My Christmas Mug

It is Christmas morning 2020. While Lily, our Border collie, and I have been outside in the darkness the coffee pot has been filling drip by drip. As I look up into the heavens and pray that my body will be a living sacrifice and my mind renewed on this Christmas Day (Romans 12:1-2), I am aware that the body will require coffee to lift the rocket alertly and joyfully off the ground.

Back in the kitchen, as I select my Christmas mug my vision moves to Christmas 1989, our first Christmas in Richmond, VA…thirty-one years past…could it have really been that long ago? But it isn’t just Christmas 1989 that I’m seeing, it is also a frigid night in February 1989; for without that frigid February night there would have been no Christmas mug.

I suppose I should say, lest you misconceive what this mug looks like, that it does not look like anything associated with Christmas. It is not green and red, it does not have Santa and reindeer or stockings and chimneys or snowmen and sleighs. We do indeed have mugs of that ilk that we display and use during Christmas. Our decorative Christmas mugs are packed and unpacked each year, but the Christmas mug is in the cupboard all yearlong and I use it throughout the year along with other old and comfortable mugs.

The Christmas mug is five inches tall and holds 16 ounces. It is ceramic with a light grey background, with two adult mallard ducks on one side and a smaller mallard on the other side. No one who sees this mug has any reason to associate it with Christmas; a mug-thief would not steal this mug for his Christmas collection.

On the February night in question, I received a phone call from the maintenance supervisor of a townhouse rental community I managed in the Lakeside section of metropolitan Richmond; he told me that most of the homes were suddenly without heat. Since the temperatures were below 20 degrees, this was an emergency. As I drove the approximately twenty miles from home to the property, I wondered what the problem could be. Had this been a high rise community with a central heating system we’d know where to begin, but each of these townhouses had individual gas furnaces, so why would they all stop working at once? I realized that the problem must be the fuel supply, it must be the natural gas, why weren’t the furnaces getting the gas to burn? Since I had only been on my job about three weeks and was still learning the properties in my portfolio, I would have to wait until I got to the community for investigate further.  

O my was it cold, as my great-great Aunt Martha would say, it was “bitter cold.” Cold and windy and snowy. By the time I arrived at the community, the City of Richmond’s natural gas utility department was there and had diagnosed the problem; the gas lines had frozen. Moisture in the exterior gas lines that fed the individual townhomes had frozen, blocking the flow of natural gas to the furnaces – this would be a long night under the blankets for the residents of the community. There was nothing we could do until the temperatures began rising in the morning.

The next day I was back at the property around 11:00 A.M., the gas service having been restored as soon as possible earlier in the morning. Restoring the service entailed more than simply waiting for the lines to thaw, it also meant going into each of the one hundred fifty homes and lighting the pilots on the stoves, furnaces, and water heaters. This was a two-person job, one of our employees working with an employee of the utility department.

As I was in the business office reviewing the situation with the property manager, the maintenance supervisor came in and said, “Bob, we have a problem with unit 423. When we went into the place to light the appliances we could hardly walk through the living room to the kitchen because there was so much stuff in the house; books and newspapers and magazines piled high from the floor so that there is only a narrow pathway to get from one end of the room to the other. When we got to the kitchen there were unwashed dishes and pots and pans piled high in the sink and on the counters; the stove was crusted over with food. Nothing looked like it had been cleaned in years.”

“Bob, the smell was so bad that we could hardly breathe. When we went back outside the Richmond utility worker vomited…it was that bad.”

When I was in property management and people asked me what I did, I never could explain it. I might say something like, “In the morning I may be in a meeting with bankers and in the afternoon I may be looking at raw sewage in a manhole.” Everyday had its own challenges, many of them unexpected, such as a community losing its natural gas fuel supply or finding out that one of your residents is a hoarder, a health risk, and a fire risk.

“What’s the resident’s name?” I asked.

“Mary Wells,” Frank the supervisor said.

I looked at the property manager and said, “Alice, would you please pull her file for me? Frank and I are going to visit her and I want to review it when I get back.”

I gave the door three light knocks and then was looking at Mary Wells. She was around forty-five years old, modestly dressed, and did not in any manner resemble a crazy-cat-lady.

“Good morning Miss Wells. I’m Bob Withers with King Properties, I imagine you know why we’re here. May we please come in?”

“Of course,” she replied as she stepped back into her living room and gestured for us to enter.

There was barely enough room for Frank, Ms. Wells, and me to stand together as I surveyed the first floor of her townhouse. From wall to wall, from floor but not quite to ceiling, were stacks of magazines, books, newspapers, paper bags, and boxes; with only a narrow walkway to get to the kitchen and to the stairs leading to the second floor.

I took a few moments to take it all in before saying, “Ms. Wells, this needs to be cleaned up within thirty days. I’ll be sending you a letter confirming this and we’ll be back in thirty days to inspect your home. As you are probably aware, this is a health hazard and a fire hazard.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said as Frank and I left her home. There was no need for me to look at the kitchen, no need to prolong the uncomfortable visit, no need to embarrass the lady, no need to tread further into the private life of another person. And yet, the life of Mary Wells wasn’t private anymore because when you rent a place to live you make a covenant with the landlord to take reasonable care of the property and to not endanger the health and welfare of your neighbors.

Alice had Ms. Wells’ file ready for me when I returned to the rental office. As I sat and read through it I asked myself, “Who is this person? Who is she and why is her home in its current state?” Mary Wells had lived at Lakeside Manor for about fifteen years, she had always paid her rent on time and there had been no complaints about her from other residents or staff. Mary was an RN who had been with her current employer, Metropolitan Hospital, for eighteen years. Her nearest relative, the person to notify in case of emergency, was a daughter who lived in California.

As I thought about what I was reading, about what I had seen in her townhouse, and about the eyes of Mary Wells that I had looked into – not eyes of defiance, not even eyes of embarrassment, but rather eyes of resignation – I thought, “She is in emotional and psychological trouble and I don’t want this to push her over the edge. There is no way she can cleanup her home within thirty days by herself, or even within sixty days – I have to protect her neighbors from a health and fire hazard, but I also want to help her.” I knew that before Mary could climb the physical mountain of decluttering and cleaning her house, that she’d need help in climbing out of the emotional and mental abyss that had devoured her. She’d likely pursue both goals at the same time, but she couldn’t do it alone.

I made a copy of her file and took it with me as I returned to my office. Later that day, with her file open on my desk, I telephoned Metropolitan Hospital and asked for Human Resources. When HR answered my call I asked to speak to the director; after a short wait I began the conversation:

“Hi, I’m Bob Withers with King Properties here in Richmond. I realize this is a highly unusual call, but I’m calling you about a long-term employee of yours who needs your help.”

I then described the events of the past twenty-four hours, leaving out the part when the City of Richmond employee vomited as a result of the stench in Mary’s home. I explained that I had a legal and moral duty to ensure that Mary’s house was safe and sanitary and was not endangering the lives of her neighbors, but that I was also concerned that Mary would be unable to emotionally cope with the requirement that she make her home safe and habitable. I did not want Mary to go over the edge of whatever precipice she was on, and I was certain that Metropolitan Hospital did not want to lose a valued nurse.

The director of HR listened attentively, asked a few questions, and then thanked me for calling. Later that day I sent Mary a letter explaining that she needed to declutter her townhouse, clean it, and that we would inspect her home after thirty days. The letter also indicated that should Mary not comply, that her lease could be terminated. This was a legal notice in accordance with the terms of the lease and the laws of the Commonwealth of Virginia. As much as I cared about Mary, I also cared about her neighbors, about the liability of the owner of the property, and about health and safety and fire codes – I had to fulfill a number of responsibilities in which “time was of the essence.”

About six weeks later I asked Alice and Frank to please inspect Mary’s townhouse. I had given Mary a couple of extra weeks to do what needed to be done, hoping that the news would be good. I was both thankful and relieved when Alice called to tell me that Mary’s home was cleaned and decluttered. Life in property management does not always work out so well, but we do what we can and hope that God will work in people’s lives.

As the year progressed, I didn’t think much about Mary, after all, I had multiple properties and hundreds of residents on my mind; and at any given time, numerous employees and residents were grabbing at me for attention – wanting me to address problems large and small. Plus, of course, the owner of our company expected me to provide good returns on his investments. Thanksgiving Day was sweet that year; Vickie and I and one of the property staffs cooked Thanksgiving dinner for the residents of a senior citizen community close to McGuire VA Medical Center – the local Methodist church let us use its kitchen and dining room - and there were plenty of leftovers for folks to take back to their apartments.

A few days before Christmas 1989, one afternoon as I walked into our corporate office the receptionist said, “Bob, a lady was here this morning and dropped something off for you, it’s in the conference room.”

 

On the conference table was a straw basket, within which was an assortment of hot chocolate mixes and teas, surrounding a tall mug with two adult mallards on the front and a small mallard on the back. A small envelope was in the basket, the note inside said, “Thank you. Mary Wells.”

Who can we give hope to during this season of upheaval and chaos? Who can we help? Who can we encourage? We can all make a difference in the lives of others, someway, somehow.

We often rightly emphasize the wonderful words of John 3:16, “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life.” But what does this look like in our lives? This passage must be more than words, it must be about more than simply saying, “I believe John 3:16.” It must be reflected in our lives as we incarnationally live 1 John 3:16:

“We know love by this, that He laid down His life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.”  Or, as Mark 12:29 – 31 teaches us, we are to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbor as ourselves.

Now you know the story of my Christmas mug.

Lina and Darby

It’s hard to imagine a closer pair of dogs than Lina and Darby. Darby was our shepherd-Lab mix that went to Narnia a little over ten years ago. While Lina and Lily had their own special relationship, Lina and Darby were something else – most always together, and when together often touching.

First it was Chris Ann (Cocker Spaniel) by herself; then Mitzi (likely a border collie mix, about six months old) was rescued from the streets of Richmond by Vickie – so then it was Chris and Mitz. Then Darby was part of a litter rescued by a co-worker of Vickie’s; so then it was Chris, Mitzi, and Darby. Then Chris went to Narnia – and Darby really missed her, looked all over for her. Chris was the older dog and Darby was the puppy.

Years later Mitzi went to Narnia and then it was just Darby. Frankly Darby didn’t appear to miss Mitzi very much; Mitz could be temperamental, but I chalk that up to her troubled puppyhood on the streets of Richmond. Mitz and Darby were with us when we moved to the Boston area, then to the Berkshires, and then back to Chesterfield. They could be buddies and have fun, and they were great at chasing squirrels…but I admit that Mitz could be grouchy at times…a nip here, a nip there…the fruit of a troubled existence on city streets no doubt.

Darby was by herself for a couple of years, I had a tough time getting over the loss of Mitzi…she was my puppy. She didn’t have much use for women, but she liked men; she really liked Vickie’s Dad; in her old age she came to tolerate Vickie, maybe even appreciate her at times.

When we first brought Lina home we let her down on the grass in our fenced backyard, then we let Darby out on the deck to see her new sister – oh my! Darby took one look at Lina and let out a bark that was probably picked up on a seismograph out in Colorado. Poor Lina ran into a corner of the wooden fence with her face toward the fence; “If I can’t see that big thing then maybe that big thing can’t see me.”

Not a good start to a relationship.

Her First Bark

Lina was a quiet puppy, in fact, she didn’t bark for about six months. Then one evening we were in our family room, Lina lay on the hearth rug in front of the fireplace…all was quiet and then Lina barked – she startled us and she startled herself, she was quite surprised. She looked around as if to say, “What was that?”

A sweet memory.

George MacDonald - Ponderings

When I was a boy my mother read George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin to me; it imprinted an image of “otherness” within me, giving me a sense of a world and dimension beyond my own little neighborhood and unpredictable family. That sense was likely the first tug on the rope of Divine grace and drawing. While we sporadically attended church, other than the occasional sense of God looking like Abraham Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial in D.C., my impressions were more apt to be that of formality and propriety. If the statue of Lincoln was lifeless, so sadly my time at church was pretty much lifeless - other than, of course, the girls in Sunday school. I probably had more of a sense of the sacred in the library in Kensington, MD than I did in Kensington's Warner Memorial Presbyterian Church.

C.S. Lewis termed MacDonald “my master”. Writing of MacDonald Lewis says, “The Divine Sonship is the key-conception which unites all the different elements of his thought. I dare not say he is never in error, but to speak plainly I know hardly any other writer who seems to be closer, or more continually close, to the Spirit of Christ Himself.”

Lewis’s quote about MacDonald reminds me of Andrew Murray’s thinking about William Law when Murray published some of Law’s writing; Murray said in effect (I’m too lazy to look up the exact quote), “I know Law isn’t perfect, but I can’t find the quality of life and grace he transmits to others anywhere else.”

Here are some quotes from MacDonald and my ponderings on them:

Man finds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want the best; God finds it hard to give, because He would give the best, and man will not take it. MacDonald.

God really does want the best for us, after all He sent His only begotten Son to die for us, to bear our sins, to suffer for us, to rise for us, and to come and knock at the door of our lives - asking us to let Him inside. The best for us is Jesus, it is an intimate relationship with our heavenly Father. We think the best is hitting the lottery. We think the best consists in “things”, in money, in recognition, in fame, in pleasure. God would not love us if He allowed us to settle for lesser things and experiences; He desires to prepare us for eternity. Now the question is whether we will allow God to prepare us to spend forever with Him or we will insist on preparing ourselves for eternity without Him.

You can't live on amusement. It is the froth on water - an inch deep and then the mud. MacDonald.

Pascal thought that the chief benefit of the rich was that they could pay for entertainment and therefore avoid thinking deeply about life and its meaning. In our age of television and other media, entertainment is now for the masses, and as Neil Postman wrote, we are “amusing ourselves to death.” We are a society that is dying from entertainment; whether sports or video games or music or movies or television or any number of other diversions, we are killing our hearts and minds and souls. We don’t need to go to the Colosseum for the Colosseum now comes to us. Even many churches are now more concerned about entertaining their attendees than tending to their souls. We have become used to the mud, we like it.

Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. MacDonald.

Some of us get old and die, others get old and live. It is never too late to start living, never too late to dig deep into God and to allow God to dig deep into you. When I was a child and we were taking a trip, like most kids I asked, “Are we there yet?” We can have that same sense of expectation as we advance in years, the same excitement when we are in a relationship with Jesus Christ, the One who conquered death and desires to give us new life in Himself. (See 2 Corinthians 5:1 - 10).

How strange this fear of death is! We are never frightened at a sunset. MacDonald.

Of course we seldom talk about death; we must think that if we don’t talk about it that it won’t happen, just like the child who thinks that if he covers his face with his hands and can’t see you, that you can’t see him. We talk about long-term health care but we don’t talk about what happens when we die and don’t need the health care. We may talk about burial versus cremation, but we don’t talk about what happens when we leave this body. If nothing happens, if death is the end - then why aren’t we planning going away parties? Why aren’t we living as if nothing really matters? (Yes, some of us do live that way, but thankfully most of us still don’t...not yet anyway).

God's thoughts, his will, his love, his judgments are all man's home. To think his thoughts, to choose his will, to love his loves, to judge his judgments, and thus to know that he is in us, is to be at home. MacDonald

Of course the sad thing is that when we are born, we are not born “at home.” We are born alienated from God (though there is a mystery with babies and young children that I don’t understand - other than that they are in the Father’s care). Jesus wants us to come home, just as the father of the Prodigal Son yearned for him to come home (Luke Chapter 15). Jesus’ words on the night of His betrayal  (John chapters 13 - 17) are about coming home - about us coming home to God and God coming home to us, within us. We are called to intimacy with the Divine, with the True and Living God. The Father desires to teach his sons and daughters His ways; to teach us His thoughts, His love. When we come to God in Christ we are made His friends. Abraham was called the friend of God. Jesus says to those who know Him that they are His friends (John Chapter 15). God calls us home, God calls us to friendship. Not too bad a thing, to wake up each morning with God as our friend.

Margaret (8)

I’ve been putting this one off. My first post about Margaret was when I came upon a photo of her and was taken back to her story. I wish you could have known her, in the midst of her physical and emotional pain she was reflective, considerate of others, kind. Her husband, Frank Jr., was appreciative of the town’s support and the church’s care for his family - support and care which continues to this day, years after his loss.

Margaret’s memorial service was standing-room only; there were extra chairs in the aisles but still some had to stand. In addition to Cat Mountain folk, there were medical people who had walked with Margaret through the cancer, as well as many business associates who traveled from D.C. and other areas. The service had a time in which people could share their thoughts and memories; there were many. The praise team played and we worshiped God, gave thanks for Margaret, and did our best to let her husband and children know that we loved Margaret and that we loved them.

In my message I shared about Margaret coming to know Jesus, what that means, and about Christ’s victory over death, His Resurrection, and His love for us. Of course I shared my own memories of Margaret, including how deeply she loved her husband and children. As much as I enjoy officiating at weddings, there is something about being with people during grief and loss that makes it a particularly sacred time for me, a humbling time - I am deeply aware of eternity and of God’s love for us in the midst of our sorrow.

Ah yes, my last visit to Margaret, I must write about that. Frank Jr. called me to tell me that things had taken a bad turn and that they didn’t know how long Margaret would live - I told him that I’d be right over. When I got there Frank Sr. opened the door and said, “She’s in her bedroom - Frank (his son) has gone to pick the kids up from school.”

During my drive to Frank and Margaret’s, I prayed and visualized seeing Margaret, just being with her, and trusting God to direct my words, prayers, actions. Opening the bedroom door I walked into a room without any light on and with the curtains drawn, it was dark, I could hardly see Margaret, hardly see the bed. I sat on a dining room chair positioned a couple of feet from the head of the bed. I sat without saying anything - Margaret was restless...after a few moments I softly said, “Margaret, it’s Bob Withers.”

“Get out! Get out! Get out! I don’t want to see you!” I was shocked, confused, taken aback.” I didn’t say anything; I quietly got up, left the room, closing the door.

Frank Sr. was in the hallway between the bedroom and the living room. He looked at me and said, “I told you that she wouldn't buy into your crap. I told you that she’d come to her senses.”

“Thanks Frank,” I said. “Please let Frank (his son) know I’ve been by.”

Instead of driving to my office I drove home. I needed to be by myself for a few minutes. I had not anticipated the experience; I wanted to help, to comfort, to just be there and not say anything, to just pray...anything but be told to “Get out, I don’t want to see you!”

Then there was Frank Senior’s satisfaction on seeing me leave the bedroom after only being there for a minute or two. His satisfaction at thinking that Margaret had come to her senses and rejected the “crap” he termed the love of Jesus. Those moments don’t quite have the edge that they once did, but they are still real - and I wonder why Frank Sr. derived such satisfaction from his perception that Margaret had rejected faith in Christ.

Well, as I described above, Margaret’s memorial service was poignant and holy. I knew that Margaret was so heavily medicated when I visited her that her actions and words didn’t represent the person I’d come to know. Do I wish my last visit had been different? Of course; but I’ve seen how medication can disorient a reasonably healthy person, and I know what it can do to those gravely ill. Some of us tolerate drugs better than others - I’ve watched people close to me react badly to medications and hallucinate - to the point where they would rather deal with the physical pain than the emotional and psychic distress and fright that comes with hallucinations. As I recall, Pope John Paul II wanted to die without drugs during his last illness - he wanted to know what was going on, he wanted to commune with God, he wanted to be an example to us all. Well, God is gracious to us wherever we are in our tolerance of pain; we all handle these things differently. We can be assured that our Father in heaven is kind and merciful to us and that He cares for us in our distress and sickness and weakness.

Our relationship with Frank Jr. and the children continued, and Fran, Margaret’s mother-in-law, started attending church with her son and grandchildren. I continued to see Frank Sr. from time to time about town, and was always cordial to him. Frank Jr. moved back to the D.C. area before the next school year, and after a few years remarried. Fran has become more and more involved in church life, attending an ALPHA course and then working as an ALPHA group leader.

We exchange Christmas cards with Frank Jr. with little notes updating one another - the kids seem to be doing well and their new mom is a blessing.

Margaret's photo will continue to remind me of a remarkable woman who came to know Jesus in the little town of Cat Mountain.

Margaret (7)

When the end came it came quickly. It’s not a time I care to think about. We prayed and prayed for healing for Margaret, but she died. Healing and other miracles are mysteries to me, sometimes the fulness of the Kingdom invades life and we get a taste of our future resurrection, and sometimes we don’t. I do know that when we don’t pray that we are less likely to see healings than when we do pray. I think the Bible is pretty clear that we are to pray for healing and that gifts of healing are available for the Body of Christ - but I’ll leave it at that for now.

Margaret was with us through the ALPHA course and then another four months. My weekly visits continued; others brought meals to the family and made brief visits, the town of Cat Mountain did all it could to support Frank and Margaret and their family through this tragic and sad time. I have often thought that I’d like to die in Cat Mountain, for time after time I’ve seen the people of that little town gather around families in crisis with substantive support - it’s a place where people take care of each other. It isn’t that folks are perfect, but when there is a need they do their best to help.

I recall the time that Joan Ewing, a single mom, was injured in a car accident and out of work for seven months. Folks in the town put on fundraising events and even a town fair to raise money for living expenses and medical bills. That’s what I mean about people helping one another.

During my weekly visits to Margaret occasionally Frank Sr. would be there, for months no reference was made to our encounter in Winchester, but then, about a month before Margaret left us, during one of my visits he followed me out to the car and said, “Bob, like I said before, Margaret isn’t going to buy this religious trash, she is too smart for it. She may have attended your little course, she may have even gone to church a couple of times, and I don’t know what she tells you when you are with her, but I’m telling you that she will come to her senses and realize that what you are peddling is nothing but a crutch and that no thinking person can possibly believe it. If she doesn’t realize it now, she will before she dies. You are wasting your time.”

I couldn’t believe the tone of Frank Sr.’s voice, I couldn’t believe the look in his eyes; at least right then I couldn’t. Sure, I’ve encountered it from time to time, but seldom with the venom that came from Frank Sr. It was if his personal mission was to ensure that Margaret died opposing the Gospel, repudiating everything she’d come to believe over the past few months, rejecting the source of comfort she’d found, abandoning her hope.

When I was a young follower of Jesus Christ, a teenager, I saw the distinction between the way that Christ-followers die and the way that most other people die; I also saw the comfort that Christians have when they lose a loved one who knows Jesus. It isn’t that the separation caused by death isn’t painful - of course it is...but the love of Christ and the certainty of our being with Him transcends the pain, the loss, and becomes a presence with us as we walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. We don’t deny the reality of death or its grief, but nor do we consider it the end of the story, and in our trust in Christ and His love we allow Him to walk with us through the dark times, the times of sorrow, knowing that Easter comes after Good Friday - both in His life and in ours in Him.

I’ve lived long enough now to have experienced the loss of people whom I love dearly, I look forward to being again with those who know Christ - this is not wishful thinking, it isn’t some hocus pocus conjuring up of happy thoughts or positive thinking, it is a present reality in my life that is grounded in my relationship with Jesus Christ and in His Word. When I think of these dear ones I can look backward...and I also look forward.

What possesses someone like Frank Sr. to want to dash and destroy hope in others? Why would he want to rob his daugher-in-law of her newfound faith in Jesus Christ? Well, of course this happens all the time in institutions, whether in government or education or business, or even in churches - but to see it up close and personal...it is like it happened yesterday.

I still need to relate my last visit with Margaret….

Margaret (6)

I need not have wondered whether Margaret would be at the next ALPHA gathering, or the next, or the next, for despite her father-in-law’s attitude toward the Gospel Margaret was her own person and thanks to her neighbors, Shirley and Ralph, she was able to be at every ALPHA evening and attend our weekend retreat.

Margaret injected a special joy into our ALPHA dinners, telling funny stories about her family and herself. Whichever table she sat at in our church dining hall was the group whose laughter filled the room with energy - the rest of us wanted to be at Margaret’s table. Since Vickie often sat with Margaret I would ask her after the evening was over, “What was so funny?” and she’d tell me what Margaret had shared to get her group laughing until they cried.

As I mentioned before, after dinner and the night’s presentation, when we split into small groups, Margaret was focused on the needs of others...listening, asking questions, caring. As we explored ALPHA’s subject matter her questions about God and Jesus and the Bible were thoughtful - she was not “buying” anything she heard without carefully considering the evidence.

While Margaret never focused on herself, when asked how she was doing she would give us the latest on her cancer, and as the weeks passed we could see her growing weaker and weaker...yet every week she came to ALPHA. Occasionally she and Frank and the kids came to church, but it was difficult for her and Frank to get the children ready on Sunday mornings.

The week after my first visit I stopped by her home again, thus beginning a pattern of weekly visits, some longer, some shorter, depending on how Margaret was feeling. Frank was often home, working remotely, and Fran, Frank’s mom was usually there - when Fran wasn’t there Frank Sr. would greet me; he was always polite and no mention was made of our conversation in Winchester.

The first few ALPHA evenings centered around the following topics: Christianity: Boring, Untrue, and Irrelevant?; Who Is Jesus?; Why Did Jesus Die?; How Can I Be Sure of My Faith?; Why and How Should I Read the Bible?; Why and How Do I Pray?

A couple of days after we explored “Why and How Do I Pray?” I was visiting Margaret when she said, “Bob, I’ve come to know Jesus. I’m sitting with Him on the loveseat. I feel like He has been drawing me to Himself ever since I started ALPHA. I’ve asked Him to show Himself to me and He has. I’ve asked Him to forgive my sins and He has. I don’t want to die and leave Frank and my children, I really don’t want to die; but if I do die I know that I’ll be with Jesus...but I really don’t want to die.”

As I listened to Margaret I thought of my own mother who died when I was 17 years old; my brother Bill was 15, and my brother Jim was 12 - she left three children and it was likely that Margaret was going to leave three children (while I had not given up hope for healing - I had to face the situation as it was). I thought of other young mothers I’d known who left life all too early. I have wondered what my life might have been like if my mom had lived...perhaps I would have been more focused and stable in my early adult years, I would like to think so. I wonder what it would have been like for Mom to have known her grandchildren. I think of things I would like to talk to her about. I know so little about my mother’s childhood and her college years, how she met my father - actually I know next to nothing - I was too self-centered when she was alive to care about anyone but myself.

I listen to Margaret, and as I listen I silently pray for her and her family. My role is to be with them through this season of life; to listen, to pray, to share God’s love and grace, to hopefully help them come into a deep relationship with Jesus Christ. If we’re not accidents looking for a place to happen, if we aren’t the products of a cosmic roll of the dice, then this life is a prelude to beyond this life, and because of that this life matters - how we live matters, whether or not we are living in the life of God in Christ matters, the pathway we are on matters, knowing Jesus matters.

We are all going to die; some of us sooner and some of us later - the death rate on the planet is 100%. This isn’t morbid, this is common sense, it is reality. I just read of a study that found that people who had recently visited a cemetery were more likely to treat other people better than they usually do. There is value in realizing that we are all mortal, we can all be crushed by a car, die from pneumonia, or be killed in a freak accident - longevity is not guaranteed. We have a friend who, the Lord willing, will turn 100 years old in a couple of months; he is still active, tilling his garden, riding on the back of a jet ski, his mind is still agile - but he won’t live forever - this isn’t morbid, it’s the way it is because our DNA has been polluted by sin and death - we weren’t designed to die, we were designed to live. In Christ we have the promise and certainty of eternal life, of restoration to our eternal original destiny in God.

Why don’t people talk about the most important thing in life, why don’t we talk about God and life and death? We talk about graduating from school, about our jobs, our families, even politics, but we don’t talk about eternal matters. We are bombarded about planning for retirement and long-term care insurance; we have anxiety over Social Security...why aren’t we concerned about dying? Do we think that if we close our eyes it won’t happen?

Death for some people will be a graduation into the Kingdom of God and the Presence of Jesus Christ; for others death will be…

Margaret (5)

A couple of days after my visit with Margaret I was in Winchester shopping at a big-box pet supply store. After leaving the store I pushed my shopping cart over to my pick-up truck and began loading dog food into the truck bed when I noticed a man walking toward me, it was Frank Sr., Margaret’s father-in-law. I didn’t really know Frank Sr., having only seen him in passing at the Cat Mountain General Store or the Cat Mountain post office - we had always politely acknowledged each other but had never had a conversation.

Extending my hand I said, “Well hi Frank,how are you?”

As we shook hands he replied, “I’m fine Bob. Fran told me that you were over to visit Margaret.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I thought I’d mention that she isn’t going to buy any of your religious merchandise. She’s too smart for that - you’re wasting your time.”

“Thanks for your insight Frank.”

“If she wants to get out of the house and go down to the church once a week that’s probably good for her, good for her to be around people, but beyond that she isn’t going to fall for using a religious crutch during her illness, religion is for weak people, weak-minded, and weak-willed.”

“Well again Frank, thank you for your insight. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Help me? I don’t need any help. Just thought I’d tell you the way things are.”

“Thanks for coming over to talk Frank, have a great afternoon.”

With that I finished loading the dog food and headed home, back to Cat Mountain. Well, at least Frank Sr. was upfront about where he stood with his thinking. I hadn’t detected such an attitude with his wife Fran, but then again I hadn’t really talked much to her during my visit to Margaret’s - just pleasantries.

I wondered why Frank Sr. would want to deprive Margaret of any possible comfort she might derive from considering the Gospel, from hearing that “God so loved the world…” I knew that he was retired from the faculty of the regional community college, but beyond that I didn’t know anything about Frank.

If death is the end of the line then why does it matter what we believe? It wouldn’t make any difference to Margaret either way - whether Frank was right nor not it wouldn’t matter if the grave is the last stop. If Margaret could derive comfort from believing something not true why the big deal?

On the other hand, if what Jesus says about Himself is true, if He is not a liar or a lunatic, but if He really is the Son of God, then it does matter; it matters what Margaret believes and it matters what Frank Sr. believes - for when we believe in Jesus and trust Him something happens inside us, it’s a miracle, we come into a relationship with the Living God. C.S. Lewis pondered how this could be, how could the death of someone 2,000 years ago affect us today? While I don’t know that Lewis fully answered the question, he did discover that it could indeed affect our lives today, in fact it could change our lives today - for the Man who suffered and died and rose again comes into the lives of those who desire a relationship with Him today and, mystery of mysteries, He gives them new life, His very own Divine life.

I don’t know why Frank Sr. was so opposed to Margaret hearing the Gospel. My own father was like that for most of his life - vehemently opposed to any discussion of religion, of church, of God, of Jesus. Is the Gospel a threat? Does it represent the possibility that we’ve been wrong all of our lives about there being no purpose in life, no existence beyond death? Perhaps the idea of not being the center of the universe is too much, of surrendering life to God and truly worshipping Him as God and dedicating life to Him?

Maybe some have only seen darkness in the church; charlatans, cheats, liars, adulterers? Margaret had little use for the church in any form when I met her - she had seen too much religious ugliness in the clergy and in congregations while growing up. Perhaps still others have had their minds poisoned by prejudiced teachers and professors who have done their best to close the minds of their students to eternal truth - academic pressure can be difficult to resist.

As I drove home from Winchester I pondered my brief encounter with Frank Sr. I wondered what Frank Jr. thought about spiritual things. I wondered where Margaret’s mother-in-law, Fran, stood in all of this, what did she think? I wondered if Margaret would come to the next ALPHA evening.

Margaret (5)

“Margaret,” I said, “I don’t pretend to know why you and your family are going through this, but I do know this, that Jesus loves you and wants to walk with you and Frank and the children through it. He wants you to know His love and how much He cares for you.”

“One of the images I have of the relationship Jesus wants with us is that of a loveseat, kind of like the sofa you’re on right now, but instead of being a long sofa it is an image of a small loveseat. Of course it’s called a loveseat because only two people can sit on it and when they sit on it they are close together - it’s the kind of furniture that lovers like to sit on because they’re close, they’re touching, they can look into each other’s eyes, they can feel each other’s skin, they can whiff each other’s scent, they can even feel each other’s breath. The man can put his arm around the woman and hold her close.

“This is want Jesus wants, He wants us to sit on the loveseat with Him, He wants us to be close to Him. He wants us to know how much He loves us, He wants us to allow Him to love us, to receive His love, and to love Him, to know Him.

“The Bible tells us that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, God loves us. The Bible also tells us that the greatest commandment is that we are to love God with all that we are - so you see God wants a love relationship with us.

“But sadly there is another image that a lot of us have about God, I used to have it and in listening to you it looks like you’ve also had it - it’s an image of a ladder that we can never climb, at least not to the top to get to God. We climb a few rungs and we slip down, we climb a few more and we slip again. God is at the top of the ladder and it is as if He is saying, ‘You aren’t good enough, you don’t measure up, you will never measure up, you will never be accepted. Keep working, keep working, I am not pleased with you, keep working.’ Nothing we can do can ever please Him. It is like He has a big wooden spoon looking for us to mess up so He can hit us with the spoon.”

As I shared my thoughts Margaret kept eye contact with we, listening to every word; I could tell she was thinking, processing, considering.

“Margaret, Jesus died and rose again to bring you to Himself, He loves you, He wants you on the loveseat with Him, He wants to hold you, He wants you to know His love. He has His arms out for you and He is saying, ‘Come Margaret, sit down here next to Me and know My love.’ ”

I could tell Margaret was getting tired so I asked, “Can I pray before I go?” She said I could and after a short prayer I said goodbye to her and Fran, saying that I hoped to see her at ALPHA the following week and Margaret saying that she looked forward to it.

The image of a ladder and a loveseat came to me a couple of years before Margaret and Frank moved to Cat Mountain. I was preaching through the Gospel of Mark on Sunday mornings when I came to a passage that was one of the first that I’d learned as a new Christian, Mark 12:28 - 34, what we know as The Great Commandment, to love God with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength; with the second commandment being to love others as ourselves. I don’t know about other pastors or preachers, but with me often the most familiar passages are the most difficult for me to preach or teach because I need to step back and approach them anew and not assume that because I know them so well that I really know them. I wrestled with this passage - so simple on its surface at first glance, but what does it really mean?

It dawned on me that God wants a love relationship above all else, otherwise why is this the Great Commandment? Jesus didn’t say that the foremost commandment was to learn the Bible or the catechism, or preach or teach Sunday school, or learn all the doctrines of the church, or to dress a certain way or talk a certain way or any number of other things - He said the first and greatest commandment was to love God with all that we are...that means we are in relationship with Him, intimate relationship with Him.

For sure we can’t love God unless He first loves us, and the Good News is that He loves us; He gave Jesus for us, and Jesus gave Himself for us - to bring us from spiritual death to spiritual life, to wash away our sins and give us new life in Himself...to give us His very own life living within us.

The Sunday I preached on Mark 12:28 - 34 I moved the pulpit away from the platform and placed a loveseat on one end of the platform and a step ladder on the other end. As we as a congregation worked through the passage I moved from the ladder to the loveseat and back to the ladder and then to the loveseat, concluding the message on the loveseat. I knew that most of us lived on the ladder, thinking that we’d never measure up to God’s expectations and that therefore we lived in insecurity, not being sure of where we stood with God, not being sure if He really accepted us. Images can be liberating or they can be debilitating, many of us live with debilitating images, images that cripple us, sometimes crushing us.

We can’t do anything to earn God’s acceptance, this is why Jesus Christ came and died and rose for us...we just can’t do anything. We are incapable of loving Him or others in and of ourselves, but when we open ourselves to Him a miracle happens, yes it is a miracle, we are given new life and life goes from black and white and gray to Technicolor. The trouble with many Christians is that they climb down from the loveseat and climb back up on the ladder - no wonder people become disillusioned - it is like clipping the wings of a healthy eagle so it has to live with chickens, pecking feed from the ground. Then those who don’t yet know Jesus see professing Christians on a ladder, often a ladder of self-righteousness and judgmental attitudes, or a ladder of despair, and a ladder of contradictions, and they think, “I’m not getting on that, I’m out of here.”

I wanted to give Margaret an image that she could ponder, an image of hope, an image of life, an image of love...the image of a loveseat.

What about you? What is your image of your relationship with God in Christ? Are you on a ladder or a loveseat?

Margaret (3)

As the first ALPHA evening progressed a pattern was set in our small group for all subsequent meetings (there were about ten weekly sessions and one weekend retreat). No question or comment was out of bounds, and Margaret cared about people. After her introduction, “Hi. I’m Margaret, I’m married with three small children and I’m dying of cancer and that’s why I’m here,” she was asked if she was okay sharing the specifics of her condition, which she did. After that, Margaret was full of questions about faith, about God, and about Jesus - and she was full of questions about the other people in the room. When others shared doubts or tough things they had gone through or were going through right then, Margaret wanted to listen, to understand, and to connect.

Another pattern that was set that first evening was that if humor could be found in something Margaret would find it, and that included telling stories about herself and her family. Her laughter was contagious and there were evenings people were moved to tears as they doubled over with laughter.

Margaret was there that night because shortly after she and Frank moved to Cat Mountain their neighbors, Shirley and Ralph Bennett, came over to introduce themselves. When they learned of Margaret’s illness they made it a point to be available to help Frank and Margaret in any way possible. Shirley and Ralph were committed followers of Jesus Christ, and when they heard about the ALPHA program, a program designed to engage those who are skeptical about, and even hostile to, the Gospel, they told Margaret about it and offered to drive her to the program and then pick her up when it was over. Margaret was with us because other people cared enough to ask her to come and to drive her both ways.

How many people live around us who are experiencing tough times, but we don’t know about it because we don’t seek to know others? Then there are those who we know are going through tough times, but we fail to reach out to them, we make excuses, and then one day they are gone and it is too late to touch them. There is always the good-old standby, “I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t know what to do.” Let’s remind ourselves that more than anything people who are hurting just need to know that others care about them - just to be with those in pain and distress is not at times the only thing we can do, it is also often the only thing others desperately need.

Margaret needed people to be there with her and Frank and their children, but she also needed to be there for others - she didn’t quit living because she was dying; she didn’t quit caring, she didn’t quit laughing. She was the best listener in our group over those ten weeks; perhaps that was because she knew every moment matters, every word matters, every person matters. She was also perhaps the most transparent person in our group - what’s the point with pretending to be someone you are not when you only have months to live...at most. Perhaps we can learn from that too.

The first evening of ALPHA gets right to the point with the question, “Who is Jesus?” Jesus is either who He said He is - in which case He means everything; or He is not who He said He is, in which case He means nothing. The ALPHA presentation utilizes a straightforward approach, popularized by C.S. Lewis who drew on others in developing it: Jesus is either Lord, Liar, or Lunatic - take your pick. What Jesus cannot be is a good man, that is impossible.

Here’s a quote from Lewis along this line from Mere Christianity:

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

As the evening concluded I wondered what Margaret thought about Jesus, I wondered what she thought about what Lewis had written, I wondered if she would return the  following week. As she was getting ready to leave with her neighbors I asked her if I could call her and come visit - she gave me her phone number.

A couple of mornings later I called to see how she was feeling and whether I could visit her - she told me that the afternoon would be great...