7th Sunday after
Pentecost: July 15, 2012
Isaiah 43:1-7
Song of Solomon 8:6-7
John 11:1-6, 17-35
PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith
"Many Waters Cannot Quench Love"
Grace and peace to you
from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Lately I’ve
been following the story of a friend on her CaringBridge site. She’s a cyber
friend, really—a woman I met through an online support community for
infertility and pregnancy loss. Kendrah had a massive stroke in April at just
35 years old. She is still in the hospital, struggling to walk, to talk, and to
care for herself. Her three young children are being raised by relatives while
she recovers. Her husband , a doctor himself, is at her bedside every moment
that he’s not caring for his own patients.
Kendrah’s story
has been inspiring to read, and she’s made great strides considering she was
not expected to live, much less recover. But the other day her husband wrote
that in spite of her physical victories, Kendrah is struggling spiritually. He
teased her one day as she was working on her walking exercises: “Come on, have
a little faith”, and she snapped right back: “I have no faith…it’s all used
up.”
Most weeks,
I would have read this and stopped to say a prayer for Kendrah myself. I might
have written her an encouraging note, reminding her how God is with her in her
struggles, how Jesus knows her pain, and how the Holy Spirit gives us strength beyond
measure.
But this
week, her words “I have no faith—it’s all used up” hit too close to home for
me. Our faith has surely been tested here at Bethany the last few months. There
has been too much sadness, too many funerals, too much cancer, too many young
people, gone too soon.
Monday
morning I called the Kearns family to let them know I was thinking of them on
what would have been Jennifer’s 20th birthday. And then Monday night,
barely 12 hours later, I was in the hospital watching a strong, handsome 18
year old young man lie in a bed that could barely hold his 6 foot 1 inch frame,
as a machine breathed for him. I prayed and read Scripture with Connor’s mom
and dad, but I could hardly believe it was happening again. Another young life
cut short senselessly. Inside, I was crying out: “Why, God?” What is the
purpose of so much suffering? How much can one family, one congregation, one
community take? How much can one pastor take, for that matter? In the words of
Psalm 13:
“How long, O
Lord? Will you forget me forever? How
long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and
have sorrow in my heart all day long?”
If you came
to church today so your pastor could tell you all the answers or explain why
this had to happen, I’m afraid you’ll be going home disappointed. I have at
least as many questions as you. Here are a few that may sound familiar:
Why do young
people die?
Why should
any mother or father have to bury a child?
Why do 8
year old girls get brain tumors?
Why do
talented teachers get Parkinson’s and lose the ability to speak?
Why don’t we
have a vaccine for cancer or a cure for mental illness?
Most of all,
this week, I would like to know: Where were you, God, when Connor was in the
water on Monday?
Believe it
or not, seminary didn’t provide me with all these answers.
As I sat
vigil with Jan and Brian at Connor’s bedside this week, I knew I didn’t possess any good answers or
magic prayers. But I did have time, and a Bible—and so I turned to Scripture.
The readings
we heard this morning are a few that spoke to me this week, and I hope they
might speak to you, too, as we struggle through this grief together.
The first verses
I came across were from Isaiah, chapter 43:
“But now
thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do
not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When
you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they
shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and
the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of
Israel, your Saviour.”
At first,
these verses hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to throw them back in God’s
face to say: “But, wait! When Connor passed through the waters, they did
overwhelm him! Where were you!”
But then I
went back to read the first part again: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I
have called you by name, you are mine.”
Before
Connor was ever in the Fox River, he passed through other waters. Connor was
baptized in water right here at Bethany. His mom and dad brought him to this
very font when he was 2 years old, and it was there that he heard the words,
“Connor Nelson, you are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Spirit.” And then, as a cross was traced on his forehead he heard
the words, “Connor Nelson, child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy
Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”
In baptism,
God called Connor by name. From that day forward, he belonged to Christ. Our
faith teaches us that our baptism gives us our identity. It is a great comfort
to me to know that no matter what the newspaper headlines say, Connor will
never be the “Crystal Lake man pulled from river”, but he is and always will be
“Connor Nelson Priesz, child of God.”
Another
Scripture passage that jumped out at me this week is from a rarely-read book of
the Bible, the Song of Solomon. This entire book is basically a long love
letter, often interpreted as being about the love God has for humankind. From
Song of Solomon, chapter 8:
“Set me as a
seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death,
passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame.
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.”
“Many waters
cannot quench love.” This is most certainly true of the love Connor’s mom and
dad had for their son. Jan barely left his side for three days, and Brian’s
tenderly written eulogy in yesterday’s service speaks volumes about his love
for his son. But this love letter from the Song of Solomon isn’t about parental
love—it’s about God’s divine love for us. “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as
a seal upon your arm” says God. In other words: Stick with me. You can even
tattoo my name on your arm—because my love isn’t going anywhere. These verses
call to mind the words of Romans 8, which proclaim that “neither death, nor
life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor
powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able
to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
These verses
may not explain why the waters overwhelmed Connor that day, but they do
reassure me he wasn’t there alone, and God’s love for us is bigger than any
river.
Finally, you
heard the story of the raising of Lazarus this morning. It might seem strange for
us to hear the story of a man who was raised from the dead by Jesus, when we
are grieving the fact that our prayers for healing went unanswered this week.
And yet,
this story has a few things to say to this situation.
Verse 21
says that even Mary cried out in anger: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother
would not have died!” It is good to know that our anger, our confusion, and
even our lack of faith can be laid at Jesus’ feet.
But it is
perhaps even greater comfort to read verse 35 (every Confirmation student’s
favorite memorization verse): “Jesus wept.”
Jesus, the
son of God, our Lord and Savior, cried real tears at the death of his friend. This
fact assures me that we don’t have to approach death with a holier-than-thou,
everything will be fine, “It’s ok, he’s with Jesus” attitude. Jesus wept, and
so can we.
After
turning to Scripture this week, I also turned to my seminary preaching
professor, Dr. Craig Satterlee, for some guidance and prayer. I posed the same
questions to him: Why? Where was God on Monday? Was God in the water with
Connor?
And this is
what he said (via Facebook chat, as I sat in the ICU):
“Jesus was
in the water with Connor. "God" is too impersonal for me. Jesus was
drowning with Connor. St. Ambrose says Jesus is buried with us, whether we are
buried in water or dirt. And Jesus will raise Connor to new life. That Jesus
did not do so on Monday is beyond comprehension. So we can only raise our fists
to God, who loves us enough to receive our outrage. And we can dare to trust
God to raise us from this death to new life. But it comes slowly and takes a
long time.”
My only
response—after a few tears—was to write to Dr. Satterlee: “Thank you.” Thank
you for preaching to me. Thank you for having faith for me when mine was being
tested. And thank you for giving me the strength to continue this walk with
Connor’s family, and with Bethany, my church family.
Sisters and
brothers, I give thanks to God for each of you, and for the opportunity we have
to walk together in our grief, to hold one another in prayer, and to serve the
God who has called us each by name, and who never lets us go. Amen.
