Several years ago I was a guest preacher in a country church just south of Ottawa, Ontario. I preached that morning on what I have often called the five greatest words in the Old Testament: “I will be with you.”
For the children’s sermon I told a story about when I was a little boy and my third grade teacher’s only child, a teenage boy, died in a car accident. I told them how, as a little boy, I was afraid.
I was afraid that Mrs. Vander Wilt and her husband would never be happy again, would never smile again, would never see the sun shine again. I told them how years later I realized I was wrong, that just isn’t true, that because God was with them, God held them, and there was hope, even sunshine again.
Well, one of the hazards of being a guest preacher is that you never really know what you’re walking into in a particular church. I had obviously touched some nerve in that congregation because the room was silent through the entire children’s sermon.
After worship, I went for lunch to the home of a retired couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kooistra.
“I have to teach catechism,” Mr. Kooistra explained, “but Mrs. Kooistra will drive you home.”
She did, and then led me through several rooms in this old, large farmhouse, with a potbelly stove in every room, into the living room where she directed me to a particular chair in front of the fireplace which she then lit.
She promptly brought me a cup of coffee and cookie, and sat down on the couch nearby.
“Your sermon touched this congregation today,” she said very formally and quietly. She pointed to the picture on the mantle.
“Our son Henry and two teenage boys from our congregation were killed in a car accident 15 years ago. And what you said this morning is true: The Lord is with us and the sun does shine again.”
And she proceeded to tell me the story all over again.
Mr. Kooistra came home and joined in. He went on to tell me what happened after worship,
“Without planning it at all,” he said, “we found ourselves and the parents of the other two boys together, alone, in the foyer. And we whispered to each other, some through our tears, that what the preacher said was true: The Lord is with us. And the sun does shine again.’”
This holy communion, with these beautiful saints, was not quite over. They led me into the kitchen for lunch. There on this large kitchen table that at one time had seated them with all five of their children, were three simple bowls of home-made soup, a home-made loaf of bread, home-whipped butter and home-made jelly. The litany of their deep pain, but now faith deeper still, and overflowing gratitude for life continued over lunch.
At the end of the lunch Mr. Kooistra read, Psalm 121,
I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip— he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. . .
He closed the Bible and asked me to “return thanks” — the way, in traditional Dutch piety, you ask the guest to close the meal in prayer.
“Before I pray, I have to tell you how amazing it is to me that you read Psalm 121 today. For the first ten years of my ministry, I couldn’t read this psalm on a pastoral call, because too often it looked to me like someone’s foot had slipped, and it looked to me for all the world like God had fallen asleep,” I said.
I explained how I only started using this psalm when I realized that it was suffering saints most of all who believed this psalm.
Mr. Kooistra sat up straight in his chair, “Henry’s foot did not slip and God did not slumber!” It was clear, between the conviction in his voice and the stare of Mrs. Kooistra through the kitchen window, and far out into the snowy field beyond, that he said this for both of them because they believed it. And he said this in order to believe it.
But now thus says the LORD,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
Isaiah 43:1-3
Header photo by Olivie Strauss on Unspash
22 Responses
Oh my, thank you.
Thank you for this as we begin Thanksgiving week. Our sermon yesterday from Jeremiah spoke of this as well – even in exile (maybe especially in exile?), God is there with us. Some of us who have felt exiled from the Christian Reformed Church are experiencing that abiding presence now, even as we watch and wait for what God is doing in us and through us.
I don’t doubt the pain of those leaving the CRC but I wish it didn’t have to be dragged into every conversation. This article is about the pain of losing children.
Even when there are moments and sometimes days when I feel abandoned in the grief of overwhelmingly missing our sweetly outrageous Alia, the Spirit reaches in and draws me back to the knowledge that he is still with me and will not let me go. Thank you, friend, for this powerful truth.
Thanks, Duane. I needed to remember this.
I lost my husband from a car accident. I took care of him, with slipping mental powers, for nine years. I do still smile and interact in God’s good creation. Of course, I am filled with grief. Each day I feel it but I also thank the Lord for my three sons and my 16 grandchildren and the work that my former college employer (Dordt) is doing in this messed up world.
Your Spirit-prompted words blest me, Duane, gave me fresh hope.
Duane, didn’t you preach on Ps 121 at a Calvin Worship Symposium a good many years ago? Thank you for this and for that sermon–even if my brain slipped and I remember someone else preaching it… Blessings, jcd
So very true! Thank you!
Duane, didn’t you preach on Ps 121 at a Calvin Worship Symposium a good many years ago? Thank you for this and for that sermon–even if my brain slipped and I remember someone else preaching it… In any case, it was a blessing then as this blog is today.
Yes, Jim, this story was the conclusion to that sermon. You’ve got a good memory!
Thank you, Duane, for reaching into our hearts today….
So timely. Thank you.
Duane- We still remember your hospital visit in Iowa City when our infant daughter, Rebecca, was in her final hours. Thank you for being Jesus to us over 40 years ago!
So wonderful to hear from you Carol. I remember that time so well too.
Thanks, Duane. I know the families of all three of those teenagers (including the Kooistras). I have no doubt your sermon deeply touched the congregation.
Thanks Gayla. If you know the Kooistras, you know how this was such a powerful experience for me. Such honest, authentic, godly people. As I drove away from their house that day, I just cried.
Duane, I had a somewhat similar experience, but then sadly different. In 1986 I was candidating at an RCA Dutch immigrant church in Ontario. On Sunday afternoon we were hosted by an elder and his wife, an older couple. Their only son had died tragically. Their living room was a frigid museum of knick-knacks. They looked with disfavour on our two little kids for fear of knocking something off a low shelf. Their bitterness and deep disappointment was just beneath the surface. It was a depressing afternoon. I did not take that call. How was it that their faith had not helped them?
As is classically said in Chicago, with full reverence and spiritual sensitivity, “Jeez” . . .
Otherwise speechless.
Thank you.
This was warm and wonderful and honest, like a bowl of homemade soup at a wooden table. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Duane, This summer we lost our daughter (mother of 4 young children) after she suffered with cancer for 3 years. I have been encouraged by you that one day the pain will be bearable. God help us.
Thank you Duane! As I’ve been completing my memoir, I could not refrain from writing one more reflection on my youngest daughter who died in 2013. It always brings tears but also thanks! So did the Isaiah passage this morning. Al