The Backside of the Mountain For a Thirty-three-year-old Cancer Victim
Sermon
We Are The Lord's
AN ANTHOLOGY OF SELECT FUNERAL MESSAGES
We have come here this day to find comfort and understanding in the sickness and death of Charles Whitlow. We also are here to affirm his all-too-short life on this earth and carry forward some of the lessons he taught us. We are here as his mother, his wife of twelve years, his daughter, his son, his family, and his friends. Through his life and death we have all come to know one another in a special way.
One day the disciples of Jesus Christ came face-to-face with disease and suffering in the world. They could not quite understand how indiscriminately disease and evil would appear on this planet. They saw good people dying young from disease. They witnessed bad people living to a ripe old age. So Jesus gathered those people around him and he told them a parable. The kingdom of heaven is like a man who plants good seed in a field. Here is this body, this person, who marries a wonderful girl, has two fine children and loves physical activity. He plays basketball at Andrews; he loves stockcar racing; he plays golf; he enjoys the outdoors. A good seed has been planted. Jesus continued, "But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away." That which is imperfect and diseased gets into this situation and it, too, begins to grow. So as the crop grows, the disease grows as well. The two grow up together - the healthy cells and the cancerous cells. The wheat and the weeds are growing along together. The owner's servants came to him and said, "Where did this other stuff come from? Do you want us to just go and pull it up and cut it out?"
The owner replied, "No, it is too late for that. If you pull up the diseased seeds you will take the good with you. There's nothing we can do but let the two grow together until harvest time.
"At that time we will collect the good and bring it into my barn. At that time we will separate that which I have created and planted from the weeds which got into this system." The harvest time, of course, is the time of death.
Then Jesus went on to tell what his barn was like. "In my father's house are many rooms - for all different kinds of people. Through my death on the cross, a place is being prepared for each of you - young and old, rich and poor - where you may live for eternity. This is the truth. If it were not so, I would have told you."
Deep down, all of us know Jesus' words to be true. The good and the bad do grow together - the perfect and the imperfect, life and death, joy and suffering. We also know that there is a final harvest and that the one who has created and redeemed us takes us home, safe and secure into his house which is wide enough and large enough not only for us, but for all who have come before us - our grandfathers and grandmothers, like Carson and Maggie Whitlow; our fathers, like Zeb Whitlow; and all who will come after us - like our wives, mothers, children, and sisters. But aside from the comfort and understanding of Charlie's sickness, there are some specific lessons God gives us to affirm. Among these many lessons are three that mean a great deal to me and I would like to share them with you.
1. In the first place, Charlie Whitlow and his family got all out of this situation that could possibly have been gotten. That is all anyone can ever do - take what life has given you, stretch it to its utmost and get all out of it it has to give. Jesus told of some men who were given various talents - to one was given ten talents; to another, five; to another, two; and to one man, only one. Not everyone gets the same amount of time on this earth, the same conditions, or the same set of people to work with. Life is just plain uneven. But all can take what they are given and increase it. Charlie did that. When Charlie went into Duke Hospital, in isolation, for that horribly difficult procedure, I went to see him several times. It had been a bad year in my own life. My father had died from incurable cancer. As I watched my father suffer through all those painful procedures, I sat on his bed and I asked, "Man, why do you go through this stuff, knowing you cannot ultimately get well?" He responded, "Well, they might learn something from me that can help somebody else with cancer at some point in the future." Charlie and I talked about that at Duke. That was Charlie's perspective as well and he helped me understand that. They did not know if Charlie would even live through that procedure at Duke. The man in the next room to him did not. Charlie not only lived through it, but he lived over a year following it. Charlie said to me, "They didn't have this possibility five years ago. I've got to live through this." And he did. He did it with a larger consciousness than just his own ability to get home where he so badly wanted to be with his wife and children. He wanted to contribute some understanding of this disease to help those who would come after him. And he did. He and Kathy got all out of this imperfect situation there was to get. No one can do more.
2. Secondly, Charlie made a promise. He promised that since he was going to get beyond life on this earth before us, that when he did he would pray for us. That was his promise. The process would be reversed. Throughout his illness many people prayed for him and with him. I said, "Charlie, we are all dying at different rates of speed. You're going to get there ahead of us and have the answers to a lot of things that we don't have. You're going to know a lot then that we won't know. When that happens will you promise to turn around and pray for us? Our lot will be easier knowing you are praying for us until we can join you." He promised that he would - and that is going to make our living easier.
3. Finally, Charlie left us a view of death as a joyous way out of life - a going forth into something bigger and better. "He is happy now," are the words of Christa, his daughter. During the last week of life, when the pressure was building in his chest, his breathing more erratic, and a tugging, a pulling, was coming at him from beyond, Charlie lay in the hospital and told everyone, "I hope to be out of here in a week." He did not mean out of the hospital. "I hope to be out of here in a week." He meant out of the painful, diseased body that had closed in on him and confined him; out of the field where the weeds had grown up among the wheat; out of the rough field and into his father's barn. He is indeed happy now.
There are hard and winding trails up a mountain just as there are easy paths. Remember the experience of Moses? He had had a rough life. He had to console himself by driving his father-in-law's sheep on the backside of the mountain. As he drove them on the backside of the mountain, he asked haunting questions of himself: "Am I not alone and forsaken of God? What good am I doing here? Where is the God of my fathers that he does not find me in this weary place of
suffering?" As he climbed the winding trail on the western slope of Mount Horeb, on the backside of the mountain, on the wild bramble-covered exposure, he was interrupted by the sight of a thornbush burning in the hot sun but not being consumed. He stuck his staff into the loose ground and exclaimed, "I will turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burned." And there he talked with God.
I once led a group of teenagers on a hike up Mount Mitchell. We were supposed to walk in the woods a few hundred yards to the main highway. Then we would walk up the paved road to the top. We got lost. We could not find the road. We became confused. What was supposed to be easy did not turn out the way we had planned. We had no choice but to walk up the backside of the mountain. We trudged through the poison ivy, the trees, the sticker bushes, and the rocks, It was awful. It would be a lie to say it was pleasant and what we would have wished. But when we got to the top the view was magnificent. You could see for tens of miles. It was breathtaking. I still wish we could have come up the easy way. But we still got to the top.
We would have preferred Charlie to have had more years with us. We would have wished him less heartache and suffering. He had to climb on the backside. But he got all out of the situation he could; he promised to pray for us; and he found release from a painful disease that he eventually wanted out of!
We will feel his loss immeasurably. But we can affirm his life. We can leave this place rejoicing in his life. And we can accept his death - placing him in God's eternal care until we shall meet again. So be it.
One day the disciples of Jesus Christ came face-to-face with disease and suffering in the world. They could not quite understand how indiscriminately disease and evil would appear on this planet. They saw good people dying young from disease. They witnessed bad people living to a ripe old age. So Jesus gathered those people around him and he told them a parable. The kingdom of heaven is like a man who plants good seed in a field. Here is this body, this person, who marries a wonderful girl, has two fine children and loves physical activity. He plays basketball at Andrews; he loves stockcar racing; he plays golf; he enjoys the outdoors. A good seed has been planted. Jesus continued, "But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away." That which is imperfect and diseased gets into this situation and it, too, begins to grow. So as the crop grows, the disease grows as well. The two grow up together - the healthy cells and the cancerous cells. The wheat and the weeds are growing along together. The owner's servants came to him and said, "Where did this other stuff come from? Do you want us to just go and pull it up and cut it out?"
The owner replied, "No, it is too late for that. If you pull up the diseased seeds you will take the good with you. There's nothing we can do but let the two grow together until harvest time.
"At that time we will collect the good and bring it into my barn. At that time we will separate that which I have created and planted from the weeds which got into this system." The harvest time, of course, is the time of death.
Then Jesus went on to tell what his barn was like. "In my father's house are many rooms - for all different kinds of people. Through my death on the cross, a place is being prepared for each of you - young and old, rich and poor - where you may live for eternity. This is the truth. If it were not so, I would have told you."
Deep down, all of us know Jesus' words to be true. The good and the bad do grow together - the perfect and the imperfect, life and death, joy and suffering. We also know that there is a final harvest and that the one who has created and redeemed us takes us home, safe and secure into his house which is wide enough and large enough not only for us, but for all who have come before us - our grandfathers and grandmothers, like Carson and Maggie Whitlow; our fathers, like Zeb Whitlow; and all who will come after us - like our wives, mothers, children, and sisters. But aside from the comfort and understanding of Charlie's sickness, there are some specific lessons God gives us to affirm. Among these many lessons are three that mean a great deal to me and I would like to share them with you.
1. In the first place, Charlie Whitlow and his family got all out of this situation that could possibly have been gotten. That is all anyone can ever do - take what life has given you, stretch it to its utmost and get all out of it it has to give. Jesus told of some men who were given various talents - to one was given ten talents; to another, five; to another, two; and to one man, only one. Not everyone gets the same amount of time on this earth, the same conditions, or the same set of people to work with. Life is just plain uneven. But all can take what they are given and increase it. Charlie did that. When Charlie went into Duke Hospital, in isolation, for that horribly difficult procedure, I went to see him several times. It had been a bad year in my own life. My father had died from incurable cancer. As I watched my father suffer through all those painful procedures, I sat on his bed and I asked, "Man, why do you go through this stuff, knowing you cannot ultimately get well?" He responded, "Well, they might learn something from me that can help somebody else with cancer at some point in the future." Charlie and I talked about that at Duke. That was Charlie's perspective as well and he helped me understand that. They did not know if Charlie would even live through that procedure at Duke. The man in the next room to him did not. Charlie not only lived through it, but he lived over a year following it. Charlie said to me, "They didn't have this possibility five years ago. I've got to live through this." And he did. He did it with a larger consciousness than just his own ability to get home where he so badly wanted to be with his wife and children. He wanted to contribute some understanding of this disease to help those who would come after him. And he did. He and Kathy got all out of this imperfect situation there was to get. No one can do more.
2. Secondly, Charlie made a promise. He promised that since he was going to get beyond life on this earth before us, that when he did he would pray for us. That was his promise. The process would be reversed. Throughout his illness many people prayed for him and with him. I said, "Charlie, we are all dying at different rates of speed. You're going to get there ahead of us and have the answers to a lot of things that we don't have. You're going to know a lot then that we won't know. When that happens will you promise to turn around and pray for us? Our lot will be easier knowing you are praying for us until we can join you." He promised that he would - and that is going to make our living easier.
3. Finally, Charlie left us a view of death as a joyous way out of life - a going forth into something bigger and better. "He is happy now," are the words of Christa, his daughter. During the last week of life, when the pressure was building in his chest, his breathing more erratic, and a tugging, a pulling, was coming at him from beyond, Charlie lay in the hospital and told everyone, "I hope to be out of here in a week." He did not mean out of the hospital. "I hope to be out of here in a week." He meant out of the painful, diseased body that had closed in on him and confined him; out of the field where the weeds had grown up among the wheat; out of the rough field and into his father's barn. He is indeed happy now.
There are hard and winding trails up a mountain just as there are easy paths. Remember the experience of Moses? He had had a rough life. He had to console himself by driving his father-in-law's sheep on the backside of the mountain. As he drove them on the backside of the mountain, he asked haunting questions of himself: "Am I not alone and forsaken of God? What good am I doing here? Where is the God of my fathers that he does not find me in this weary place of
suffering?" As he climbed the winding trail on the western slope of Mount Horeb, on the backside of the mountain, on the wild bramble-covered exposure, he was interrupted by the sight of a thornbush burning in the hot sun but not being consumed. He stuck his staff into the loose ground and exclaimed, "I will turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burned." And there he talked with God.
I once led a group of teenagers on a hike up Mount Mitchell. We were supposed to walk in the woods a few hundred yards to the main highway. Then we would walk up the paved road to the top. We got lost. We could not find the road. We became confused. What was supposed to be easy did not turn out the way we had planned. We had no choice but to walk up the backside of the mountain. We trudged through the poison ivy, the trees, the sticker bushes, and the rocks, It was awful. It would be a lie to say it was pleasant and what we would have wished. But when we got to the top the view was magnificent. You could see for tens of miles. It was breathtaking. I still wish we could have come up the easy way. But we still got to the top.
We would have preferred Charlie to have had more years with us. We would have wished him less heartache and suffering. He had to climb on the backside. But he got all out of the situation he could; he promised to pray for us; and he found release from a painful disease that he eventually wanted out of!
We will feel his loss immeasurably. But we can affirm his life. We can leave this place rejoicing in his life. And we can accept his death - placing him in God's eternal care until we shall meet again. So be it.
