Bonanza & the Bible

Funerals are rough.  They hold all kinds of emotions.  When my brother-in-law passed away last month, we felt the whole gamut.  As people exited after the funeral, a neighbor stopped to introduce himself.  “My name is . . .  I watched westerns with your brother, and we read the Bible.”  He smiled to continue, “When Bonanza came on, well, it was TV time.  Then later we’d go back and read.”  With not too many words, this neighbor had garnered my complete attention, and I posed to shake his hand in admiration.  He was a guy who spoke the name of the Lord in the ordinary day.  He included the Bible just casually in conversation with whomever he met.  It’s part of what John 15 says in the context of the vine and the branches.  “If you remain in me and my words remain in you . . .”  This neighbor kept God’s word remaining in him as he opened the Bible’s pages and invited others to join in.  It’s encouragement for all of us to not wait for Sundays to roll around as our only Jesus Day.  Jesus says too in verse 16, “. . . go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. . .”  And as our world desperately needs the name of Jesus the entire 7 days of the week, may the Lord give us joy for walking through the different doors of conversation He opens.  The more we talked that afternoon at the funeral home, the more I loved this neighbor who spent time with my brother-in-law.  They barbecued, they read the Bible, they prayed, and I smile to imagine all the Bonanza and Gunsmoke episodes they watched.

Agony of carcinoma

The man finished brushing his teeth and swung his wheelchair away from the sink.  “No more prayer!” he exclaimed.  “No more prayer!”  I had simply knocked on his door with an offer to help.  Actually he did welcome me in, though his words turned sharp.  “I’ve been prayed for in Jerusalem.  I’ve been prayed for in Mexico.  I’ve been prayed for here in San Antonio.  God cannot change the carcinoma on my lung.  He cannot change any of this.  It’s written on my hospital papers.”  I silently nodded to acknowledge his words, and he leaned toward me, seeming disturbed that I didn’t quickly agree.  “I don’t think you understand,” he continued.  “God cannot change my diagnosis.  It’s on my papers,” and he pointed to the medical records area down the hall.  I followed his hand gestures and facial expressions closely, wanting to respect all of what he was telling, though it seemed my silence frustrated him.  Again he stated, “I don’t think you understand me!”  This time I replied, “We may just see things differently.”  I smiled in hope of easing any anxiety about our differences, but in actuality, the opposite seemed to happen.  With growing agitation, he posed the question, “Do you know the worst thing that can happen to a man?”  I waited for his answer.  “It’s pain,” he declared.  “My pain is awful.  It’s absolutely awful.”  And suddenly I wondered if all this time he was meaning something he really didn’t say.  He was exhausted and worn from fighting through pain, and maybe he didn’t want his diagnosis changed.  Perhaps he didn’t want to live anymore.  The possibility of someone praying to reverse that proclamation of death might cause him great heartache.  And in that moment, I did the very thing he didn’t want.  Not in spite, not as a slap in the face, but wholly in support of his dire situation, I quietly prayed for the Lord to touch this man who has had pain screaming at him so loud for so many years.  Colossians 3:12-13 says, “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.  Bear with each other . . .”  This was my opportunity to bear with this man.  I came to his hospital room not to argue.  I watched for a pause in his words that I could politely exit, and he could then rest.  “I have been blessed to meet you today, Sir.  Thank you for your time to talk.”  I stood to smile, and he waved without any apparent angst.  May the Lord comfort him.