AN AFFIRMATION OF FAITH    (Written by The Rev. Dennis Posno)
“God is love” our scriptures declare.
“God’s love never runs out” they affirm.
“Nothing, nothing at all, can ever separate us
from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” they proclaim.
What does this love mean?  For me?  For us all?
Page after page declares it … life after life experiences it:
in this love there is no sin so large that God cannot forgive it …
no life so small that God does not value it …
no life so lost that God cannot find it …
no life so broken that God cannot mend it.
No life.  Not mine.  Not anyone’s.
It is this love that has claimed me.
It is this love that I embrace with a thankful heart.
It is this love that makes all of the difference in the world.
AMEN
READING OF HOLY SCRIPTURE   Selected verses from Psalm 23 and Psalm 46
From Psalm 23
The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures,  he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul.  He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.  Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

From Psalm 46
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.  For God says “Be still, and know that I am God.”

I received this little story from my sister, Judy, the other day ...

On the outskirts of a small town,
there was a big, old pecan tree just inside the cemetery fence.
One day, two boys filled up a bucketful of nuts
and sat down by the tree, out of sight, and began dividing the nuts.

“One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me,” said one boy.
Several of the nuts dropped and rolled down toward the fence.

Another boy came riding along the road on his bicycle.
As he passed, he thought he heard voices from inside the cemetery.
He slowed down to investigate.
Sure enough, he heard, “One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me ...”

He just knew what it was.
He jumped back on his bike and rode off.
Just around the bend he met an old man with a cane, hobbling along.

“Come here quick,” said the boy.  “You won't believe what I heard!
The Devil and the Lord are down at the cemetery dividing up the souls!”

The man said, “Beat it kid, can't you see it's hard for me to walk.”
When the boy insisted though, the man hobbled slowly to the cemetery.

Standing by the fence they heard,
“One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me ...”

The old man whispered, “Boy, you've been telling me the truth.
Let's see if we can see the Lord.”

Shaking with fear, they peered through the fence,
yet were still unable to see anything.
The old man and the boy gripped the wrought iron bars of the fence
tighter and tighter as they tried to get a glimpse of the Lord.
At last they heard, “One for you, one for me. That's all.
Now let's go get those nuts by the fence and we'll be done!”

They say the old man had the lead for a good half-mile
before the kid on the bike passed him.

Well, there are endings ... and there are endings.

Today, I don’t want to talk about those ultimate endings,
with the devil and the Lord engaged in conversation,
with their “One for you, one for me” dividing up of souls.
I want to talk about living on this side of eternity.

One of my favourite HBO series from a few years back was “Six Feet Under,”
a series about the family dynamics of a family that owned a funeral home.

The last episode was entitled “Everything. Everywhere. Ends.”
And end it did.
And not just the series.

The last episode moved the lives of the people we had come to know forward,
and as the years unfolded everyone in the series died, except for one.
It was a deeply moving series and the last episode particularly poignant.
Everything.  Everywhere.  Ends.

But it would be wrong for me, for any of us, I believe,
to let those “Everything. Everywhere. Ends” words have the last word.
For there is a greater truth ...
a far greater truth that we can embrace as a people of faith.

We gather here, Sunday by Sunday,
and the doors of this church are open 7 days a week because of that greater truth,
for there was a day that changed that “Everything.  Everywhere.  Ends” notion.
It was a Sunday morning moment after a brutal Good Friday
that changed everything.

The disciples of Jesus, and others,
believing that because of the Jesus ‘ death
everything, everywhere, had ended  -
that everything, everywhere that was good
and true and beautiful and hopeful and loving had ended  -
discovered in a moment that shook the world
other words to describe the way life unfolds:  Now it begins.

If we embrace the notion that
everything, everywhere, ends,
we’re hopelessly lost.
But if we embrace the notion that
everything, everywhere, can begin, or begin again.
we can lose ourselves in hope.

Although the writer of Ecclesiastes wrote that
“there is a time to be born and a time to die”
there is also the time to be born anew ...
to believe that when one door closes another opens ...
to believe that after the storm there’s a rainbow ...
to believe that after the brokenness wholeness can come ...
to believe that after the mistakes there’s another chance ...
to believe that when the worst has happened we can begin again.
And that time is the time of hope.

HOPE.  On this side of eternity.
In the here and now and day to day.
That’s a word to build a life on.
But it’s more than just a word.
It’s an experience.

A woman I knew  -
a young, lovely, full of life, full of faith woman –
was diagnosed with breast cancer.

After a mastectomy and treatment and breast reconstruction
it appeared that her cancer had been beaten.
But it returned. 
It eventually claimed her life.

I know that many of you have faced that life-changing news about cancer.
I know that many of you are at that difficult place now.
And I also know, for all of the faith we have,
and for all of the inner strength we can muster,
that it can fill the soul with fear.
Not so much the fear of dying
but the fear of living.
Not so much the fear of what eternity will hold
but the fear of what the unfolding days will hold
with illness and surgery and treatment.

This young woman no doubt had those fears
and struggled with her questions
and wondered about the unfairness of it all,
    as did those who loved her.

But ...
the young, lovely, full of life, full of faith woman I knew,
in the midst of her life-changing situation and difficult place,
when everything, everywhere was seemingly ending for her,
embraced, in faith, a beautiful spirit of hope.

She experienced, as the psalmist wrote, the nearness of God
who was her “refuge and strength.”
She experienced, as the psalmist wrote, the nearness of God
who was her “ever-present help in trouble.”
She experienced, as the psalmist wrote, the shepherding love of God
who was with her as she travelled “through the valley of the shadow of death.”

Hers was not a pie-in-the-sky hope
but a hope rooted in the love of God for her and her love for God.

Hers was not a wishful thinking hope
but a hope rooted in the notion that life, despite its misery sometimes,
is still beautiful,
still worth waking up to,
still worth embracing.

Hers was not a kidding yourself hope
but a hope experienced as those closest to her,
themselves rooted in the love of God, loved her through it,
even as she loved them.

She said, as she lived out her days,
“I’m not going to die while I’m living.
I’m going to live while I’m dying.”
Isn’t that remarkable.
“I’m not going to die while I’m living.
I’m going to live while I’m dying.”

And she began to live as she had never lived before ...
As her life began to dim her spirit brightened
and she gained a new appreciation of the days she had left.
The cancer may have claimed her body but it didn’t claim her spirit.

When everything, everywhere, ends
how could she possibly do it?
When it looked like the evening of the world
where did the strength come from?
She was wrapped in love, and hope was born,
hope that made the living of her days remarkable.

I know a great man.
He’s not great as we normally think of greatness.
His name doesn’t appear in “Who’s Who?” or in “Forbes Magazine.”
He hasn’t accomplished the things that we usually associate with greatness.
It has been said that
“When God measures a person, God doesn’t put the tape measure
around the person’s head but around the person’s heart.”
He’s just an ordinary man
but it’s his good heart that makes him great.

He’s been coming to Collier for some time.
On those cold days during the winter months
when Collier, along with others, opens its doors for “Out Of The Cold,”
he found his way into the warmth of our building
and the warmth of the welcome he has been given.

A hot evening meal,
some friendly conversation,
a safe place to sleep,
breakfast in the morning,
then out into the cold again.

When the world turns a cold shoulder,
he found hope in welcoming, open doors.
When the world doesn’t see invisible you,
he found hope in welcoming, open hands.
When the world judges you,
he found hope in welcoming, open hearts.

And perhaps it was through those open doors and open hands and open hearts
that he has been able to find his way.
He has found a place to live.
He lives on a disability pension  -
but that has not disabled his caring heart.

And that man,
who once slept downstairs as a guest with the “Out Of The Cold” program,
has found his way upstairs,
and on Sunday mornings he sits in a pew with us,
and is volunteering in areas where he is able.

He is experiencing, as the psalmist wrote, the nearness of God
who has become his “refuge and strength.”
He is experiencing, as the psalmist wrote, the nearness of God
who is his “ever-present help in trouble.”
He is experiencing, as he sits in stillness in our midst, the presence of God.

We sometimes feel that everything, everywhere, ends
and there’s little reason to go on
because there’s little light at the end of the tunnel.
And because of it there’s little hope.
He has found hope because the love of others,
who themselves are filled with the love of God,
have loved him into hope.

When a person is wrapped in love, hope is born, and life can begin again.

Is there a person you know who is at a place of endings?
Is there a person you know who longs for that word, that touch of hope?
Is there a person you know who is filled with fear because, it seems like them,
to be the evening of their world?
Be the presence of God to them.
Be the love of God for them.
Be the hope of God with them.
And if you find yourself at that place,
“be still, and know that God is God ...”
the One who is your “refuge and strength,”
your “ever-present help in trouble.”

SOLI  DEO  GLORIA  +  To God Alone The Glory