God at the Foot of Our Bed

Some of you may have heard of Dave Roever. Nancy and I listened to his story decades ago when our pastor invited him to speak at our church in Springfield, Missouri.

His features startled us. I suspect his appearance startled everyone in the congregation. I’ll tell you why.

Roever served on a gun boat during the Viet Nam war. On one patrol he was about to throw a phosphorous grenade onto the shore to burn the foliage, set off any land mines, and create a smoke screen for him and his battle buddies in the boat.

He didn’t know it until it was too late, but a sniper had zeroed in on him. The bullet missed Dave’s head. It hit the grenade in his hand instead, exploding it just inches from his ear. As the phosphorous burned into his flesh, he was consumed in excoriating flames. He was burning to death as he stood there in the gunboat, watching the skin of his face dripping and melting onto his boots. He fell into the water – but his skin remained on fire because phosphorous can burn even in water. 

When he arrived at a hospital in Japan on his way ultimately to Brook Army Medical Center in San Antonio, he asked for a mirror. I imagine to that point he’d been more concerned about the excruciating pain and surviving his injuries than he was concerned about his looks.

When he held the mirror up to his face, he wished he had died. He couldn’t recognize the monstrous image that was now his face, neck and arm. If HE couldn’t bear the sight – how could others?  And ESPECIALLY, how could his beloved 18-year-old wife who promised to wait for him to come home.

It wasn’t long after Dave’s arrival in San Antonio that Brenda flew out to be with him. As she walked onto the burn unit, Dave spiraled into utter despair. He’d already watched the wives of the other burn patients on his ward walk out of their lives. And now, here was the love of his life, walking toward the monster.

As Brenda stood at the foot of his bed, she wept. Then she took her wedding ring off her finger, held it up and said to him, “This ring means forever.” She walked around the foot of the bed toward him. “I want you to know I love you. Welcome home, Davie.”

She bent down and gently kissed what was left of his lips.

(If you are curious what happened to David and Brenda, they have two children and four grandchildren. Today David Roever is an inspirational speaker, bringing the good news of God’s love to others.)

Why do I tell you the story of David and Brenda? Because in a very real sense it is a story of you and of me – and of Jesus.

Whether we know it or not, whether we care to accept the truth of it all or not, sin – your sin, my sin – sin had horribly and monstrously disfigured us.

Listen to what the Holy Spirit tells us through St. Paul’s pen in the first several verse of Ephesians chapter two: “And you were dead in your trespasses and sins . . . . and were by nature children of wrath, even as the rest. But God, being rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved), and raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus . . . .”

The Greek word Paul used for ‘dead’ in our sins is the same word from which we get “necrotic.”  Have you ever smelled necrotic tissue? Over the course of my 30 years in nursing, I have smelled it. It is unmistakable.

Once you smell it you never forget the odor.

Here’s the point: Sin not only monstrously disfigured us, but it produced in God’s nostrils a hideous and nauseating stench.

Ahhh, but God, being rich in mercy because of His great love for us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ . . . .”
  
In my imagination I see God at the foot of my bed, so to speak, weeping over my mutilation, over the nauseating stench of my sins. And then He walked over to me, bent down and gently kissed me on the lips.

Many Bible scholars identify the Groom and the Bride in Solomon’s Song of Songs as Jesus and His beloved Church – you and me, bought with His precious blood. 

The Bride says this in chapter one of that Biblical book: “May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine.”

The Groom tells her: “How beautiful you are, my darling, how beautiful you are! . . . Your lips are like a scarlet thread, and your mouth is lovely. . . . You are altogether beautiful, my darling, And there is no blemish in you. . . . How beautiful is your love  . . . How much better is your love than wine, and the fragrance of your oils than all kinds of spices!” (Song of Songs 4)

I hope you caught that. The Groom – Jesus our Savior – looks at you and me, disfigured as we have been by sin – and tells us how beautiful we are to Him.

In the opening verses of the prophet Malachi, God said to Israel: “I have loved you . . . But they responded, “How have You loved us?”

Have you ever asked God that question, ever accused God with that question, “How have you loved me?”

Perhaps you have not. But many others have.

They asked it when the doctor told them it’s cancer. They asked it when their child or grandchild was killed in an accident or ruthlessly murdered. They asked it when their beloved spouse said, “I want a divorce.” They ask it when loneliness engulfs them, smothers them, sucks the breath from their souls.

“How have you loved us,” we ask again and again until we are too tired to keep asking.

I fear for us who have heard John 3:16 all our lives until it no longer stirs our souls. I fear for us who have heard it preached so often: “God demonstrates His own love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” – we have heard it so often it no longer encourages and warms our heart.

When the artery in Nancy’s brain ruptured on January 19th of last year, she fell onto the hotel bed writhing in agony. In all our 44 years of marriage to that point, I’d never seen her in such pain. And it frightened me. Really frightened me. I’ve heard of so-called ‘tunnel vision’ people experience in emergencies, and that is precisely what I was having – tunnel vision. I could see nothing else and think of nothing else than to get help for my wife. As she lay there gripping her skull as if that would somehow stop the hurting, I dialed 911 from the phone on the nightstand.  

While I waited for the ambulance, I struggled to pull her pants up to her waist and help her with her blouse. And then, suddenly, she stopped me, looked into my eyes, and said, “I love you.”

I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when she told me, “I love you.”

It was not until twenty minutes later when we were in the ER and waiting for the physician that I could ask her why she told me she loved me.

She answered, “I thought I was dying, and I wanted you to know I love you.”

I’ve thought back to the night of Nancy’s hemorrhagic stroke dozens of times since January 2019. And each time I think of it I remember what she said to me when she thought she was dying.

As I prepared for this message on the second Sunday of Lent, I thought of Dave Roever. I thought of what Nancy said to me when she thought those would be her last words to me. And the Holy Spirit connected the dots. He reminded me of that event of long, long ago when Someone else expressed with His dying breaths His love for me. And you.

Jesus knew His time to die had come. He knew the plan for our salvation, the plan set in motion before Adam and Eve introduced sin into His perfect creation – Jesus knew that plan for our reconciliation to the Father was about to be brought to fruition.

You know the story. The Roman soldiers tied Jesus’ hands to the whipping post, stripped off his robe, and whipped his shoulders and neck and back and buttocks with that bone-studded whip. Jesus’ flesh hung in strips from his body.

Then they nailed His hands and feet to the wood. He struggled for hours to breathe. The open wounds across His back and legs screamed relentlessly for relief. Jesus knew He would soon be dead. His body would soon hang limp from the cross.

But He had one last thing to tell us. I don’t want any of us to miss it. Jesus could have come down from that cross. He could have merely glanced toward heaven and the Father would have immediately sent 12 Legion of angels to His rescue. But instead, He looked through the ages and into your face, and my face, and He said as clearly as He could through the final act He performed: “I love you.”

It was the last thing He wanted us to know before He died. “I love you.”

I cannot explain, no one can explain, how His eternal “I love you” knits together with His tears when the diagnosis is cancer. Or a child or grandchild dies in an accident or at the hands of some vicious murderer.

I cannot explain, no one can explain how Jesus’ dying words, “I love you” blends with His tears when a beloved spouse says, “I want a divorce.” Or when loneliness engulfs you, it smothers you, it sucks your breath from your souls.

All I know is He loves you. And me. I know it because He said it on Calvary, and He says it to our hearts, day after day, sadness after sadness, monstrous horror after monstrous horror.

Oh, if only we would hear Him and believe Him and trust Him – that He really does cause all things, all things, to work together for good to those who love Him.

I want close today’s message of hope with a song by Randy Travis. Let me read the lyrics before I play the song. I want to make sure you understand what Travis is singing about. The song title is, “If You Only Knew.”
  
By my grandfather's bed, my mother is reading,
Psalm 62, “God is our refuge.”
My grandfather stirs, could it be,
He is waking, one final time?
He has something to say:

If you only knew what lies awaiting,
If you could only see what I can see,
If you could only hear the music playing,
The angels singing sweet victory.
Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew,
How much he loves you.

By my grandfather's bed, my mother is broken.
Psalm 17, “O God I call on you.”
She doesn't want to hear
Any words about leaving.
My grandfather says
"Fear not, this is my time,
And into his presence I'll fly."

If you only knew what lies awaiting.
If you could only see what I can see.
If you could only hear the music playing,
The angels singing sweet victory.
Oh, if you only knew, if you only knew,
How much he loves you.


God said to Israel, “I have loved you.” They answered with the accusation, “Oh, yeah? How have you loved us?”

Holy Spirit, please, we beg You, etch into our hearts and our spirits a sufficient trust in our God to listen to Jesus’ last words on Calvary and to respond forever, “Yes, Lord God. I know you really, really do love me.”