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There is an old Methodist hymn
that is one of my favorites. I guess it is one of my
favorites because, of all the hymns we sing, this one might
just sum up my vocation in life. Sing it with me if you know
it…
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
To tell the
old, old story of Jesus and his love. This is what I want my
life to be about. A life dedicated to telling the story of
God’s love, a love made known in Jesus Christ. And to tell
the story, to share it with others, to share it with the
world. Telling the story of God’s love is ultimately what we
are all called to do.
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
So if we know what we are
supposed to do—to tell the story—I guess the question is,
how are we to do it? How are we to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love? I suppose there are a lot of
different ways to tell the story.
I guess one way to tell the
story is by the book. We could memorize the book, chapter
and verse, so that we could quote a part of the story at the
drop of a hat. Anytime anyone had a question, we could just
give them a verse to read. Anytime someone had a problem or
was experiencing any doubt, we could give them a copy of the
story, point them to the right page, and walk away trusting
they had received what they were looking for. It is in the
book, after all. Do you know when this method of telling the
story, this “by the book, by chapter and verse method,”
comes in most handy? When somebody disagrees with us! That’s
right. When somebody has a different way of looking at
something, or believes something different than we do, or
let’s face it, is plain wrong, then we can just point them
to the right spot in the book to straighten them out. For
many, the way to tell this old, old story is to tell it by
the book.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Please
don’t misunderstand me. I think we all ought to know our
Bible. The Bible is one of the cornerstones of our faith. It
does contain the story. We all would benefit from more
reading of the book that contains our story. But I think
that when it comes to the Bible, most people want to know
how what is in “the book” makes any difference in their
lives. And so I think the best way we can tell the story,
the best way we can help others see how the story in the
book makes a difference in their lives, is tell them how the
story in the book has become real in our lives. The best way
to tell this old, old story is to tell others how and where
God’s story has intersected with our story. That is how we
tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love.
So this evening I want to tell
you some of my story. I hope that in telling a bit of my
story, I might also be telling a bit of yours, and that
somehow we might find our stories wrapped up together in
that old, old story—the story of Jesus and his love. So I
invite you tonight to hear a little bit of the story of
these past nine months, and how my story and God’s story
touch and intersect in some powerful and memorable ways. In
its telling, I hope you might find the places your story
connects, as well. Won’t you help get it started?
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
It is the end of October last
fall, and Bridget and I have stolen away to Sanibel Island
off Florida’s gulf coast for some much needed R and R. It is
there, amongst the sandy beaches and the spectacular
sunsets, that we get this inkling that life as we have known
it is about to change. It is while we are in Florida that
Bridget makes a call to Cathy Chartier, a friend and member
of our church who is an obstetrician, and asks if she can
see her when we return home. Within a couple of weeks of
that call, Bridget had her appointment with Cathy and she
confirmed what we had started to suspect: we were pregnant.
Well, Bridget was pregnant. Believe me, that is one thing I
have learned over these past nine months. I may have been
expecting a baby, but Bridget was quick to remind me I was
not pregnant.
We held this new revelation
pretty close to our chests for a few weeks, eventually
telling our families just after Thanksgiving and our church
family on Christmas day. I have to be honest. The notion
that we were pregnant—I mean, expecting a baby—remained head
knowledge for me for awhile. I mean, I knew we were
expecting a child, but I guess it didn’t really sink in
until January 26. That was the day my life changed. That
day, the idea of having a baby took the short, but often
difficult journey, from my head to my heart. That was the
day we saw the ultrasound.
Amazing. Absolutely amazing. I
was absolutely caught off guard by what we saw that day.
There he was—and it was a “he.” Don’t ask me how they knew
it was a “he,” they just knew. (I mean, I do know how
they knew, but …forget it, you know what I mean.) There he
was before our very eyes. And I couldn’t believe what we
saw. We could see all ten little fingers and all ten little
toes. As the technician moved the scanner across Bridget’s
tummy, we could see each vertebrae and every rib in
intricate detail. We could see his little hip bones and his
little leg bones. Then she scanned up and we saw his face.
There it was. Every detail. His nose. His mouth. His eyes.
We learned on that day that he had pudgy little checks. In
that moment that I saw his face, I fell in love. And when I
fell in love, my life changed. I walked out of the room a
different man. For I had witnessed the miracle of creation
taking place. I mean, I knew we were having baby (I know, I
know, Bridget was having a baby), but to know that he was
really in there changed everything. He was really alive and
he was a whole lot more than just an idea. That afternoon in
the cafeteria of Providence Hospital in Novi, Michigan, we
gave the boy we had seen on the screen just moments before
his name. Casey John was real and alive and he was a
miracle. And we had seen him.
That night while I lay in my
bed, I could not get the images out of my mind. I kept
seeing his little head and feet. I kept imagining each of
those little vertebrae. Whenever I shut my eyes, I could see
his little face. As these images ran through my mind, I kept
hearing over and over again these words from our story. The
words of the psalmist became the soundtrack to scenes
running through my head:
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful.
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you.
When I was woven together in the
depths of the earth
your eyes saw my unformed body.
“For you created my inmost
being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Friends, I
don’t know much about biology so I can’t tell you
biologically what was happening on that screen that day, but
I do know a little bit about theology so I can tell you what
I saw theologically. And when I looked at the image of my
son inside of his mother’s womb, what I saw was a piece of
God’s handiwork—a piece of artwork formed with love and
care, where every piece seemed to fit just right. As I lay
in bed that night, I knew that piece of the story was true.
But do you know what else is
true about that part of our story? Just as it was true for
little CJ— that he was fearfully and wonderfully made—so are
we. Just think about that. Every time we look in the mirror,
we are looking at a piece of God’s handiwork. It doesn’t
matter our shape or size. Each of us was known by our
creator before we ever entered creation.
What if we said to ourselves
every morning when we looked in the mirror, before we did
anything else, bed-head and all: “I am fearfully and
wonderfully made.” Do we think that might change how we
lived our day? And what if we didn’t stop there, but began
to say that about everyone we encountered during the day?
That person: they are fearfully and wonderfully made. And
that person: fearfully and wonderfully made. The guy who
sells me my Starbucks: fearfully and wonderfully made. The
woman in the cubicle next to me at the office: fearfully and
wonderfully made. And so on and so on. Do we think that
might change our world? Think of how we might treat others
if we thought of everyone as a piece of God’s creation. I
think if we began to behold the absolute miracle of creation
that is each and every one of us, we might go a long way
toward ending racism and sexism, classism and homophobia.
And if that started to happen, I think we’d soon discover
that we were living that old, old story. Won’t you help me
keep telling it?
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
Fast forward a few months to
March. I was having lunch with Joe Armijo and my cell phone
rang. On the other end was Bridget, and she was upset. I
could tell she had been crying. She told me there had been
some bleeding and asked if I could come home. My heart sank.
It was literally déjà vu. It had been almost a year. Again I
had been at lunch with someone from church when the cell
phone rang. Again it had been Bridget on the other end, and
she was upset. She had some bleeding that morning and had
gone to the doctor. They had sent her to the emergency room,
and she was asking me to come. I went and joined her just in
time to learn that the pregnancy we were just beginning to
get so excited about had been lost. She had miscarried and
we had lost the baby. And here it seemed like it was
happening again. I arrived home and we called Cathy, who
told us to come immediately. So we got ourselves into the
car and began the twenty minute ride to her office. Just as
we turned onto Maple Road, I handed Bridget the i-Pod and
told her pick out something to listen to. And out of the
thousands of songs she could have chosen, suddenly out of
the speakers of our car comes this tune…
I see trees of green, red roses
too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds
of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Here we were, driving into a
moment of absolute unknown, facing what could be an
incredibly painful and devastating reversal of
circumstances. How on earth would we survive another loss
like this? And it was into the midst of that moment that
Bridget had the wherewithal to play What a Wonderful
World. (And I thought I was being brought along
to comfort her.) Suddenly this car ride that had
started out blanketed in fear was now draped in blessing. We
rode in silence, and as she reached over and grabbed my
hand, a peace came over me unlike any I have ever
experienced before. It was a peace that truly surpassed all
understanding. And in that moment, I knew that all was going
to be okay. Even if we lost this baby, all was going to be
okay. Even if we would never have children of our own, all
was going to be okay. What should have been one of our
darkest moments became a moment filled with joy.
That night
as I lay in bed, I heard the words that Jesus spoke from the
Gospel of John:
Do not let your hearts be
troubled. Trust in God. Trust also in me… For I am the way,
the truth and the life… Peace I leave with you; my peace I
give you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your
heart be troubled and do not be afraid.
I realized that we had
experienced the peace that Jesus had talked about. In the
midst of a very frightening moment, our hearts were not
troubled and we were not afraid. The peace that Jesus offers
is a peace different than the one the world does. You see,
the peace of the world is contingent on circumstances, it is
contingent on what is happening. The peace that Christ
offers is a peace not dependant on what is happening,
but on what has already happened. You see, Jesus
points us in the way that leads to truth and life, a way
that is formed in relationship with him—a relationship where
we trust him to take care of us no matter what happens, a
trust that ultimately leads to peace, no matter what is
happening. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I
do not give as the world gives. Do not let your heart be
troubled and do not be afraid.” A part of our story that is
simply too good not to tell. Will you help me keep telling
it?
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
Keep moving ahead with me in our
story. It is now June 6, 2006. That’s right it is 6/6/06.
The date that had some wondering if the world would end is,
for Bridget and me, the date that life really began. For on
that date, on 6/6/06 at 4:46 in the morning, Dr. Cathy
Chartier—the doctor who had accompanied us every step of
this journey, the doctor who took better care of us than she
needed to, the doctor we love and who loved us—ushered Casey
John Nelson into this world.
Nothing, I mean absolutely
nothing, prepares you for the moment your first child is
born. Absolutely nothing. He was here! All nine pounds,
nine ounces of him was here (so much for the question as to
whether he was mine!). The child that had lived within his
mother’s womb and his father’s heart was here. He was really
here.
Then came perhaps the greatest
single hour of my entire life. After Casey’s arrival,
attention needed to be turned to his mother who had just
undergone major surgery. While the doctors and nurses
attended to her, they took me to the recovery room, and
within minutes placed my son into my arms. And I got to just
hold him. There are few moments in your life where time
literally stands still, where everything stops and the
moment you are living in commands all of your attention, all
of your senses, all of your awareness. These are the moments
where everything boils down to what is most precious and
valuable in life. These are the moments we are truly alive!
It was the first hour of his life, and I got to spend it
with him.
That night as I laid down, I
heard these familiar words from our story run through my
head: “God so loved the world, he gave his only begotten
son, that whoever believed in him would not perish but have
eternal life.” This is the scripture that is supposed to sum
up the entire Christian story. It was always taught to me as
the key to salvation. Then it dawned on me. I always focused
on just one part of that verse, the whole “whoever believes”
part, missing the beginning. Salvation doesn’t begin with
my belief; it begins with God’s gift. “God so loved the
world, he gave…” It is giving as much as it is believing
that sits at the center of our faith.
Maybe this struck me in a new
way because it was just that morning that I held my son in
my lap. And as he looked up at me, I heard him ask, “Will
you kindly tend to me? Will you give me the things I cannot
yet give myself?” And because I so loved him that morning, I
agreed to give—to give him my heart…to give him my soul…to
give him my blood, sweat and tears. Then it dawned on me.
Some 34 years ago my parents looked at me on the day I was
born and decided to give the same thing to me…and my
grandparents did the same for them before that…and my great
grandparents said the same thing to my grandparents before
that. Then you begin to realize that we are here today
because of this chain of giving, each of us a recipient of
someone else’s graciousness, someone else’s sacrifice,
someone else’s love. And if you follow this chain back far
enough, it leads to the very heart of God—the God who loved
the world so much that he gave….he gave us himself.
So see, these last nine months
culminated for me last night as I looked into the eyes of my
son, tucked in a blanket and lying there asleep in his crib.
At that moment, I was standing in the very kingdom of God.
Go figure…a newborn baby, swaddled in a cloth, lying in a
crib. Is that the doorway into God’s kingdom? It is if you
know the story. Help me tell it one last time:
I love to tell the story,
‘twill be my theme in glory,
to tell the old, old story
of Jesus and his love.
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