The Supper Lesson Two

The Supper

Josiah Tilton

West Side church of Christ

November 24, 2019

 

Lesson Two

  Moms Dads and Death

The people of Israel were a storied people. They depended on their stories for faith, encouragement, strength, and the will to go on. The many years spent in Egyptian exile were tolerable only because their fathers, mothers and grandparents rehearsed for them the great stories of Jehovah’s promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They heard that their father, Joseph, had been the second most powerful man in Egypt at one time and that God had put him in that position. They heard and believed the wonderful stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, and the flood. The promises had been spoken to them over and over again, as the stories of the ancients were told and retold. They not only heard, but they memorized the stories so they could tell them to their children and their children’s children. In the stories was their hope.

How the stories were expressed or even embellished we are not told. As we read the scriptures we see only snippets. The accounts are not as complete as we would like. There are many details that are left to our “individual” imaginations. As you read the story of the Noah flood you may picture the ark as being built with a dark, rich looking wood, while I see it as a bleached yellow. If you read much about the wood and the word describing it, you will understand that there is no consensus and no one is certain what kind of wood the ark was made of. Gopher wood is…what? No one today really knows. So, your imaginative picture of it is just as good as that of anyone else.  You may picture the animals gently entering the ark in a quiet two by two processional, while someone else sees it a bit more chaotic, with quacks, roars and trumpeting so loud that orders had to be shouted and large prods used to direct the animals. City dwellers will see things differently and might not think of the problems associated with feeding and cleaning up after the animals, while the farmers among us will most certainly think of the great efforts that would have to be expended in order to see to it that the animals were well cared for. Our imaginations are not condemned by God, but rather are given by God and they are extremely useful in our study of the Bible and our hope for the future. Through the stories and our imaginations, we put ourselves there sometimes as observers, at other times as participants. We enjoy the stories, which are rich and full, seeing truth and real life through them, and within them we get a clearer picture of God, and certainly of our weak, little selves…

So, as we look at the Israelites in their Egyptian slave condition, we visualize them through our mind’s eye and, often, even place ourselves in the midst of the story. We see the taskmasters whipping one who is old and infirm and unable to keep up. They beat him because he is not working as hard as they would like. Perhaps we see them beat him into unconsciousness and we long to jump in and stop the evil one. We imagine ourselves as being empowered by God to overcome the taskmaster and put him in his place; perhaps beating him to within an inch of his life. We picture justice and salvation.

With this in mind, imagine having been in slavery for over four-hundred years. Things would have gotten so bad that the Pharaoh was even telling the mothers and fathers, the midwives, and his soldiers that if a boy child was born he must be put to death. If you put yourself in the picture, you watch as day after day your friends and neighbors have their babies taken from them and murdered; some of them right before their very eyes. You see mothers trying to overcome the vicious taskmasters as they tear her baby from her arm. She reaches, cries, screams, and finally falls to the ground pushed into the dirt by her agony. For weeks, perhaps months after, you watch as mothers refuse to smile because of the pain of having seen their baby boy dashed against a tree or rock by taskmasters who cared nothing for the people they ruled over.

In the more mundane moments, you taste the meager food offered to you and the rest of the Israelites by the cruel Egyptians and your stomach turns. Day after miserable day you look heavenward for relief, but no relief comes and hearts continue to be crushed as babies are killed, old men are beaten and stomachs are only half filled with tasteless and nutritionless food. Your muscles ache because of the difficulty of the work poured on you every day; no weekends off; no vacations; no sick days! You glance heavenward again, but those glances become less and less as the expected deliverer fails to show. You go to your home, dog tired every night and your grandfather starts to tell the stories. Eventually you might stop listening, just turn your back, and go to bed.

“Promises?”  You might think. “What good are unfulfilled promises?”

These kinds of thoughts are some that we all seem to struggle with from time to time. We find ourselves faced with a great trial and our first thought is to fall on our knees and ask the Father for help. What we want is for the trial to be taken away. The pain may be overwhelming, or the grief, or the loneliness. We seek relief asking, praying, begging, and even making deals: “Father, if you grant me this I’ll do…”

Day after day the struggles continue and somehow you manage to get through them, but you end up bone-weary and drained. It may just be that you fall into bed at night, not really to sleep, because what comes is fitful at best, but just to escape for a little while. You try to keep thoughts of the day out of your mind, but they creep in and fill your head so that even the respite of sleep is taken away. You rise early the next morning just as tired as when you went to bed and dread what the day before you holds.

We have a couple at church who have gone through just such a thing. They were a normal couple. Their two boys were growing, giving them good times, filling their house with laughter and pleasure. They were blessed with those holiday joys at Christmas time when the boys would wake early, begin tearing into the presents, whooping with laughter at the toys and pouting when some article of clothing happened to get into the mix. There were other special times too. The last day of school; trick or treating; company, family, and friends at Thanksgiving. They enjoyed the birthdays, the candles lit and blown out – sometimes more than once, just for the fun of it.

They were looking forward to their oldest son’s graduation from high school. Of course, it was mixed with a touch of melancholy; their baby growing up, becoming a man, and leaving home for college; these were all in their thoughts. Still they were happy that he was reaching the milestone of High School graduation.

As that day drew near, there was a change in their son. Slight, at first, then more pronounced. They were concerned. Wondering; perhaps dreading. The doctor ordered tests and then more tests. The joy of graduation ebbed and the fear began to seep in.

Leukemia! What!? NO! Please!! Dear God no! Please no!

Treatment started and the young man, just graduated began to face the great battle. Nothing was easy then not for anyone in the family. Mom and dad were trying to be there for their sick child and still be there for the one who was well. They watched their oldest as the treatments took their toll. He lost weight, was bone weary and weakened horribly. He was hospitalized. Tubes, needles, drips and medicines were now normal fare.

Mom and dad prayed and asked us to pray too. We did. Hundreds, if not thousands of prayers went up to the Father. The bulletins sent out to all members and former members carried their name and asked for us to plead with the Father for relief and healing. News spread to the other churches and many of them who knew the family and many who didn’t, prayed.

“Oh God, who freed the Israelites and left the bodies of the Egyptian soldiers in the Red Sea; Oh God of all mercy, who offered your one and only Son to be the sacrifice for us; Oh God who raised the dead and took away the sicknesses and gave sight to the blind; Oh God of love and mercy, hear us.”

Daily prayers and multiple prayers daily were offered.

News came. REMISSION! Clouds moved away, the sun came out, joy filled the hearts, hugs were given and praise offered to the God who answered prayer. Soon their son was back home with them, and when they brought him to the assembly of the church we saw smiles that had long been missing. There was rejoicing, great rejoicing as fear was replaced by hope and health… But it didn’t last.

The remission left as quickly as it came and the disease gripped him once again. During the next several months there were two or three remissions, but always, in spite of the bent knees, the promises and the prayers, the dreaded enemy returned.

The day came when the doctors told the family they couldn’t do anything more for their son. There would be no cure and hope was no longer an option. They knew what the Doctor said was true, yet wanting, wishing, begging:

“Please. Isn’t there something out there? Some new medicine? Something that you haven’t thought of?

I cannot look into the hearts of the mom and dad, but I can think that there were times when they wondered where God was. They believed He had the power. They had heard and read all the stories. Perhaps they were spending a lot of time in the Psalms in those very dark days:

Answer me when I call, O God of my righteousness!
    You have given me relief when I was in distress.
    Be gracious to me and hear my prayer!   4:1 ESV

Or

My soul is cast down within me;
    therefore I remember you

from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,
    from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep
    at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
    have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,
    and at night his song is with me,
    a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God, my rock:
    “Why have you forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning
    because of the oppression of the enemy?”
As with a deadly wound in my bones,
    my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me all the day long,
    “Where is your God?”  

42:6-10 ESV

As I sat in the funeral and watched them, I could see their eyes red from crying, down-looking, even a bit hollow. You could tell that they were seeing, but not comprehending. They went through the motions, but their hearts were being buried with the coffin and they were left empty.

I can just imagine the faith issues they struggled with as they wondered where God was, why had He failed to answer? And yet, the next Sunday morning came and there they were. They walked in slowly, moving toward their usual spot. They attempted to smile as folks stopped them and offered condolences. They would nod and their eyes would fill with tears and they would move ahead, eager to be seated so they didn’t have to speak to anyone else.

We watched them as the worship hour began; the heartbroken family who had battled so long and prayed so hard and ended up with one child dead… that family...opened their songbooks and sang praises to God.

I don’t know if their faith was ebbing, but I do know I was made stronger by seeing them. Their faith through the trials must have made them stronger for they came out the far end with a greater determination to follow their God. I imagined them speaking much as David did when he knew his first child with Bathsheba was dead:

“While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept, for I said, ‘Who knows whether the Lord will be gracious to me, that the child may live?’ But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”

And as I imagined this I was made stronger. Their trials, their pain, their heartache reached into the lives of many around them and made others stronger. How strange, how sad, and yet how wonderful; their pain and I am made stronger! And there are others in odd circumstances that also cause us to wonder at the purpose and question the whys of this strange world and the God we worship.

There is strength among us, but there is also pain all around. The following is about another couple from our church and what they know about pain and loss.

Imagine. You are a bit older in life, even have grown children. You visit the doctor and he tells you you’re going to have a child. At first you want to cry in disbelief! What?! Not at this age. No, no. Grandkids O.K., but not a baby of our own. You’re even a bit embarrassed to share the news with brethren. Still, after a little while you come around and the excitement begins. This won’t be a bad thing. As we age we can give him or her more. We have most of our bills paid off and we have a little cash in the bank. The child will keep us young and we can see life brand new again through his or her eyes. With each passing month, the feeling of the baby moving in the womb, you and your husband laying hands on your belly feeling the baby move his arms or feet – touching life, new life, life from your own bodies. Is there a more exciting thing in this world? As your hands feel the movement you shiver with the sheer delight of it.

Joy increases and finally the day comes. You hold the baby in your arms and rejoice at the great gift given by the God of all grace. You and your husband give thanks, smile so much your face hurts and you can hardly wait to show him off at church. You are almost giddy! All is right with the world and those early couple of days of negative thinking, when you first found out about the pregnancy are totally forgotten as you look forward to raising this brand-new gift.

The doctor comes in and tells you there is a small problem. Nothing big. Just a little injection and it should take care of everything. A shadow of doubt crosses your face, but his assurances ease your mind. Permission given you wait to hold your baby once again.

Waiting. Waiting still. It’s just a little procedure after all, what is it that is taking so long?

Wait. Wait. Wait. Finally, the doctor comes in; face dark; head bent; eyes not meeting yours.

It was one of those 1 in 10,000 or 1 in 100,000 or 1 in 1,000,000 it doesn’t matter the number! Your child was the 1 and all the others lived.

“Dear God in heaven!” You scream! “No. Noooo!”

Just one week after the nine months you’ve said hello and good-bye.  No weaning; no terrible twos; no first day of school; no trips to Silver Dollar City; no graduation; no; no; no! All the plans and dreams and hopes…all gone. Crushed, you wonder why. Was there some purpose in this craziness?

Devastation, anger, doubt and a host of other feelings and thoughts bombard your heart and mind and you cry out over and over, “Where is God? Where is God? Where is God?”

This is the story of another of our members. A couple who were a little embarrassed when first they told us of the pregnancy and then laughed and shared expectations as the baby began to show. Finally, they, devastated and broken hearted, strengthened our faith when they showed up at church and, along with the couple spoken of earlier, picked up their songbooks and sang praises to God.

This death business is too much for us. It’s too powerful. We cannot stop it or overcome it. So where is the hope? If we were God…what? I wonder?

So the Supper

As we meet together on the first day of the week, to break bread, we come face to face with the ones who are suffering such things and we meet them knowing that our own day will come. We don’t really know what to say. We are so afraid we will say something wrong or stupid and end up hurting them more, so often we say nothing more than hello.

We need to realize, however, that we are together in a purpose-filled assembly. Our hearts ought to be thinking along the same lines. We are thinking about death – its power – its destructiveness. We recognize that we are one loaf one body (1 Corinthians 10:16-17). And as we take the bread, thinking about nails driven through hands and feet, thorns formed into a crown and pressed viciously onto His head, a whipped and bloody back, and the humiliation of Him hanging on the cross, NAKED…as we think of Jesus dying for us, as individuals and collectively for us all, we are made stronger, or we should be.

As weird as it sounds, we praise God for the death of His Son. His brutal beating, the thorns, the nails, the ridicule, and the spear are all things we are thankful for. We think of His stripes and our healing. How can death, any death give strength, encouragement and healing? And yet…the remembrance of His death, burial and resurrection gives us hope for another week. And the deaths of these two children and the faith of their parents also fill us with hope and encouragement.

We look at the suffering savior, His beaten back, the spit on His face, the humiliation of His nakedness, the blood pouring from His wounds and realize that He made it and He came out of the tomb, having crushed death, our terrible foe, into submission (Hebrews 2:14-18). Now we have nothing to fear from death because it is only our servant. It now does our bidding and that is to carry us and our loved ones into the presence of the God of all glory.

We remember this, but we remember more. We think of the very fact that He came, by His own choice, He came to be one of us. He came in our image. He was born of a woman and lived among us. What a wonderful God this is. He demonstrates to us that He is one of us and then He takes on the suffering of humanity, sharing in it, bearing up under it, bleeding and hurting and overcoming it!

Thinking of these things is part of the purpose of the Supper; to give hope and faith. We look into each other’s eyes knowing that there is pain, hurt, heartache and suffering there and we see God is working. We hear the story repeated and we find strength. We pray the prayers and know that God hears. We look over and see the mother and father of the young man who is already in the arms of Jesus, we see the other parents who never got to know their baby and we say, “Yes. Lord. I see and I believe. They are examples of the great strength of your Son Jesus and we praise you for them as they praise you for Him!”

In passing the bread and the wine we realize again and again that we are not alone in this chaotic world, but we are with the one who is restoring all things. We remember His words in the Revelation, “Behold, I am making all things new.” The stories of these two families and of our Savior Jesus remind us repeatedly of hope and blessings to come. We think of their son and their baby and we shout out to the world, “We know they are not gone forever, for Jesus lives and death is on his way out!” And when those moments come where things are so powerfully set against us and we begin to wonder “where is God”, we join others at the table who have asked the same question and we are made stronger. We find ourselves able to stand because they have stood before us.

The supper is eaten, the prayers are prayed and the power and unity found in His death and theirs, and His burial and resurrection strengthens us for the coming week.

Dinner is served and we are made the better for it.