Luke 24:13-35
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Risen
Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen
When Dad died, it
was both sudden and unexpected, at least as much as it could be for one who was
94 years old. Thankfully, he was still
quite healthy up to the end, able to do his crossword puzzles, and still
keeping up his daily walks.
In fact, the last
couple days of his life Dad had decided that his walks were boring so he would
memorize a hymn a day on his walks.
As he recited
those hymns during those last two days, Dad ended up leaving us with the prayer
that was on his heart, and a promise to which he clung, and also, in a
conversation I had with him the last night, he shared a sermon that he wished
he could preach. A powerful witness to
conclude his life of faith.
First, this is
his prayer:
Spirit of God, descend upon my heart;
wean it from earth, through all its pulses move;
stoop to my weakness,
strength to me impart,
and make me love you as I ought to love.
Conversations
were difficult with Dad that last month.
His hearing aids were a constant source of frustration. But on Tuesday of the week he died, Karla had
gotten them cleaned and he could hear again.
Wednesday evening
after supper Karla suggested I should take some time to visit with Dad.
A bit later I
poked my head into his room to enquire what he was watching. It was the Science channel. He was delighted that Karla had given him a
list of all the essential stations on our cable TV. I went outside for a smoke.
When I came back
in, Dad was waiting for me in the living room.
“What? Didn’t you like what was playing on the
Science Channel?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s about
the Big Bang, part of the Cosmos storyline.
But actually, I thought I’d come out and be with you.”
“Dave, could we
talk for a while?”
“Sure, Dad.”
At this point I
was bracing myself. You see, sometimes a
conversation with Dad would turn into a ‘talking to’, and I wanted to shy away
from that.
“I was
wondering,” he continued, “do you have any favorite scripture verse?”
“Well, yes, I
guess I do.”
I fumbled with my
phone as I looked it up. “Ah, here it
is, it’s from 2 Corinthians, Chapter 5”
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new
creation: everything old has passed
away; see, everything has become new! 18 All this is from God, who reconciled
us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation;
19 that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting
their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to
us. 20 So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through
us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
I was going to
continue speaking about how those verses form the basis for my understanding of
ministry. Specifically I wanted to talk
about reconciliation. What I didn’t
realize was that in that moment, what I was experiencing in that conversation
with Dad, was a final reconciliation with him.
But before I could go on, Dad lifted up his hand and stopped me.
“Could you go
back to verse 15, because that’s my favorite verse.”
And he died for all, so that those who live
might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for
them.
For
Dad this verse summed up his theology.
Christ died for us, so that, and the SO THAT was important to Dad, so
that we might live for him. God loves
us, SO THAT, we in turn might love him.
Hence the prayer:
And make me love you as I ought to love. .
.
I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
no sudden rending of the veil of
clay,
no
angel visitant, no opening skies;
but take the dimness of my soul
away.
“I have another
favorite,” he continued, “one that I haven’t been able to preach on for quite
some time, which is a shame because I have a great story to go with it. The road to Emmaus. You know when they say "Are you the only
stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there
in these days?"
“Well, in 1943 a
man walked into a drug store and asked the clerk for a tube of tooth
paste. ‘Where’s your old tube?’ the
clerk responded.
‘What do you
mean, where’s your old tube?’
‘You have to turn
in the old tube, to get a new tube.
Where have you been, young man, don’t you know there’s a war on?’
What the clerk
didn’t realize was that the man standing there was Jimmy Doolittle, who had
just returned from leading the first bombing mission against the main islands
of Japan. They had launched 16 B25
bombers from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet.
Unable to return to the carrier with the fuel they had on board they
flew on to China where they parachuted out and were recovered by the Chinese
underground.
‘Yes, maam,’
Doolittle responded, ‘I am aware there is a war on.’
“Are you the only
stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there
in these days?”
Dad imagined
Jesus responding much as Doolittle did, “well yes, in fact I do know what has
taken place these last few days.” He
talked about how Jesus, just as Doolittle had been on the frontlines of the
battle in the Pacific, had been on the frontlines of the battle, winning
salvation for all of us. And he died for all, so that those who live
might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for
them.
We went on to
share how each of us wished that we might have listened in on the conversation
that followed, when Jesus interpreted to them the things about himself in all
the scriptures.
And make me love you as I ought to love. .
.
Have you not bid me, love you, God and
King;
all, all your own, soul, heart,
and strength, and mind?
I
see your cross; there teach my heart to cling.
Oh, let me seek you and, oh, let
me find!
Last summer,
while Dad was visiting us prior to moving in with us this fall, our grandson,
his great grandson, Jasper came over to visit.
Jasper did, what
Jasper always did, which is run into the house and climb up into my lap.
Dad looked at him
and said, “I hope one day that he will run to me, like he runs to you.”
One of the
differences between Mom and Dad is that Mom absolutely loved little
children. If the whole world was
populated with kids five years old and younger, Mom would be in heaven.
Dad, on the other
hand, was never quite sure how to show his love to a young child. It just didn’t come as naturally to him.
But he tried.
One of the first
days he was with us in Sandpoint, he picked up Jasper on his lap and began to
teach Jasper how to count to five on his fingers.
And as the weeks
rolled on, Jasper began to seek out Dad, to hug him and kiss him. For Dad it was a final wish, fulfilled.
One of the
struggles both our parents had was with being outwardly affectionate. One of our in-laws once described their
behavior as “matter of fact South Dakotan”.
They were typical
Norwegian Americans, deeply faithful and loving, but not exceptionally
expressive of that love. I’m told,
however, that Dad was quite the romantic guy when he was dating mom. Poems, love letters, and the like.
I can see now,
the depth of their love for us. It was
not always possible for me to see through that Scandinavian facade. But they showed it in their own way.
Dad did it, in
part, as a builder, something that I can relate to as a builder myself.
His first major
project for the family was the living room furniture that we lovingly call the
‘egg’ furniture. It’s all
elliptical. Quite an engineering feat. Also during this, his egg phase, he built a
camping trailer, also an ellipse.
In Ronan, his
first call, back about 1960 he began building a boat, which was first launched
at Boysen Reservoir in Wyoming in 1964. A
year or so later we would enjoy a vacation cruising about Jackson Lake one of
the epic adventures for our family.
That boat, the
Pastor’s Study, would accompany us to South Dakota, which Dad would point out
has more shoreline than the State of California.
We fished, we
cruised along the lake shore, we played Canasta, especially when it rained, and
we swam off the boat while Dad hung over the stern fixing the motor, once
again.
The boat made one
last journey, and that was to the Flathead Valley where it was originally
intended to be.
In 1976 they
bought the lake place at Elmo, built a boat house, and guest quarters, with the
intent that like the boat, the cabin would be our gathering point as a family,
which it has been. And his final
building project was to have been an airplane, so the two of them could fly to
visit all of us during their retirement years.
That plane didn’t get done, but he did complete an ultralight.
“Teach me to
love.”
His prayer.
The things he
built, were all ways he expressed his love to his family.
For Dad there
were two loves of his life that simply could not be separated.
His love of the
Lord and his love of his family.
He wrote a poem
for Arden’s wedding that sums this up, one verse reads:
“God, grant this grace,
The gift of light,
They may live with Thee
Who dwells in light
And is the light
In the midst of a shadowed world.”
There were times
when it seemed as though he was trying far too hard to make us love God as we
ought to love.
He would write
letters expressing a concern that we were tending to our faith in Christ Jesus.
His fear was that
we wouldn’t be faithful, and that we would separate ourselves from our
ancestors for all eternity.
There were two
sides to Dad’s theology. There is the
Love of God that was poured out for us in Christ Jesus, a love freely
and graciously given, and there is the Love for God that we are called
to return.
This was the
second part of the covenant that Dad was so concerned about.
Dad showed his
love for us, by providing a place for us to be together.
First, the living
room furniture.
Then the Boat.
Then the Cabin.
And his final
hope, was that we would all gather together, as one family, in heaven.
This is how Dad
learned to love, cumbersome at times, offensive at times, but it was Dad.
And make me love you as I ought to love. .
.
Teach me to love you as your angels love,
one holy passion filling all my frame;
the baptism of the heav’n descended dove,
my heart the altar, and your love the flame.
Our conversation
that Wednesday night, went on for a bit longer.
We covered a few different topics.
And then we winded it down.
“Dave, I hope we
can have many more conversations like this.”
“I do too, Dad.”
The next morning
Dad died.
For ninety four
years he lived, faithfully, ever aware of the love of God from which nothing in
all of creation could separate him.
And for ninety
four years he sought as he was able to love God, and others, in return.
“I don’t know if I’m lucky to live so long, or
unlucky because I’m not with Jesus.” He would say as he considered his age.
On Thursday, September
28th, early in the morning, he became a lucky man.
A kiss for mom.
A hug for his
Dad, Olen, and his step mom, Louise.
No doubt a long
cuddle with Alice, his mother, who died when he was but a child.
And I have a
feeling that in short order there would be a spirited conversation about things
that matter with Maurice, his brother that he loved so dearly. Each one raising their voice a little louder
as they debated the things of the day, as they had whenever they got together.
And then,
worship. Gathered around the throne with
those he loved, there would be worship and praise.
And perhaps, many
more surprises.
“When
the evening gently closes in,
And you shut your weary eyes,
I’ll
be there as I have always been,
With just one more surprise.”
These were the
last words he memorized, likely the last words he wrote down, as well.
The final hymn he
memorized was all about the promise. I
was there to hear your Borning Cry.
Sing it with me
now.
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