He Is Not Here

Remember those monstrosities called answering machines? You know the ones that use a cassette tape to record messages. I won one that turned out to be a hunk of junk. I think that is why I won it. I finally got rid of it when the telephone company added it as a service.

My favorite message went as follows: “Now that you have let the phone ring seven times you have awakened my dragon and if you do not leave a message, he will be very angry. I’m not here so leave a message.”

One message was, “Now that I have awakened your dragon, I know you are not home. That is a good way for people to rob you while you are way. Do not say you are not home.”

The whole answering machine evolution has given us cell phones with emails, text messaging, and leave a message. I was opponent of text messaging in the beginning, but I use us more than anything now. It is convenient and prevents one from interrupting. I think it helps with cell phone etiquette.

If you are as I am you made that important call and you reach that infernal answering machine: “To speak English press one. If you know the extension press two. If you want to speak with a representative press three. To repeat the menu, press four. To speak with an operator, press zero.

Years ago, I was representing employees at the cement plant that filed a grievance because they could not reach the plant when returning a callout phone call. This was back before the telephone companies changed to push button phones. It was difficult to press numbers on a dial-up telephone. The all-knowing human resource person gave me a smart aleck response and said he would give me the money to buy a push button phone. I replied, “You dummy the phone lines have not been updated. The lines are still pulsing dialing, and one cannot press one, two, three or four.” I told the smart aleck that “I did not fall off the turnip green truck yesterday.” The grievance was awarded to the employees.

One of the churches I had opportunity to serve had a sophisticated phone system. Churches members from that church complained to me about not being able to speak with the pastor. I admit that it was difficult to get a hearing with the pastor. There were ample people there to answer the phone, but you had to push those aggravating buttons. It remained a problem for years. People stopped trying to call or see the pastor and finally started calling me or visiting my office.

It can be troublesome trying to reach someone and not knowing what button to push or where to find a person. It can be good on occasion. When you could not call or see a person when you are angry. Things went much smoother when you had time to cool off. How about the time you made a decision? Lord changed your position and you were glad the person you were to tell was not there initially.

This past Sunday was Resurrection Sunday. Before the break of day, Mary made her way to the tomb of Jesus. She was expecting the worst. There was no way of communicating with the keepers of the dead. There was no press one to speak Arabic. No press two to speak with the gardener. No press three to speak with the stone movers.

There is a 1958 song The Angels Listened In and another in 1960's song Trouble in Paradise - Calling All Angels by the Crests. Had Mary known who was waiting at the tomb she could have called Angels that were waiting.

What she did find was an Angel waiting at the tomb. No buttons to push just a living being saying:

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. Matthew 28:6 KJV

Lightning and Thunder

The power of lightning flashing and roaring thunder fascinate me. One morning while enjoying an early morning sleep a flash of lightning lit up the bedroom. I saw the flash with closed eyes. Suddenly thunder loud and long shook the house rattling the windows. It seemed to roll forever. An awesome way to start the morning.

I was carrying a friend to Montgomery when a large thunderhead cloud covered Interstate 65. I smiled as a beautiful streak of lightning lit up the southern sky. It was a stunning display of raw power. My friend, from Baltimore City, Maryland, shook in fear. She was not used to the violent thunderstorms of Alabama.

One of my history professors from the University of Montevallo explained that the mentality of most Southern gentlemen is like that of a thunderstorm. Long dry and hot days the earth stores the energy of the sun. The energy builds and builds with each passing day. When a cold front approaches, the earth releases the stored energy. The longer the storage the more violent the storm. Dr. Fuller, the professor said that Southern men are easy going until pushed too far, then they explode like a violent thunderstorm.

The morning after the storm passes, the Alabama sky is a clear and beautiful blue. The air is cooler and everything turns green and starts to renew what was dry and almost dead. These things are what makes Spring my favorite time of the year.

Lighting storms cause destruction too. Power outages can last for days, and the impatience of power customers grows exponentially. Winds, hail, and rain can wreak havoc on property. Storms can ruin springtime events, like Resurrection Sunday.

Maudy Thursday and Good Friday remind us of prelude of one of the greatest storms in history. As Jesus celebrated His last supper with his disciples, sin began to manifest Satan’s evil plot. Through the centuries before the Resurrection, evil battled God, and His people. Everything imaginable confronted the men and women of God. The events of Calvary went deeper than a hand full of disciples shaken from their belief. The climax of their last days with Jesus was one of sin. That great moment when God walked among them the disciples allowed sin to dominate their thoughts, their actions, and their ministries. Their dreams and ambitions ended in defeat and just beyond them the unseen world of evil rallied in victory. The lie defeated the truth and Truth lay in a cold dark tomb bound by rags and smothered by perfume and burial spices.

While those who loved the Lord wept with hurt, mourned with regret, and cried in anger, the forces of darkness danced, drank, and celebrated victory. Finally evil could do what they wanted and there would be no accountability, no repercussions, and no judgment. The powers of darkness with every unimaginable display of sinful prejudice, partying, and pure filth celebrated. Satan and his legions of demonic prodigies had slain the Incarnate, Eternal God.

As the storm raged from Friday night through the events at Calvary, believers wept with the heartbreaking events flooding their thoughts and being. Suddenly the Son flashed as lightning and the thunder rolled, darkness scurried away, and evil cleared its throat, as hearts ached, eyes cried, and hands trembled waiting for the break of day, Truth broke the power of evil. Satan, his evil crew, and groupies faced the risen Savior knowing their future was the eternal abyss.

The words of Matthew ring in our hearts and ears.

 “And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.” Matthew 28:6 KJV

Until Resurrection morning, sin and sickness dominated life robbing it of joy. Sin, sickness, and sadness are realities of life until the Lord returns. One day Jesus is coming to take believers out of this heartbreaking world of sin, sickness, and sadness. Until He does, believers have the help of the Holy Spirit. Until He comes, believers have the assurance and the prayers of other believers to help. Our salvation is commitment to Christ and His Church. Because He lives we live in hope.

Resurrection Sunday is a great day for the church. It is the largest day of attendance for most churches, but that is not the reason for its greatness. It is great because it is the day we celebrate the victory over death. For believers it is a reality every day.

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Dad's Last Supper

 This past Sunday, Resurrection Sunday, Union Springs Baptist Church observed the Lord's Supper during the Worship.  My mind goes back to that last supper when Jesus became a servant and washed the disciple's feet.  True to who He was He humbled himself to the lowest of servants.  It was a nasty job.

I'm reminded each time of being the one in my immediate family that had to empty the "slop jar" each morning.  Some people would call the "slop jar" a chamber pot.  Our slop jar was an empty gallon paint can.  We couldn't afford an inside toilet nor a store-bought chamber pot.  They did not have them in Jesus' day and the lowest of servants would empty the clay jars of human waste at the local dung gate or dump.  I emptied our tin gallon bucket in the edge of the woods.

The slop jar resided in my brothers and my bedroom.  Our sister had to do "Number Two" in it almost every night.  I believe did it because I had to empty it.  My brothers and I just went outside to pee and to the outhouse (toilet) when dad built one.

When Granny Hopper would stay with us, she always used the paint can slop jar.  There was no modesty curtain and our ten-by-ten bedroom with the army cot which was my bed and my brothers' double bed filled one end of the room.  A baby bed used for clean clothes that mama ironed was at the foot of my cot.  Each corner beside the door opening (no door) were wires nailed loaded with clothes and coats.

I was ashamed carrying the slop jar especially when we had company.  When there was company, I would place the tin bucket through my sister's bedroom window outside on the ground.  I would carry and empty it.  The edge of the yard was so beautiful green where I deposit my sister's number one and two. 

My sister was like one the Buc-ee gas station’s rest rooms sayings, “We are number one at number two.” 

Sunday marked the forty-first Easter since my dad died.  As were observed Communion, I thought back to the Last Supper I had with dad.  It was the Monday night after Easter, and we had convinced momma to take some time off.  She had cared two years for dad who had a brain tumor.  He was in his last hours.  Momma had babied daddy and his nursed could not believe how healthy he was.

Momma had fixed daddy a wonderful meal with his favorite potatoes, green field peas, pepper sauce, corn, tomatoes, cornbread, and sweet tea.  I wheeled dad to the supper table in his wheelchair.  He was very feeble and could not speak.  I prepared him a plate and began to feed him.  Every time I watch Driving Miss Daisy, I weep.  I think of feeding daddy what would be his last meal. 

I would take a fork and point it to his food.  If he wanted it, he would nod his head yes.  If he did not want it, he would nod no.  One time he nodded no to everything.  I finally bumped the sweet tea glass, and he smiled and nodded yes.  It is a precious moment in his and my being that I will forever cherish.

I feed him some cornbread, and he choked.  I thought he was going to die, and I was alone with him.  We had a great time not realizing it would be the last time we would communicate.  During the night he slipped into a coma.  Early Friday around four in the morning, daddy died.  I would spend our last moments holding his hand.  When he the nurse pronounced him dead, I shook his hand and said, "See you later pop."

Daddy had turned sixty on April 9, 1984.  Easter Sunday was April 22, 1984, and I fed dad his last meal on the 23rd which is today's date for this article.  He died on the 27th.  

Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hand, and that He was come from God, and went to God; He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garment; and took a towel, and girded himself.  After he pureth the water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded.   John 13:3-5 KJV

"Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me." John 14:1 KJV  

Give Me Flowers While I Am Alive

One Saturday night on my way home from a wedding in Birmingham I stopped by the Union Springs Baptist Church cemetery.  It was dark, but I wanted to stop because I did not know if I would have another opportunity to go by there before Resurrection Sunday.  I try to visit every chance I can.  I promised mom and dad that I would visit their graves.  I place a flower or flowers on momma’s grave.  I always would give her a flower when I would visit her when she was alive.  I would get her daffodils, roses, jonquils, crept myrtle, dogwood blooms, and many other blooms.  Dad would always say, “Don’t put flowers on my grave; give me flowers while I am alive.”  He was really saying spend time with me now.

Since it was after dark, I did not stay very long.  No, I am not scared in the graveyard at night.  Daddy taught never fear the dead; it is the living that will hurt you.  I was afraid the pastor of Union Springs might be alarmed with a car entering the cemetery.  I do not know what my home church was thinking when they built the Pastorium beside the cemetery.  My home church has been fortunate to call pastors with families that did not mind living beside the dead.  It may be that most pastors have served dead churches that have manipulating members, and it was a relief not having the dead causing any trouble.

As I surveyed the cemetery, I thought about all the people I knew that were now resting there.  I have worshipped with them, fished with them, laughed, and cried with them.  Buried there are those who taught me Scripture, taught me about life, and taught me about dying.  Some in the graveyard I was with them when they were dying.  I watched some of them suffer horrible deaths from cancer.  There were those who died violent deaths from car accidents and several died from heart attacks. There is a childhood friend who died from a motorcycle accident, the friend who died from alcohol poisoning, and the friend that died from Aids. 

There is the friend that said she knew God called me to preach long before I knew it.  There is the friend that told me that she would always be praying from me when I stood to preach.  There is the old friend that gave me a London Fog rain jacket when I surrendered to preach.

Scattered all over the cemetery are neighbors, family, and a few unknowns of long ago.  There are infant graves, senior adult graves, teenage graves, and graves of all ages in between.  Some have huge tombstones, some are simple markers, and some are marked by a small metal nametag.

Visiting the graveyard, I remember some of the deceased laughs, some of their funny sayings, and some of their unique smiles or distinctive physical attributes.  The graves there mark those that I have made my journey of life.  I started making my trips to this cemetery when I was in my mother’s womb, the day they buried my great-grandmother Crumpton was the day before my birth.

As I look at the pink granite tombstone of momma and daddy, I took a moment to think about the short time I had with them and how short this life really is.  It is hard to image that this Easter daddy will have been dead for forty years or that momma will be dead thirty-six years.  Daddy died the Friday after Easter Sunday 1984.  Easter had a greater meaning that year. I remember walking out of the hospital when moments earlier, around four o’clock in the morning, the nurse pronounced daddy dead.  The sun was shining brightly, not yet broken the horizon.  Birds chirped and sang beautiful songs.  The aroma of spring, as was the dawning of a new day, was breathtaking.  Suddenly I was overwhelmed with the reality that daddy was in beautiful heaven.  My day was zilch compared to his.  As I walk among the dead in the cemetery at night, dad’s spirit walks with the throngs of the living in heaven where there is no night.

I made the trip to the cemetery that night to say, “Mom, dad, I will see you on Resurrection Day.”  I then journeyed back to Linden where I ministered at the time.

The beauty of Resurrection Sunday is that we, as believers, hold to Jesus’ promise of the Resurrection.  The power that raised Jesus from the grave is the same power that will do it again for all believers one day.

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live . . . (John 11:25bKJV).

Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen . . . (Luke 24:5b-6a KJV).

Dad, Willy, and Me

Dad died on April 27, 1984, around four in the morning.  I had been up all night with him and held his hand as he drew his last breath.  Moments before that final breath, I woke mamma, my sister, and baby brother where they could spend those last precious moments with dad.  They were skeptical at first.  We had several close calls with him that final week.  I finally convinced them that the nurse had assured me that he was dying.  The nurse and I had watched his breathing move from the stomach area to his throat.  She said when it got there death was close.

The week began with Easter on April 22.  Dad was at home.  I do not remember what we did that Sunday, but I am sure we tried to make it a great day knowing that he had lived two years longer than the doctors’ first prognosis with his brain tumors and consequential surgery.

Dad did not care for Easter, especially before and even after his salvation.  Dad had something we don’t see much of now days.  Raised by Christian single mom, his dad committed suicide; dad knew and practiced Christian principles.  Dad always told us that Easter was about Jesus’ Resurrection and not about bunnies, baskets, and bonnets.  It was not about dyed eggs, delicious chocolates, or dumb pagan practices. 

Easter was one of the two holidays that momma or we did not have to beg him to go to church with us.  He was faithful on those two events.  I remind pastors and church folks not to make fun of those, especially dads, that come only at Easter and Christmas.  I know I have seen my mother cry a million tears trying to get dad in church.  I still can see her big, beautiful smile when daddy escorted her into the church at Easter.  We were elated too.  New clothes, dad in church, and momma’s Easter dinner made it wonderful.  We were glad Jesus rose.

Dad understood what many skeptics did not.  Daddy believed that Jesus rose from the dead.  Skeptics are like the characters in television investigation programs.  They have to prove everything scientifically.  One of the problems skeptics find with Christianity is faith.  We trust God, but skeptics want tangible proof.

Several weeks ago, while I was reading, I ran across this line.  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.  I remembered that I had read that phrase before and did not think much about it.  That was until shortly after I read it again in another book.  I thought about it more.  Then a third time within a month there is was again.  Since all three times were in the context of daily devotions or readings I asked, “God what are you trying to say to me.”  I wrote the phrase down and looked for its original author.  I found it to be a quote from William Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet Act One Scene Five.  Well, back to old Willy Shakespeare.  Being an English minor in college, I have had to read him a lot and analyze the meaning of his plays.

Skeptics take Shakespeare’s phrase out of context.  In the play, Hamlet, Horatio, and a Ghost are in conversation.  Hamlet says, “And therefore as a stranger giver welcome.  There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, that are dreamt in your philosophy.”

Hamlet and Horatio are products of Protestant humanism.  This philosophical thought is a compound of ethics, logic, and natural science.  Logically, for Horatio there were no Ghosts, much less carry on a conversation with one.

The Horatio’s of the world refuse to believe the Resurrection, but Jesus demonstrated the Resurrection before He rose from the dead.  Remember that Jesus was late for Lazarus’ funeral, but right on time for his Resurrection.

Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days.

And when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth (John 11:39, 43 KJV.)

 

The Horatio’s of the world have doubts about supernatural phenomena or in the case of Southern Baptists, spiritual phenomenon.  One meaning on Shakespeare’s quote is there is more that meets the eye, levels of truth, meaning, and complexity that are not visible to casual observers such as the Resurrection morning.  Angel said, “He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay” (Matthew 28:6 KJV).

 

As Southern Baptists, we believe there is more than meets the eye.  In our postmodern culture of growing skepticism, our challenge as believers is continue to live by faith.  Paul reminds believers at the very humanist and carnal Corinth about the unseen.  But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him (First Corinthians 2:9 KJV).

 

As I walked from the hospital the morning daddy died, I reflected on the week.  There was a sense of loss and relief.  On Monday night after Easter, I had my last supper with daddy.  It was just daddy and me.  I fed him while mom took a much-needed break.  Later in the wee hours of the morning, dad had a seizure and the ambulance rushed him to the hospital.  By Friday morning, he was with Jesus.  As I held his hand in death, Jesus took dad’s spiritual hand.

Walking to my car, the morning sky was crystal clear, the air was a vigorous cool, birds were singing, and dad was alive and well with Jesus.  We had dad’s funeral on the Lord’s Day.  Take that skeptics!

Spring Perspective and the Resuurection

You can tell when spring is near when you hear birds chirping, smell the aroma of trees and vines budding, see the countless colored daffodils, and taste food from the grill.  Spring is my favorite time of the year.  Everything is coming to life.  It makes Easter special.  It reminds us that the dead of winter and it long dark hours are gone.

I am one if the few that enjoy winter.  The Chain Saw team and I enjoyed snow in Missouri.  Well, I enjoyed the cold and the snow.  It reminded me of living in Illinois as a kid.  No, I am not a Yankee.  As the group ALABAMA sings, “My home is Alabama, Southern Born, and Southern Bred.”  Daddy worked up north for three years.  We moved back home to Alabama in the spring of 1960 because Mamma did not like the Yankees, the cold, and the snow.

Spring reminds me of going home, the eternal one.  It is the promise of eternal life found in the resurrection of Jesus.  Daddy died on Friday after Easter April 29, 1984.  I remember the morning I left the hospital.  The birds were singing, the morning sun glistened, and you could smell the aroma of spring.  I thought about what a beautiful day for daddy to go home with Jesus.

Doctors diagnosed momma with stage four-melanoma cancer in the fall of 1986 and she died in the winter in January.  Her last days were difficult.  The demon cancer consumed her beautiful body.  The funeral director said her body was as a piece of wood that looked solid until you picked it up, and then realized that, it was rotten and it crumbled in your hands.

It snowed days before her death.  With her arm eaten into from cancer, she watched me build a snowman from her hospital window.  I knocked on her window and made a face.  Hours later, the Clanton Hospital transferred her to the University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital.  I rode with her in the emergency vehicle.  I remember it snowing as we unloaded in downtown Birmingham.

They placed her in the terminal ward.  If there was a picture of hell it was the night I spent with her.  Seven people, including a young boy, young mother, and elderly man died that night.  Patients throughout the whole ward cried out in agony and pain. 

I had never been around such torment before.  I heard the cries of a young boy as he cried for his mother to hold him and stop the pain.  The lady in the room with momma would speak in a little girl's voice.  She said, “Daddy, please hold me.”  She repeated it over and over.  Momma would say, “Oh God, help me.”  She repeated this over and over.  I lay there with a feeling of hopelessness.  My pain seemed insignificant compared to those who died that night. 

I have thought about that night many times.  I went home, my back in severe pain from the stress, and stared at the ceiling.  I could not sleep, eat, work, study, read, etc.  I was useless and wanting to die.  This is how I pictured hell.  I was glad that this was the only torment that momma would endure.  When she died, my sister, my brothers, and I thanked God that she entered heaven where the flowers bloom forever and she would receive a new beautiful body.

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom (Luke 16:23).

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand (John 10:27-28)

Resurrection morning Jesus solidified His promise, I am the resurrection, and the life.  

Old Fashion Graveyard Cleaning

Down the hill, facing the East is a pink granite headstone in West Chilton County. 

The headstone is unique among the gray granite headstones in the Union Springs Baptist Church Cemetery.  The name etched in the pink granite is the only headstone with that name.

I served on the Cemetery Committee for many years.  One of the things the committee did was remodeled the cemetery.  Don’t laugh, it was in terrible shape.  Families had staked out their territories.  Bricks, bushes, wrought iron fences, galvanized pipes with chains, and huge flowerpots marked the boundaries.  Some family plots had pebbles, some white, other colored. There were rose bushes, daffodils, sweet gum trees, and junipers.

Cleaning the cemetery was an annual event, usually before the Easter weekend.  Men and women arrived with rakes, hoes, shovels, wheelbarrows, lawn mowers, weed eaters, and tractors.  With the eagerness of worker honeybees, everyone descended on the cemetery to make the resting place of the dead a thing of beauty for the living.  I remember moments when I would see people weeping over a grave as they cleaned around it.  Most people cleaning the cemetery had loved ones and friends buried there.

Years before the remodeling, the only tool needed was a yard broom made from dogwood saplings.  The cemetery, as most yards did not have grass, so most people sweep the bare ground with the yard broom.  A bare graveyard with thousands of sweet gums balls makes for hard work.  Sweet gum balls in grass, in white pebbles, and all the stuff mentioned above makes it harder.

Even though my dad was not a Christian, he always helped with cleaning the cemetery.  In fact, we did not have to beg him to come to church on Easter.  I wish more pastors and believers would be more sensitive to families that have a dad or others who only attend church at Easter and Christmas.  For a family pleading with tears for a husband and dad to attend church only to have that loved one ridiculed when attending is heart breaking.  I know that I was so happy when daddy went to worship with us at Easter and Christmas.

Years before there was a Cemetery Committee and remodeling, on a Saturday we were cleaning the cemetery.  I have to believe that this catalytic event initiated both.  Here is what happened.  There was discussion on the difficulty of the annual cleaning.  All the stuff in the cemetery had deteriorated with time.  Families did not want their sacred territories disturbed, so anyone who violated this unwritten rule was severely reprimanded.  As a point of interest, most of these sacred territories belonged to folks who never attended the church. You might say they had been grandfathered into ownership.  Their granddaddies planted those trees and placed all the other stuff.  Their descendants continued this possess until this incredible moment in time.

Holy indignation built in the cemetery among those who were entrusted with cleaning in preparation of the Holy Week.  Holy Sacraments of the cemetery were about to face an episode likened to Jesus cleaning the Temple.

A sweet gum tree towered above a grave on a bare bank.  Erosion and sweet gum balls presented a growing problem.  Some men of the church huddled in deliberation to conjure a remedy.  The verdict was the tree needed to go but gripped with fear of retaliation from the Sacred Society of Cemetery Relics and Botanical Substance, no one volunteered.

Daddy, who listened at a distance because he was not a member of the church, asked, “Do you want the tree cut down?”

They replied that they did but feared the repercussions.

Daddy looked at me and said, “Go get the chainsaw.”  I went home to get the McCullough daddy used when he logged for a living.  Daddy reminded me of Jerry Clower’s cousin Marcel Ledbetter, who used a McCullough to get a soft drink, as he fired up the chain saw and felled the towering sweet gum.

Yeah, the family that said they planted the tree was upset.  We did not have to worry about them quitting church because they never came anyway.  Eventually, all the sacred relics and botanical substance were gone as were those who wrestled over the decision and those who retaliated.  Manicured and groomed, the cemetery looks nice today.

I often shed a tear when I visit that pink granite tombstone with the name Hopper on it.  I snigger when I stand at the foot of daddy’s grave.  It is just a few feet from where he created the stir in the cemetery and among those from both sides of the issue.

The old song reminds us that when the Lord returns, the cemetery will be a mess with graves bursting open.

Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

 And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see.  Jesus wept. (John 11:25, 34-35 KJV)

    

A Picture of Hell and the Hope of the Resurrection

You can tell when spring is near when you hear birds chirping, smell the aroma of trees and vines budding, see the countless colored daffodils, and taste food from the grill.  Spring is my favorite time of the year.  Everything is coming to life.  It makes Easter special.  It reminds us that the dead of winter and its long dark hours are gone.

I am one of the few that enjoys winter.  When serving the Bethel Baptist Associational Disaster Relief Chain Saw team, I enjoyed snow in Missouri after an ice storm.  Well, I enjoyed the cold and the snow.  It reminded me of living in Illinois as a kid.  No, I am not a Yankee.  As the group ALABAMA sings, “My home is Alabama, Southern Born, and Southern Bred.”  Daddy worked up north for three years.  We moved back home to Alabama in the spring of 1960 because Mamma did not like the Yankees, the cold, and the snow.

Spring reminds me of going home, the eternal one.  It is the promise of eternal life found in the resurrection of Jesus.  Daddy died on Friday after Easter April 29, 1984.  I remember the morning I left the hospital.  The birds were singing, the morning sun glistened, and you could smell the aroma of spring.  I thought about what a beautiful day for daddy to go home with Jesus.

Doctors diagnosed momma with stage four-melanoma cancer in the fall of 1986 and she died in the winter in January.  Her last days were difficult.  The demon cancer consumed her beautiful body.  The funeral director said her body was as a piece of wood that looked solid until you picked it up, and then realized that, it was rotten and it crumbled in your hands.

It snowed days before her death.  With her arm eaten into from cancer, she watched me build a snowman from her hospital window.  I knocked on her window and made a face.  Hours later, the Clanton Hospital transferred her to the University of Alabama Birmingham Hospital.  I rode with her in the emergency vehicle.  I remember it snowing as we unloaded in downtown Birmingham.

They placed her in the terminal ward.  If there was a picture of hell it was the night I spent with her.  Seven people, including a young boy, young mother, and elderly man died that night.  Patients throughout the whole ward cried out in agony and pain. 

I had never been around such torment before.  I heard the cries of a young boy as he cried for his mother to hold him and stop the pain.  The lady in the room with momma would speak in a little girl's voice.  She said, “Daddy, please hold me.”  She repeated it over and over.  Momma would say, “Oh God, help me.”  She repeated this over and over.  I lay there with a feeling of hopelessness.  My pain seemed insignificant compared to those who died that night. 

I have thought about that night many times.  I went home, my back in severe pain from the stress, and stared at the ceiling.  I could not sleep, eat, work, study, read, etc.  I was useless and wanting to die.  This is how I pictured hell.  I was glad that this was the only torment that momma would endure.  When she died, my sister, my brothers, and I thanked God that she entered heaven where the flowers bloom forever and she would receive a new beautiful body.

And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom (Luke 16:23).

My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand (John 10:27-28)

Resurrection morning Jesus solidified His promise, I am the resurrection, and the life.