The Good Ones Go to H---
(Troublesome Pictures of Faith)
October 24, 2004
Eileen Parfrey, pastor
Springwater Presbyterian
Luke 18:9-14, Psalm 65

     When it came right down to it, I couldn't put the complete sermon title on the reader board this week. I had preached a sermon in seminary based on today's text, and I had no qualms then about filling in the other three letters of the title, actually a quotation from the book, Christian Doctrine-the book to read in preparation for ordination exams. I remember where I sat and what the weather was like the day I read the summary of our need for grace. "The good ones go to hell," I read. Say what? The point was that those who don't think they need grace pretty much get what they're looking for-like the Pharisee in Jesus' parable, coasting on his own good works and reputation.
     My problem with this parable is that I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the good ones. I can't make the good ones into villains, so as I pondered this week about how to unpack this parable for 21st century Americans, I thought, Jesus told stories; why can't I? So here is a story I wrote instead of a sermon.
     Anyone seeing Beth for the first time would know, here's someone who has everything under control. Her hair was perfect-and rest assured, it was always perfect. Her eyebrows were as perfect as removing and then painting them by hand could make them. Her clothes were modest, but creases were where creases were supposed to be and they were the grown-up equivalent of the children's clothing system that matches tops with bottoms using animal labels. Not too cute, but not too dressy, either.
     Beth was in the waiting room, knitting to keep her hands busy while she waited. This waiting room was for family members while their loved ones were taken away and subjected to diagnosis, therapy and treatment, a home-away-from-home for people during those dark and nightmare times when life either hung by a thread or one learned that life would never be the same again, that you would never be very far from this kind of waiting room for the rest of your loved one's life. Beth was alone there until another, younger woman was ushered in. She looked up and smiled, but finished the end of her row and jotted something in the margin of her pattern before she spoke. As she set aside the yarn she looked at the younger woman and asked, "Is this your first time in here?" She made it sound like a prison term.
     The younger woman took a shallow breath and said simply, "Yes."
     "Your child?" Beth asked, not unsympathetically.  
      Through an emotional hiccough she said simply, "My son."
     "Mine too," Beth responded.
     The younger woman looked surprised, but Beth was used to this. "We started our family late," she said. "We married right after the war, and my husband wanted to get established in his career, there was a housing shortage, and waiting made sense. We knew we'd be older than most parents, but felt a financial advantage would give the children a better chance with post-secondary education." She nodded and smiled encouragingly at the younger woman, as if to invite her story.
     Younger than Beth by a whole generation, she relaxed under that prospect of practical help and sympathy, but couldn't resist the mental note, "Macramé owls." Beth looked to her like the kind of woman who had filled her house in the 70s with her own crafts and who still polished her avocado appliances weekly. "He's 28," Beth said. "My son, Todd. We've got the one daughter, Lisette. She's 25," then added proudly, "She's in a graduate nutrition program. My name's Beth. What's yours?"
     "Shauna," the other answered, amazed her son was not much younger. "Josh-my boy-is just starting rehab for a sports injury. He broke his leg so badly he was in traction for a month, and now the doctors won't say if he'll be able to play again." Then, as if the floodgates had opened she added, "I feel like the worst mother in the world. I hadn't wanted him to play, but his father and I never married, and suddenly, when Josh is old enough to be in sports, his father shows up and wants The Son to be a chip off the old block. I thought I had to give in, and the very first practice he pulverizes his leg. I wish I'd never said yes to the team. Mothers are supposed to protect their kids, but I feel like I've ruined his life and the only chance he's ever had to have a relationship with his dad." And she burst into tears.
     Beth moved to pull a tissue out of the box on the table and handed it to the younger woman.
      "You feel like your world has caved in," she said sympathetically.
"You bet," Shauna gulped. "It couldn't have been this bad in your day," and instantly regretted giving the impression that she noticed the older woman's age.
     Beth smiled kindly. "I'm old enough to be your mother. Let's embrace that, and I'll give you some motherly words of advice. We've got some time in here today while they work over our boys. What do you say we take advantage of this stuff they call coffee and use up all their non-dairy whitener?"
     Shauna wryly added, "I could use something a little stiffer than non-dairy."
"Oh lady," Beth laughed from the coffee urn, "This coffee has smelled so burnt to me for so many years, even the thought of whitener makes me high." As she slipped a cardboard sleeve over a paper cup for Shauna she became serious. "Where do I begin?" Shauna carefully dabbed her eyes to leave as much mascara in place as possible as Beth began, "Life was perfect," she said. "Rob-my husband-had worked himself up through the Farm Credit Bureau hierarchy. We'd married in our hometown, but right away we moved to the district office while he earned his CPA. It took him ten years, but once that was done, the sky was the limit for him with the Bureau. When the district supervisor retired, Rob took over that office.
     "Then it was time to start our family. I left the Home Extension, where I'd been 'putting my college degree to work.' We were old enough by then that our families were shocked when first Todd and then Lisette was born. We thought the sun and moon rose over those kids. Todd was going to be a cross country hero. Rob had gone to State in high school, and he started when Todd could barely walk, getting him ready to run. At first Rob put him in the wagon." She chuckled. "They didn't have fancy jogging strollers then. Rob said running with a kid in a wagon was as challenging as training on hills."
     A look of pain crossed Shauna's face as she murmured, "Josh's dad never did that kind of thing."
     Beth touched Shauna's arm. "Dreams have a way of changing. Our dreams never even got to grow up. Todd was seven when the fever damaged his nervous system. He was in a coma for so long that the doctors said he'd never walk again, let alone run cross country!" Shauna moved as if to show regret, but Beth stopped her with a touch. "It's OK. Todd walks with crutches, but he competes in Wheelchair Olympics." Beth smiled, and it didn't have the look of a "brave" smile, it seemed genuine pride to Shauna. "But--" Shauna began. "No buts," Beth said. "Dreams change. Our lives are so much richer."
    "I don't believe-" Shauna began. "Of course not," Beth stopped her. "To most people it looks like we're making lemonade out of lemons." And then she laughed as if she had just cracked herself up. "That would be what a home ec major would do! Make lemonade, and jazz it up with home-made raspberry syrup and sprigs of mint leaves." She was still laughing when she noticed Shauna's puzzled look.
     "Oh my dear," Beth began. "It's not that broken dreams make you happy. It isn't even the dreams that do work out." Shauna's eyes filled again and tears spilled down at the word "dreams." "It's the love," Beth whispered.
     "I didn't-I still don't believe--" Shauna faltered, but Beth interjected sweetly, "We thought we had the world by the tail. We were so prudent, worked so hard for our dreams. We were so good. Our children were going to have every advantage. I would be the perfect mother, the most respected woman in town, the go-to gal for any kind of help. Rob would be the perfect provider, giving us everything a family needed. Todd would run and then he would go to college as an athletic scholar. Lisette would make me grandbabies like they were going out of style." Beth stopped and smiled ruefully. "As it turns out, Lisette will never have babies, even if she does marry. She got juvenile diabetes about the time Todd's fever put him into children's rehab, and pregnancy would be too much for her."
     "Oh!" Shauna gasped involuntarily. "Her, too? That must have been awful!"
     Beth's mouth twisted. "Well, at the time we thought it was too much. And it was! The worst of it was, we didn't even notice Lisette's symptoms until she was in a coma, too. Can you imagine, one after the other like that? We thought the world had come to an end." She almost sounded confiding as Shauna murmured, "I'm so sorry!"
     Again the sympathetic pat from Beth. "It doesn't matter, dear. In the end, what I learned more than made up for the pain."
     "I can't imagine--! What kind of lesson would be worth all that?!"
     "A lesson about love," Beth said. "It was about love, in the end. It is about love."
     Shauna stiffened. This sounded suspiciously like the sweet church-y ladies she had run into and she hated the way they made her feel. She was resentful that she'd been suckered by this woman's sob story into listening to some kind of God talk. For a time she didn't hear what Beth was saying, but tuned in as Beth admitted, "At first I had thought it was God. I thought God was punishing me and Rob for trusting our own ability and trying to live the American Dream, as if the Good Life was the point. It felt like we were being punished for wanting the best for our kids."
     Shauna's eyes darted nervously. She'd been told by one church lady that having Josh was a sin, and after that, she hadn't had much contact with God. She didn't like thinking Josh's injury was punishment-for not having married his father, for thinking she could raise him on her own, for wishing for happiness. But Beth was still talking. "It wasn't about me, Shauna. It wasn't punishment. Bad things happen. I changed my mind, that was all. I changed my mind." She'd stopped talking. Shauna looked at Beth. Finally, unbelieving, she asked, "How? What made you change your mind? To what?"
     "Love," Beth said. Love, Shauna thought in disgust. She exhaled as she leaned over and threw away the coffee sludge. She was quiet for some time. Eventually, Shauna turned to Beth. "What do you mean," she asked suspiciously.
     "I was afraid you wouldn't ask," Beth smiled. "This came as such a shock to me, and only once I figured out I could love my children without dreams. It's so simple, but it took me a long time to figure out that you don't have to do anything to be loved."
     "Ha!" Shauna half-laughed in relief. "It's Mr Rogers!"
     "Yeah," Beth agreed. "We all learned to be parents with Mr Rogers! But it's more than Mr Rogers. It's about who I thought God was. And I couldn't figure that out until I could love Lisette without seeing my future grandchildren, until I could love Todd without thinking about State cross country. It finally struck me, as I loved my children, out of sheer gratitude that they were still alive, and I could see they were exactly and only who they are-only then did I figure out God might love me the same way."
     Shauna was silent. Finally, Beth said, "I learned the scariest thing in the world. I learned there is nothing I can do to earn God's love. Loving my son who can barely walk and my daughter whose life depends on insulin twice a day, I found out that I just loved them-not what they can do for me. And then I decided that God just loves me. God isn't waiting for me to accomplish anything, just as I'm not waiting for my children to accomplish anything. I just want them to receive my love. And then I saw that God is just waiting for my 'yes' to his offer of love."
     The waiting room door opened. Beth looked up with obvious pride at the young man swinging through on crutches. "That's my proof, Shauna. Proof positive that God loves us where we're at."
     Todd must have heard this before, because he chimed in, almost on cue, "Yeah, but God loves us too much to leave us there." And they all laughed.