doesn’t do anything…but love. I took that doll home, even though I haven’t played with dolls in years. You know, I think that lady gave me so much more than vegetable soup and grilled cheese, or the cup of ice that I gave her.

I don’t know much, but I do know that Wendy from Ohio and I will go back to that soup kitchen next week, even if I have to cut back on dance class. Who knows, maybe I’ll even finish reading the rest of Mark.

But, Matt, I asked months ago about the difference between Rev. Fry and Matt. Now I have a different question. Who was the disciple at the soup kitchen? Were the workers who fix meals every day the disciples? Was Wendy from Ohio? Was I? Or the lady who handed me a doll? Who was the disciple?

In Christ,

Wendy