All Is Not Vanity
When I walked into the room to meet my nursing staff for morning report, Jason was in the middle of his mournful commentary on life. "People," he said, "are no different than animals. Life has no purpose. It's meaningless. We live, and then we die."
I'm not usually lost for words, but this time I was. Why did a 20-year old man hold such somber sentiments? By the time I recovered enough to inject my opinion, the night nurse breezed through the door, sat down and began report on her patients. I held my tongue, and mentally kicked myself for my lost opportunity.
Toward the last few minutes of report, the door behind me opened and closed. Without looking up, I knew who it was. Two months earlier I had asked the hospital chaplain to join us each morning for a brief reading of scripture and prayer.
Chaplain Bernard took his seat behind me and waited for the nurse to conclude.
When she stood to leave, I invited those who wanted to stay for devotion to remain. Those wishing to start work could do so. Jason, and a few others, left the room while the rest of us settled ourselves for the Chaplain's message. Meanwhile, my thoughts still smoldered with "what-ifs."
"I had planned to read something else," he started, "but while I was in my office earlier today, the thought came to me that I should read this passage, instead."
As he began reading, my swirling self-recrimination screeched to a halt. I shifted in my chair and looked at him, suddenly aware God had directed his decision to change his text to Psalm 139:
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord . . . Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. . . . For you created my inmost being . . . When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
The silence that followed when he closed the Bible could not have been longer than a moment or two. It seemed like a week. Finally, two nursing assistants smiled at each other and began whispering. Then one of them said to me, "Wow, it's too bad Jason wasn't here to hear that."
I knew from the chaplain's blank stare that I should explain what happened earlier that morning. When I finished, he smiled, gratified that God had spoken to us all.
I regret those who left did not hear God's response to Jason's Solomon-esque "all is vanity" (see Ecclesiastes). But those who remained behind were not disappointed. Scripture reminded us once again of God's personal and eternal concern for each of us -- for our lives, hopes, dreams. For the Christian, life can be rich with purpose and overflow with opportunity. Repeatedly, God assures His children that those who ask, receive; to those who knock, it is opened; and those who seek, find.
Solomon, at the end of his life, finally realized those wonderful truths (Ecclesiastes 12). I can only hope Jason, and others like him, discover God's love sooner than that.
rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net
I'm not usually lost for words, but this time I was. Why did a 20-year old man hold such somber sentiments? By the time I recovered enough to inject my opinion, the night nurse breezed through the door, sat down and began report on her patients. I held my tongue, and mentally kicked myself for my lost opportunity.
Toward the last few minutes of report, the door behind me opened and closed. Without looking up, I knew who it was. Two months earlier I had asked the hospital chaplain to join us each morning for a brief reading of scripture and prayer.
Chaplain Bernard took his seat behind me and waited for the nurse to conclude.
When she stood to leave, I invited those who wanted to stay for devotion to remain. Those wishing to start work could do so. Jason, and a few others, left the room while the rest of us settled ourselves for the Chaplain's message. Meanwhile, my thoughts still smoldered with "what-ifs."
"I had planned to read something else," he started, "but while I was in my office earlier today, the thought came to me that I should read this passage, instead."
As he began reading, my swirling self-recrimination screeched to a halt. I shifted in my chair and looked at him, suddenly aware God had directed his decision to change his text to Psalm 139:
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord . . . Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. . . . For you created my inmost being . . . When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
The silence that followed when he closed the Bible could not have been longer than a moment or two. It seemed like a week. Finally, two nursing assistants smiled at each other and began whispering. Then one of them said to me, "Wow, it's too bad Jason wasn't here to hear that."
I knew from the chaplain's blank stare that I should explain what happened earlier that morning. When I finished, he smiled, gratified that God had spoken to us all.
I regret those who left did not hear God's response to Jason's Solomon-esque "all is vanity" (see Ecclesiastes). But those who remained behind were not disappointed. Scripture reminded us once again of God's personal and eternal concern for each of us -- for our lives, hopes, dreams. For the Christian, life can be rich with purpose and overflow with opportunity. Repeatedly, God assures His children that those who ask, receive; to those who knock, it is opened; and those who seek, find.
Solomon, at the end of his life, finally realized those wonderful truths (Ecclesiastes 12). I can only hope Jason, and others like him, discover God's love sooner than that.
rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net
posted by rich at
1:02 PM
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