EDITOR'S NOTE: The first scene in this article is based on an actual experience and for that reason the writer's name is withheld. The second scene is what might have been.
"Dear brethren and sisters, this morning as we open God's Word, let us turn to . . ." The minister began his sermon in the usual way. As we settled into comfortable positions on the hard pew, I wondered if I would see Jesus a little more clearly this morning, if I would be blessed and comforted by new hope. The title, "A Day in the Life," gave me no clue. I had just endured the worst week of my life. I was ready to be reminded of God's care for me. " 'In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth . . .' "
Oh, the creation story. Always a wonderful topic. Yet it's been so long since the pastor discussed it. I quieted the children and "tuned in" again.
" 'Dust thou art, and unto dust shall thou return.' Beloved, we have all had dear ones pass away. We all know the agony that accompanies death. . . ."
Must he talk about death? Today? No! Can't I jump up and beg, "Stop!" But I sit still, toes curled, fists clenched, jaw suddenly iron, as he continues.
"I can still recall my own dear mother's passing, still see her on that bed of pain as if it all happened last week. Gasping for breath, white and tired against the crisp hospital muslin, her gray hair stringy and tangled."
The minister gazed beyond the congregation. "I hated that sterile room: the drawn drapes and intravenous bottle rumored death. I wanted to whisk my failing mother out of death's arms, but 1 had to stay right there. I tried to ease my tension and her weariness by reading our favorite promises of hope. . . ."
My dry mouth fell open. I stiffened against my seat.
"/ can recall my mother's death, too--- she died last week, pastor," I whispered mentally to the shepherd in the pulpit.
Oh, God! Make him stop!
"She died, though," he went on, "with God in her heart. She was ready. I'm so glad we have that blessed assurance. Can you say 'Amen' to that, brethren?"
My mother "had God in her heart" too. But the question that had plagued me as I watched her suffer raced through my brain again. Where was God when we needed Him? We believe in eternal life. My hope of seeing her in heaven is all that kept me sane. But why all that pain, God?
"God is ever beside us. Never forget," the pastor advised, "Psalm 91:11 'He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.' Our God and Creator will not forsake us, friends. Though death and evil "are always about us, we must remember ours is a God of love. Though the day of death may come to each of us, the second death has no power over those who believe in Christ's atoning death and resurrection. God loves us. Shall we pray."
God was there? Then why did she suffer? And must you remind me my children must face my death with equal anguish, despite our "hope"? Where will God's love be then? I need new hope to see me through this week, pastor. You have only thrown me back to heartache and despair. Will I return next week to more?
I rise wiping a tear away and blinking back others. The children, oblivious, file out smiling. The pastor pats their curly heads. Now, must I shake his hand?
"Dear brethren and sisters, this morning as we open God's Word, let us turn to . . ." The pastor began his sermon in the usual way. As we settled into comfortable positions on the hard pew, I was ready to be re minded of God's care for me.
" 'In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. . . .'"
The creation story. It can be such an inspiring sermon theme. I quiet the children and gaze intently ahead as the minister continues.
"Did you notice the birds singing this morning, friends? Are your flowers all in bloom yet? Surely you couldn't help seeing the glorious sunshine everywhere! God created every living thing perfect and pure. Adam and Eve, too, were complete and beautiful. God, in His unfathomable wisdom and justice, gave them the power of choice, free will. And God had a plan of salvation and redemption all ready when Adam and Eve repented of their disobedience. Christ stands ready to welcome each sinner to eternal life. All He asks is trust and obedience."
Mother trusted Him, lived for Him, loved Him, yet He let her suffer and die. The thoughts stack and tumble, unordered, in my mind. I long for an answer. Why, pastor? Why, God?
"Nowhere has God said, 'Ye shall never die,' " the pastor emphasizes. "While all must pay the price of sin, we are assured Jesus suffers every pain and sorrow with us. He mediates for us so that we who believe in Him may live. It is the second, eternal death from which God's love can save us. I need paint no pictures of how horrible the first death can be: we are all too familiar with it. But imagine with me the second, eternal death, the death with out hope, beloved, and praise God for the Son He sent to die the crudest death that we might live anew forever. Friends, see the sunshine streaming in these windows? All nature declares God's life-giving power and . . ."
And sunlight illumines my death-darkened soul. No second death! Yes, the hope is now clear and bright once more. Yes, pastor, "God is our refuge and strength." My eyes are shining, shining with tears of joy as the pastor's words soothe my troubled heart.
"The flowers bloom each spring, and God reminds us of His power. He is in control. It is my prayer that each one of us will open his eyes to God's glory," the pas tor beams, "and let it refresh and uplift him throughout this week. Let us turn to our closing hymn, number 582, 'Trust and Obey.' "
I exit smiling, clasp the pastor's hand with "Thank you" written across my face.
"Look at the flowers, children," I direct, pointing at the pansy border. "They tell us God loves us."