Pastor or brother?

And he has given us this command: Whoever loves God must also love his brother. 1 John 4:21

My brother Darrell is dying of pancreatic cancer. He is a 13-year survivor. Almost 14 years. We’re not aware of anyone who has lived longer. When the cancer was first diagnosed, Darrell and his family were casual participants (perhaps members) of a Methodist church. They had a good relationship with the pastor. Then in the time of their great need, the church suffered a split. The pastor was ousted. As I understand it, they tried another church. Then it, too, suffered a split. Or maybe it was the same church a second time around.

In any event, my brother had what we call “a bad church experience.” There are two sides to every story. I didn’t hear the entire account. But in the aftermath, Darrell and his family essentially adopted a secular worldview. They felt burnt by the church. He never ceased claiming to be a believer, at least with me. I didn’t observe anger directed toward God. But his attention was drawn to other endeavors, especially beating his cancer by medical means. In my last extended conversation with Darrell, he described his walk of faith as “slow.”

When we arrived at the hospice home Sunday night, Darrell had been unresponsive for a couple days. Nevertheless, I read Scripture with him, invited him to faith in Christ and prayed with him. To watching family members, this was my pastoral task. Every day I’ve read Scripture to Darrell, expounded on the passage, and prayed with him. My role here has indeed been spiritual. But is it pastoral?

As Darrell has lingered, the question has arisen whether I should continue to stay near Darrell or drive to Ohio in support of our parents. In considering this decision, someone asked me what I want to do about Darrell as a brother, not just as a pastor. In other words, am I a pastor or a brother?

The question surprised me. As a pastor, I’ve read Scripture and prayed with people thousands of times. That experience has given me familiarity with the situation here. But I’m not Darrell’s pastor. I’m his brother. As his brother, I’m required to love him. In this situation, that means reading Scripture to him, presenting opportunities of faith in the face of death, and praying with him. I can do nothing less for my brother.

Pastor or brother? The answer isn’t both. I’m not the pastor here. I’m a brother.

 

Welcome, Enemy

 

For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. 1 Corinthians 15:25-26

Death is a vile enemy. It defies faith. It denies hope. It devastates love.

Death is a vicious enemy. Jesus prayed to his Father, “If you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42). Then the Savior submitted to the most ignoble death possible. He willingly suffered the humiliating condemnation of a Roman cross.

Death is a defeated enemy. The Resurrection changed everything. Jesus turned death on its head. He came back from the grave, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

Death’s final destruction is yet future. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54). In the meantime, humanity remains subject to the despicable throes of death. At present, death is still a powerful, hated enemy.

My brother Darrell is dying of cancer. It’s not a pleasant sight. He has not received food or water for six days. Yet he lingers. As far as we can tell, he is not aware of what is going on around him. His breathing is shallower today. Yet, incredibly, his vital signs are actually improving. His blood pressure improved today. His heart rate was closer to normal. The hospice care has been wonderful. He may yet linger for days. Or his departure from this broken world could come tonight.

God has his purpose in the timing of Darrell’s life and death. Yet I don’t recognize it in the lingering, unless it serves as an open door of invitation for those who remain.

God remains sovereign. Death remains an enemy, though a welcome enemy. When the angel of death finally arrives, it will sting. There will be genuine loss. We will feel pain. But death will accomplish only what God has decreed. Therefore I say to the hovering immanence of destruction, “Welcome, Enemy.”

Are you ready for eternity?

And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’ “Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.” ’ “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’ “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”  Luke 12:16-21 

One of Jesus’ parables has popped into my mind repeatedly over the past two days as I receive updates of my brother Darrell’s appar­ent immi­nent demise in South Carolina. Jesus told a story about a man whose focus was fixed on the fleeting, temporal, physical world.

Somebody has said that everybody knows they’re going to die. We just think it’s not going to be today. Even if we have cancer and the doctor has told us our days are numbered, we can fight for life in this world to the exclusion of preparation for eternity.

I don’t know much about my brother’s faith. He received my spiritual encouragement without dissent, but with little outward interest. He prayed with me and appreciated my prayers. He may be headed to heaven. But I really don’t have much assurance.

My brother has fought hard for life. He is one of the longest living survivors of pancreatic cancer – almost 14 years. Just a month ago he told me of his intent to participate in a strenuous bicycle ride in Vir­ginia this weekend. He said he planned to do it again next year. And the next. And the next.

Despite strong urges from all of us, Darrell refused to make a will. It was his way of saying, “This cancer isn’t going to beat me. I’m going to live.”

But instead, God may be saying, “Your life will be demanded from you very soon.” Apparently Darrell will die soon without a will. The stroke was sudden. He is no longer capable of legally expressing his obvious wishes.

Are you ready for eternity? Please, confront the claim of Jesus on your life. And write a will.