Stay

This is a sermon on Psalm 63:1-8 for our Lenten series on "The Bible: Book of Faith." The specific topic was Comfort.

May grace and peace be yours in abundance in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord. Amen.

The first time I met Eunice, she told me that the bright print on the shirt I was wearing was “really busy,” and pointed out that I needed to touch up my hair color – at that time, bleached blonde with 2 inches of dark brown roots. She was not subtle.

Last summer, I was working as a chaplain in an assisted living facility. At age 96, Eunice was on hospice care, and the activities director took me in to meet her one afternoon and visit. Although she was confined to her bed, Eunice’s mind was sharp – she talked at length about her grandson, who had also studied to be a pastor, and, as I mentioned, pointed out what she thought about my appearance. I was taken aback, and a little delighted to meet her. She was feisty. She was fun. We talked a while that day, prayed together, and then I left.

A week or two later, I decided to visit Eunice again. I knocked on the door of the apartment she shared with her husband of 71 years, Frank. He answered the door, explained that he was just about to go and get supper for the two of them from the dining room, and asked if I would wait with Eunice while he was out. I said that I would. Frank left, and I went into the bedroom to find Eunice, again lying in her bed.

Things were very different. The sharp, feisty, fun lady I had visited only a week earlier seemed to be gone. Eunice looked pale and fragile. I introduced myself to her again, and asked how she was doing. Speech was difficult for her – her voice sounded dry and far-away – but she managed to say, “Stay with me. Stay with me.”

So I did. I sat down on the side of her bed. After some minutes, Eunice reached up and stroked my hair, and then my face. “Stay with me, stay with me,” she continued. and then grabbed my hand with a surprisingly strong grip, and placed it on her stomach. “Stay with me. Will you stay with me? Stay with me,” she asked. I said that I would. She moved my hand up, placing it over her heart.

We sat in silence for a long time. I looked into her eyes, and tried not to feel so awkward about my hand on her chest. She never let go. As the minutes ticked by, I began to realize that I was not just there to bring myself to her side, I was there to bring, at least in some small way, the presence and promise and comfort of God. At one point I spoke a blessing to her, “The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord’s face shine on you and be gracious to you, the Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace.” And every few minutes, she would repeat those words – “Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me.” And I stayed, sitting with her on her bed, my hand on her heart, feeling at times deeply grateful and woefully inadequate to answer the call of God and the gentle plea coming from her mouth – the calling to stay, and stay, and stay.

*****

Psalm 63 is my favorite prayer because of one short line in it. Verses 5 and 6 read, “My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips / when I think of you on my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night.” Those words – “when I think of you on my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night” strike me as almost scandalously intimate. The words of the Psalm tell about looking upon God in the sanctuary and beholding God’s power and glory, and about lifting up hands to call on God’s name, but then these words – when I think of you on my bed – that’s a precious little moment of raw spiritual honesty.

Who hasn’t laid in bed, up late at night, unable to sleep, maybe worried about something, maybe excited about something, maybe just wondering… who hasn’t laid there at least once and thought about God?

Asking, Who is God?, or Who am I, little old me, to something or someone as big as God?

Asking, why does God let us hurt?, or Why is God so good? Maybe asking both.

Or just thinking stay with me, God. Stay with me.

If Easter morning brings us into the shining and radiant glory of the Resurrection like a brilliant brand-new sunrise, then maybe Lent is our season of waiting and longing in the darkness, the late-night, early-morning hours of the year – a time when our eyes turn both inward to our own spiritual journey and outward to watch… we still see the cold gray slate skies and dim fog of winter, we know the suffering of the cross is coming, and yet we look, too, for signs of the coming of Spring and the redeeming promise of the Resurrection.

The Psalmist writes of this time of waiting and longing for the comforting presence of God – “O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you,” says the prayer, “my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” I hear in those words Eunice’s plea, “Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me,” and see her thin, dry lips that could barely form themselves around a straw to drink water as the end of life approached.

“So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory,” says the prayer, “because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.” I hear in those words the echo of Eunice’s past, her deep faith, and see the truth in her longing and knowing eyes, that as God comes to gather her home, she is running into the everlasting arms.

“For you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy,” says the prayer, “My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” I feel in those words Eunice’s hand clasping my own and holding it to her heart, and know the presence of God as she lay in her bed, clinging confidently to the promise and comfort of a God who empties himself and gives himself up for her and for you and for me in the cross of Jesus Christ.

*****

Frank, Eunice’s husband, returned to her bedside about an hour after he left us together that afternoon, and thanked me for staying with her. Eunice died a few days later. I am grateful to have known her. As the weeks went by, Frank started showing up at the Bible studies and devotional groups held at the facility, as well as the Sunday afternoon worship service.

He was hurting. After 71 years together, he told me that since Eunice died, he felt like his right arm was missing. He told me he’d received a few mysterious phone calls where no one answered on the other end of the line – he thought it was Eunice, calling to say, “I love you,” to say, “Get out there into the world and connect with other people,” or maybe to say, “I’m still right here with you. Staying with you. Until we are together again.”

It’s impossible to know where those phone calls came from. And many of us don’t know what it’s like to lose the person you’ve shared your life with for over seven decades, although some of you here understand that experience all too well. And it’s often hard to feel the presence of God in and around us here on earth.

These words from the Psalm, words of prayer -- “O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” These words echo Eunice’s plea, saying “Stay with me, God. Stay with me.”

These words from the Psalm, words of prayer -- “So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory, because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.” These words echo the longing of Frank’s heart for God as he took those first steps into worship after Eunice died, saying “Stay with me, God. Stay with me.”

These words from the Psalm, words of prayer -- “My soul is satisfied as with a rich feast, and my mouth praises you with joyful lips when I think of you on my bed, and meditate on you in the watches of the night; for you have been my help, and in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” These words echo the silence of that private, lonely, hopeful place each of us finds ourselves in at one time or another – saying “Stay with me, God. Stay with me.”

We wait in the darkness. We look for the light of morning. We reach out to be caught and embraced in the everlasting arms of our Creator, Redeemer, and Guiding Spirit.