Setting the Stage
Picture three young kids all lined up on a couch, none
of their feet touching the ground, as their young mother reads to them…
(For my sister, Chris, and
my brother, Gary, please close your eyes and repeat with me in unison)
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
(NIV)
1. If I speak in the tongues of men and of
angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
2. If
I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and
if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
3. If I give all
I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not
love, I gain nothing.
4. Love
is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
5. It
is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no
record of wrongs.
6. Love
does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
7. It
always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8. Love never
fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are
tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
9. For we know in
part and we prophesy in part,
10. but when
perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.
11. When
I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a
child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.
12. Now
we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13. And
now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is
love.
My parents used a carrot
and stick approach to our discipline. Mom generally held the carrot
and my Dad wielded the stick. Whenever, Mom caught us arguing
or fighting, she’d sit us down and read 1 Corinthians 13. Church
folk were impressed by our ability to recite a whole chapter from the Bible;
they just didn’t know “The rest of the story.”
I don’t know what the
record is for fights inside a house of worship, but I wouldn’t be surprised if
my brother Gary and I were in contention. Mom played the piano and
Dad was an usher. Without a parent between us, we didn’t have any
qualms about settling our disputes physically and didn’t put enough thought
into the certain consequences. I’ve always joked that I didn’t mind
going to church in my youth, I just didn’t care much for the spanking part.
While
most of our clashes took place in our pre-school years, the last physical
altercation of our youth (inside or outside of church) actually took place when
I was 17. I arrived late to find Gary in my favorite
place, the end of the last pew closest to the door. The place was
special to me because I could rest my elbow on the arm rest and sleep. Being
the first person out the door was also an important factor to
me. The visiting evangelist missed seeing me knock Gary’s elbow
off the arm rest and hip check him over, but he did
catch Gary planting a solid left hook into my gut. I
didn’t retaliate, not because I was finally putting my “childish ways behind
me.” He’d knocked the wind out of me and I was near totally
disabled. Gary likes to point out that the last of our battles
was a win for him. I like to point out that I departed immediately
after the service, while he was receiving a personalized sermon on “Loving your
brother” from the visiting evangelist ;)
I’ve always admired my
Mom’s persistence and patience with me, particularly during a period in my life
when my attitude was bad and my behavior was clearly wrong. I don’t know how I could have repeated the words so many times without understanding the message. Now that I’ve put a few decades under my belt, I’ve come to appreciate the grains of wisdom imparted to me. She was living verse 7, “It (Love) always protects, always trusts, always hopes,
always perseveres” and while she was engraving the meaning of love on our
hearts she was also engraving the very same words on her own.
Note: After I'd already
posted this story, my sister Chris responded with an email; "I can't go to a wedding without laughing
when they quote that scripture!" When we were little, I'm
sure we must have wondered what the couple had been fighting about. Chris is
just lucky the scripture isn't commonly used at funerals. If I die first, she'd
better bite her cheeks ;)
Now picture a
60-year-old man sitting in a pew at his Mom’s funeral, waiting to read 1st
Corinthians 13, and sharing our family story.
With my normal unease of public speaking eclipsed by fear of breaking
down emotionally, the moment arrived. I
rose from the pew and started walking to the podium. As I walked by my brother Gary, I turned
toward him and stopped. With a circling
motion of my hand, I beckoned him to come closer. Sitting in the second row, he was compelled
to rise and lean over the pew. His
puzzlement was quickly replaced by shock as I landed a solid right jab on his
shoulder. While my original impulse, coming moments before rising, was to only deliver
a symbolic tap, I’m blaming the actual outcome on adrenaline and his forward
movement. Later in the day, Gary sent me this picture.
I really didn’t have to
respond to Gary’s obviously doctored picture, but decided it wouldn’t be
brotherly not to.
At the meal following
the service, I asked the minister if he’d ever seen anyone get hit during a
funeral. It was a first for him,
although he did recount a fight in the vestibule between the mother of the
bride and the mother of the groom. One
of the pallbearers from Shiloh Children’s Ranch told me the punch was “unexpected”
and that he actually liked it. If I'd actually thought things through, I'd have waited until Mom's second service in Cheyenne Wells in front of family and friends who know us better.
Most importantly, I know
Gary holds no ill will. With little
effort, I’m sure he can picture Grandpa Bill, Granny, and Aunt Sandy looking
down from heaven, pointing, and laughing loudly while Mom and Grandma Dorothy
stand by covering their eyes muttering “those boys.” I truly know what my brother cares about the most; a loving bond, an interesting story to share, and knowing I’ll have to be on guard every time we’re ever in church together again.
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