In
a sermon the first Sunday of Advent, I
spoke about Leon. I told you that I felt
like he and his wife, Katy, embodied hope.
But I also think that they shared one of the most powerful love stories
that I have had the privilege of witnessing.
I spoke about his time in Italy during WWII, driving pack mules through
the mountains and wondering if he would live to get back to the base. They were shelled going up the mountain with
supplies and shelled going back down the mountain with empty packs. And we
talked often about his time in Italy, and his concerns about making it home to
her. But the time passed while she
waited at home and he longed to get back to her. One day she received his telegram, “It’s
been a long stretch from no man’s land back to you but I made it well and
safe. See you soon. I am on my way to you and will never leave
again. Love, Leon.”
That would be an impressive story if
it ended there. But it doesn’t. After 70 years of marriage, through the good
times, and through the bad, they were side by side. Then Katy fell and hit her head on the
concrete of their garage. It was a few days
before Thanksgiving one year. She had
massive tissue and cranial injuries. She
never fully recovered from that. But she lived another year and half – much of
that time she was unresponsive though she slept and woke. Finally, though, they had to put in a feeding
tube, because she quit eating when it was offered, gradually growing less
responsive. But for a year and a half,
Leon got up every morning at 6 am, as he had always done, and by 7:00 he was at
the nursing home, where he spent the day with her. When it started to get dark, he would head
home – he had macular degeneration and couldn’t drive after dark.
In a year and a half, I don’t think he missed a
day. So when someone asks me about love,
I think of Leon and Katy, who shared a love that braved the difficult times,
that weathered the storms, and that was faithful and true until the very end.
Many
of us probably have a story like theirs somewhere in our families. And in fact, some of us may be that story; we
may be living out now. But this kind of
love is not easy – people who are living that kind of love story will usually
attest to that. I often tell couples who
are doing premarital counseling that this kind of love is only possible when God
is present in the midst of it; it is God’s Spirit that helps us to keep our
focus on each other instead of self, and that is what enables us to weather the
difficulties of life. For on the road of
life, we will find twists and turns, roadblocks, potholes, hills, mountains,
and valleys. And it is only our love for
each other, supported by the love of God, that will sustain us.
Shortly
after I received my mid-life call to ministry, I was called to Leslie’s
bedside. He was the first person I was
to minister to who was dying. And I
don’t need to tell you that of all the difficulties of life that we have to
face, this is probably the most difficult, to be dying and to know it – of all
the dark shadows in the valleys of life, this one is probably the darkest. Leslie had cancer – it had started as
prostate cancer and metastasized. During
the final few days, his wife and children by his side, I was to see the depths
of his love – not just for his family, but for his friends, his church, his
minister, and above all for God. For
Leslie, the song, “Jesus Loves Me” was a song that deeply resonated with
him. He had a gentle spirit that even
while dying embraced the deepest love for God and showed a new minister the
power of faith. It was several years
later that I encountered another story, one that reminded me of Leslie.
His
name was Steve, and he, too, was dying of cancer. He received a card from someone in his church
– a card that, I am sure, was supposed to encourage him and was almost
certainly sent with the best intentions.
But the handwritten note in the inside cover of the card suggested that
if he had more faith that God might yet heal him. Steve was hurt, but with the help of his
brother (he no longer had the strength to write), he sent a reply:
“I share your faith in the power of God to
heal and sustain us. There may be times
though when God’s greatest miracle is not the miracle of physical healing, but
the miracle of giving us strength in the face of suffering….
As I read the Bible God’s promise
is not to remove all of our suffering in this world, but in the next. In this one, we will sometimes weep, suffer,
and die. But in the next we are promised
that “God will wipe away all tears…and there shall be no more death, neither
sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things
are passed away” (Rev. 21:14).
I sincerely hope that if my
cancer continues to grow; no one will see it as a failure of my faith, but that
they might see me as faithful even in the face of death. I do not claim to understand God’s will, but
I do know that God loves me and I am in the Lord’s hands, whether in life or in
death.”
And
I think that Steve expresses a profound truth here about the relationship
between love and faithfulness. It is a
truth that I saw in Leslie, and one that I saw in Leon and Katy. So, I ask us to consider: can we truly claim to love our spouse if we
are unfaithful? Can we say that we love
our family when we are not faithful in providing for them? Can we say we love our church and our church
family if we are not faithful in being present for them on a regular basis? Can we say we love God if we are not faithful
to God, to respond to his call, and to embrace his grace? And can that faithfulness be only in the good
times, or must it also be when things are rough and the road ahead is rocky and
uncertain? And what about God, who
states that he loves us, can we say that God has been faithful?
Louis
Cassels used a parable in one of his books that he called the parable of the
birds. It is really popular around
Christmas, and I would like to paraphrase it for you this morning. A man refused to go to church one Christmas
Eve with his family. He claimed that God
couldn’t love him, because God couldn’t understand him – an all-powerful God couldn’t
know anything about his situation. So his family went on without him.
Shortly after
the family drove away in the car, snow began to fall. He went to the window to
watch the flurries getting heavier and heavier. Then he went back to his
fireside chair to read his newspaper. Minutes later he was startled by a
thudding sound. Then another and another — sort of a thump or a thud. At first
he thought someone must have been throwing snowballs against his living room
window.
But when he went
to the front door to investigate, he found a flock of birds huddled miserably
in the snow. They’d been caught in the storm and, in a desperate search for
shelter, had tried to fly through his large landscape window. Well, he couldn’t
let the poor creatures lie there and freeze, so he remembered the barn where
his children stabled their pony. That would provide a warm shelter, if he could
direct the birds to it.
Quickly he put
on a coat and boots and then he tramped through the deepening snow to the barn.
He opened the doors wide and turned on a light, but the birds did not come in.
He figured food would entice them. So he hurried back to the house, fetched
breadcrumbs and sprinkled them on the snow. He made a trail to the brightly
lit, wide-open doorway of the stable. But to his dismay, the birds ignored the
breadcrumbs and continued to flap around helplessly in the snow.
He tried
catching them. He tried shooing them into the barn by walking around them and
waving his arms. Instead, they scattered in every direction, except into the
warm, lighted barn. And then he realized that they were afraid of him. To them,
he reasoned, I am a strange and terrifying creature. If only I could think of
some way to let them know that they can trust me — that I am not trying to hurt
them but to help them. But how? Any move
he made tended to frighten and confuse them. They just would not follow. They
would not be led or shooed, because they feared him. “If only I could be a bird,” he thought to
himself, “and mingle with them and speak their language. Then I could tell them
not to be afraid. Then I could show them the way to the safe warm barn. But I
would have to be one of them so they could see and hear and understand.”
Our passage from
Isaiah this morning comes from a section of the book that many scholars call ‘2nd
Isaiah.’ This prophet who also calls himself Isaiah may have actually written
from Babylon. Israel’s captivity is
coming to an end and they are celebrating, preparing to return to their beloved
Jerusalem. But Isaiah cautions
them: their life will not be easy. God tells them, and us, through his prophet
that life will be difficult, we will encounter times of fire – representing difficulty
and struggle, stress and fatigue – as well as times of flooding and rushing
waters – representing chaos and uncertainty, failing health, loss, and
grief. God doesn’t say “if” in the
prophet’s words. He says “when” – still,
he assures us that he loves us. And it
is a love that is marked by faithfulness, a love that will offer a ransom for
the people who call on his name. God
will give nations for us; God will pay just about any price for us. But it won’t be good enough will it?
So God will pay
the ultimate price, becoming one of us to demonstrate his love. You are mine; I have called you by my
name. You are precious in my sight and
honored and I love you. Amen.
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