There was a church where the pastor and the minister of music were not getting along. As time went by, this began to spill over into the worship service.

A family brought in two cocoons that were about to hatch. They watched as the first one began to open and the butterfly inside squeezed very slowly and painfully through a tiny hole that it chewed in one end of the cocoon. After lying exhausted for about ten minutes following its agonizing emergence, the butterfly finally flew out the open window on its beautiful new wings.

What would you think if I told you that on your headstone would be inscribed a four-word epitaph? Well, you might respond, it would depend on who would write this epitaph an enemy or a loved one. It might also depend, you might say, on how well this person knew and understood you. If a newspaper critic wrote of a concert pianist the four words: "He was a failure," you could always say: That was his opinion. But if one of the world's great musicians wrote, "He was a genius," then you are apt to take the remark more seriously.

In the story of creation found in the Book of Genesis, we read where Adam and Eve had partaken of the forbidden fruit, something which had been specifically denied them. Knowing that God is searching for them, they attempt to hide. It is a scene perhaps reminiscent of many of our childhoods when we had done something that we were not supposed to, and we literally hid from our searching parents. Finally, God finds them, as we know that He will, for, after all, where can we go to hide from God? God asks them why they are hiding. Do you remember the response that Adam gave: "Because, I was afraid?"

There is an ancient legend about some men who were on a long journey. They came across a great desert and rode into a wilderness area. At sundown they came to a river. They got off their horses and knelt by the river to drink water. Suddenly a voice spoke to them. The voice said, "Fill your pockets up with pebbles from along the river. And tomorrow you will be both glad and sorry." So, they did what the voice commanded. They got on their horses and rode away. On through the night they rode. Finally, the sun began to peek over the horizon. They stopped and reached into their pockets and there they found diamonds and rubies. They held a treasure in their hands, and they were both glad and sorry. They were glad they had it, but they were sorry because they had not taken more.

There was once a great Quaker leader by the name of Rufus Jones. Jones wrote and published one book a year for over fifty years. He did this while attending countless meetings, making frequent speeches, editing a magazine and taking care of countless other chores that his position required. Someone once asked him how under these circumstances he found the time to write so many books he answered, "I wrote my books on Tuesdays." Throughout his career he set aside Tuesdays as his one "free" day accepting no appointments that could be avoided. He began after breakfast and wrote until dark. He might be thinking about his next project all week long, but he did not put it on paper until Tuesday. By following that simple plan, he left behind a great body of work.

For a moment, let's put this story to one side and hear another story. It concerns a young anthropologist named Connie who works among aboriginal people in Australia. The community where she lives has a rich tradition of storytelling. Everyone gathers at night, a story is told, and then another, and another. Connie feels extraordinarily privileged when she is asked to join in this activity.

Today, as our world continues to become ravaged by COVID-19, people are feeling anxious, impatient, frustrated, and critical. We are less busy with the things that normally hold our attention. We are bored with staying inside, refraining from seeing the people we love and doing the activities that animate us. We are sick and tired of being "sick and tired!"

The lady of the house was giving last minute instructions to her butler before the start of a huge dinner being held at the estate: "Carson," she said, "I want you to stand at the front door and call the guests' names as they arrive." "Very well, madam," replied the butler, "I've been wanting to do that for years."

A Sunday school teacher was examining her pupils after a series of lessons on God's omnipotence. She asked: "Is there anything God can't do?"

There's a wonderful legend about Saint Francis, the kindly thirteenth century monk, who one day informed his brethren that he planned to go into the nearby village on a preaching mission. He invited a novice to go along. On their way, they passed an injured man and Francis promptly stopped, saw to the poor fellow's needs and arranged medical care for him. They went on and soon passed a homeless man who was near starvation. Again, Francis stopped his journey and ministered to the hungry, homeless man. So it went, through the day: people in need, Francis lovingly caring for them as best he could until the sun was low in the sky. He told his novice friend it was time for them to return, now, to the monastery for evening prayers. But the young man said, "Father, you said we were coming to town to preach to the people." Francis smiled. Then he said, "My friend, that's what we've been doing all day."

This is Trinity Sunday. God in three persons--Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Do we fully understand this wonderful doctrine?  You may remember that ancient story about St. Augustine. One day he took a break from writing about the Trinity to take a walk along the seashore. There he came across a child with a little pail, intently scooping up a pail full of water out of the ocean, then walking up the beach and dumping it out into the sand, then going back down to scoop out another pail of water to pour into the sand, etc.

Paul Harvey, once said, "Too many Christians are no longer fishers of men but keepers of the aquarium."

The chameleon (the word means "ground lion") is an unusual "old world" creature with independently movable eyes, a helmet head, and fused toes. It is known primarily though for its ability to change colour on the rotation of a cent, according to its mood. The chameleon uses this ability to blend into its surroundings, to hide from predators, or to silently approach prey.

Today's society presents us with many choices and possibilities that only seem to grow more numerous with time and the "advance" of culture. They say that "variety is the spice of life" and I suspect it is true. Yet, the many choices that stand before us can be confusing. We need to learn how to wisely use the gift of free will, our ability to choose. This gift, if used constructively, can provide much good for our world, but if abused it can create untold grief.

Karl Barth, one of the twentieth century's most famous theologians, was on a streetcar one day in Basel, Switzerland, where he lived and lectured. A tourist to the city climbed on the streetcar and sat down next to Barth. The two men started chatting with each other. "Are you new to the city?" Barth inquired.

A little boy, growing up in a community where his father served as a Methodist minister was outside playing. He was doing all the things that a little boy does. He was climbing trees. He was swinging on the swing set and jumping out. He was rolling and playing with his dog. His mother called him for dinner and all the family gathered at the table. His mother looked at him and said, "Young man, let me see your hands."

A first year student in a Catholic seminary was told by the dean that he should plan to preach the sermon in chapel the following day. He had never preached a sermon before, he was nervous and afraid, and he stayed up all night, but in the morning, he didn't have a sermon. He stood in the pulpit, looked out at his classmates and said "Do you know what I am going to say?" All of them shook their heads "no" and he said "Neither do I. The service has ended. Go in peace."

The dean was not happy. "I'll give you another chance tomorrow, and you had better have a sermon." Again he stayed up all night; and again he couldn't come up with a sermon. Next morning, he stood in the pulpit and asked "Do you know what I am going to say?" The students all nodded their heads "yes." "Then there is no reason to tell you" he said. "The service has ended. Go in peace."

Now the dean was angry. "I'll give you one more chance; if you don't have a sermon tomorrow, you will be asked to leave the seminary." Again, no sermon came. He stood in the pulpit the next day and asked "Do you know what I am going to say?" Half of the students nodded "yes" and the other half shook their heads "no." The student preacher then announced "Those who know, tell those who don't know. The service has ended. Go in peace."

The seminary dean walked over to the student, put his arm over the student's shoulders, and said "Those who know, tell those who don't know. Today, the gospel has been proclaimed."

I remind you of the famous first words in Scott Peck's book, The Road Less Travelled. His first words are, "Life is difficult." Then he goes on to say,

      Unfortunately, a lot of people are like mummies, all wrapped up in themselves. And they don't want to become unwrapped. All they do is come unwound at the thought of coming out of their safe tomb or stepping out in faith. But Jesus calls us out of the tomb, sets us free and calls us to move beyond ourselves into a life of faith, commitment, obedience and service. Ours is a God who does not despise or abhor the affliction of the afflicted and does not hide his face from them." There is always a sense in which great living is found during suffering and tears. Although one wonders now whether the Church believes and has faith!