Live Like You Were Dying

Written by Rev. Barbara T. Porizky

04/02/06

Romans 8:26-39



 

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn within a large family. nd those whom he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those whom he justified he also glorified.

What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written,

  “For your sake we are being killed all day long;

    we are accounted as sheep to be slaughtered.”

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

 

 



            Three years ago, when my husband Mark turned 40, he began sprouting gray hair, he underwent major back surgery…and he developed a sudden fondness for country music.

 

            That’s right.  At age 40, Mark suddenly and inexplicably became infatuated with country music.

 

            Before coming here to Connecticut, Mark and I served together at a church in Miami, Florida.  Some dear friends at that church in Miami learned of Mark’s new obsession with country music, and they promptly put Mark on their Prayer Chain.  They were convinced that Mark had seriously lost his mental faculties.

 

            Country music does not “sing” to me like it “sings” to Mark.  All country music sounds pretty much the same to my ears. All the lyrics sound pretty much like:

                        My girl left me;

                        My horse died.

                        My dog bit me,

                        And I cried.

           

            Anybody here a country music fan and proud to admit it?  Anybody here a country music fan…but embarrassed to admit it?

 

            About the most polite comment I can make about country music is:  Country music is an art form.  A questionable art form, but it is an art form.

 

            Well, guess what!  I heard a country song with a powerful and meaningful message.  Why, the message is almost scriptural!

           

            The country singer Tim McGraw composed this song.  Tim was inspired by a conversation he had with his father who, at the time, was dying of cancer.  Tim recalled sitting next to his father’s hospital bed.  In a moment of quiet reflection, Tim told his father, “You know, Dad, I’m really glad for this time to get to know you since you knew you had cancer.”

 

            Then his father turned to Tim.  And his father said, “I wish to God I spent my whole life living like I was dying.”

 

            Live like you were dying.

 

            That is the title of Tim McGraw’s country song. 

 

            It is also how the apostle Paul urges the believers in Rome AND how he urges us to live.

 

            Live like you were dying.  Live like we were dying?  Why should we live like that?

 

            Because—and we can almost hear St. Paul’s passionate reply—I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, not depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

            Live like you were dying.

 

            Tim McGraw sings those words for a good reason.   Less than a year after that moving conversation in the hospital, Tim’s father died.

 

            Tim McGraw did not know who his father was until he was sixteen years old. Tim met briefly with his father on only a handful of occasions when he was in his late teens and early twenties.

 

            Tim’s father was Tug McGraw—a relief pitcher for the Philadelphia Phillies and New York Mets baseball teams.  Tim was the “by-product” of a spring fling during spring training in Florida.

 

            But when Tim was in his late twenties and his father Tug was in his late forties, Tug was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  Tug asked his son Tim—whose country singing career had skyrocketed—to visit him.  Tim agreed to come.

 

            The two of them—father and son—were hesitant and even hostile strangers at first.  Tug needed to work through his guilt of being an absent father.  Tim needed to work through his anger of being an abandoned son. But, in time, the two of them—father and son—became close.

 

            During one conversation in the hospital, Tim asked, “So, Dad, what did you do when you got the news that this was the end?”

 

            And his father’s reply has become the refrain in the song:

 

            I went sky diving;

            I went Rocky Mountain climbing;

            I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu.

            I loved deeper, and I spoke sweeter;

            And I gave forgiveness I had been denying.

 

            Tug continued to reflect aloud:  “I was finally the husband that most of the time I wasn’t.  I became a friend that a friend would like to have.  I finally read the good book, and I took a good long hard look at what I’d do if I could do it all again.”

           

            And then Tug looked over at his son Tim and whispered, “Someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying.”

 

            Live like you were dying.

 

            Yes, Tim McGraw has good reason to sing, “Live like you were dying.”

 

            And the apostle Paul has good reason to say to the believers in the 1st century and to us believers in the 21st century, “Live like you were dying.”  In the final verse of our epistle reading this morning, Paul declares:  I am convinced that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

            Take note of the firm conviction with which Paul speaks.  Notice he does not say, “Nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God.”

 

            Rather, he proclaims, I am convinced that nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God.

 

            This phrase—I am convinced—denotes a certainty.

 

            Paul uses this phrase—I am convinced --sparingly throughout his writings, but he uses it to highlight what he regards as an absolute truth.

 

            For example, later in his letter to the Romans, Ch. 15:14, Paul states:  I myself am convinced about you, my brothers and sisters, that you yourselves are full of goodness….

 

            Elsewhere, in his second letter to Timothy, Ch. 1:12, Paul announces:  I know God in whom I have placed my trust and I am convinced that God is able to guard me and protect what I have entrusted in God.

 

            Thus, in his letter to the Romans, Paul is convinced—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that nothing can separate him from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

 

            Likewise, we should be so convinced that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

 

            Paul does list ten dimensions or powers that we humans might fear would obstruct God’s love for us.

 

            Specifically, Paul names:  Death, life, angels, rulers, things present, things to come, powers, height, depth, or anything else in creation.

 

            He names ten realistic or imagined obstacles to God’s love for us.

 

            This morning I want to address just the first two:  Death and life.

 

            According to Paul, death cannot prevent God from loving us.

 

            Paul names “death” because he wants to dispel a long-held myth.   In the Old Testament understanding of the divine, people of God believe that death separates humankind from fellowship with God. Even today, orthodox Jews believe that death is the end of any communion with God.

 

            Paul says, “No way does death stop God from loving us.”  The apostle knows that he will die some day.  However, he sees death, not as the end, but the bridge between earthly life and eternal life. 

 

            Moreover, Paul affirms that life does not prevent God from loving us.

 

            The perception in the 1st century—and the perception of some people now—is that pain and suffering are evidence that God has abandoned whoever is in pain and whoever suffers.

 

            Life is a composite of many seasons.

 

            Affliction happens.

 

            Suffering happens.     

 

            Tragedy happens.      

 

            Accidents happen.

 

            Cancer happens.

 

            But in no way do affliction, suffering, tragedy, accidents and/or cancer mean that God is abandoning or punishing those whom these crises affect.

 

            In the same breath, Paul assures us that neither death nor life can separate us from the love of God through Christ Jesus.  Not death which marks the end of our earthly life and the continuation of our eternal life.  And not life—with its strife and struggle, with its disappointments and disasters, with its pain and suffering.  Whether dying or living, we are equally the Lord’s—as Paul writes in Ch. 14—for Christ is the Lord of the living and of the dead alike.

 

            Live like you were dying.

 

            Dear friends:  For a moment, close eyes.  Each of you, close your eyes.  Take a deep breath.  Then slowly exhale.  Take another deep breath.  And exhale. Once more, inhale deeply.  Then exhale.

 

            Now open your eyes.  And listen carefully.

 

            With each breath we take, we come closer to our moment of death.

 

            I say this—not to be morbid—but to be truthful.

 

            Each of us will die.

                       

            But for now, may each of us live! 

 

            Let us live fully, joyfully, thoughtfully, gratefully.

 

            Dr. John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago, describes a student he had eight years ago in his class, “Theology of Faith.”

 

            On the first day of the semester in 1998, Phillip swaggered into my classroom.  He was tall and wiry.  His blond hair hung six inches below his shoulders.  His face wore an expression that said, “I dare you to convince me there is a God.”

 

            Phillip proved to be the “atheist in residence.” He consistently challenged, objected to or smirked at the possibility of a loving Creator.  We often engaged in argumentative tug-of-wars.  He was—for me--a serious pain in the back pew.

 

            On the last day of class, Phillip handed me his final exam and sneered, “So, do you think I’ll ever find God?”

 

             “No,” I replied.

 

            “No?”  Phillip was taken aback. “But I thought that was the product you were pushing!”

 

            Phillip turned and walked defiantly out of the room. But before he reached the door, I called to him, “Phillip, I don’t think you will find God, but I am certain that God will find you.”

 

            Phillip paused and shrugged.  Then he left my class and my life.

 

            Three and a half years later I heard Phillip had graduated, and I was grateful.

 

            Then two years ago I heard:  Phillip had terminal cancer, and I was devastated. 

 

            Before I could find him, Phillip found me.  He walked into my office.  His body was a frail shadow.  His long hair was gone due to chemotherapy.  But his eyes were bright and his voice was strong.

 

            Phillip spoke first.  “Hello, Dr. Powell.  I have cancer.  In both lungs.  It’s a matter of weeks.”

 

            “Oh, Phillip, I am so sorry.  It must be hard to be 24 and dying,” I blurted.

 

            Phillip gave a sigh and a half-smile.

 

            Then he continued.  “Dr. Powell, I am here because of what you said to me on the last day of class.  You told me that you thought I would never find God, which surprised me.  But then you said God would find me.  When the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me it was malignant, I got serious about locating God.  When the malignancy spread to my vital organs, I began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven.  But God did not come out.  So I quit looking for God.”

 

            Phillip took a long, painful breath.  He spoke again.  “Then I remembered something else from your class.  You said, ‘The essential sadness is to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.’

 

            “So, I began with the hardest one:  My dad.  He was reading the newspaper when I approached him.  It took me three tries, but I finally said it:  ‘Dad, I love you.  I just wanted you to know that.’”

 

            “Then my father did two things I never saw him do before.  He cried and he hugged me.”

 

            “It was easier with my mother and my little brother.  We cried together and hugged one another.”

 

            Phillip paused again and breathed painfully again.

 

            “Dr. Powell, I am only sorry about one thing—that I waited so long.”

 

            I looked at Phillip and took a deep breath. “Phillip, my Theology of Faith class begins again in two weeks.  Will you come and tell them your story?”

 

            Phillip inhaled, then exhaled.  “Yes, I’ll come to your class.”

 

            One week before my class was scheduled to start, Phillip called me.  “Dr. Powell, I’m not going to make it to your class.”

 

            “I know, Phillip,” I said.

 

            “Will you tell them for me?”  Phillip asked.

 

            “I will, Phillip.  I will tell them,” I promised him.

 

            Phillip died two days before the class met.  But all the students of the Theology of Faith class heard Phillip’s story:  How he doubted God, how he searched for God, how he found no God.  Then how he searched for those whom he loved, how he spoke of his love, how he regretted waiting so long to speak.

 

            All the students heard Phillip’s story.

 

            And so have you.

 

            Dear family of God:  Live like you were dying…now!

 

            Don’t wait for a medical report that indicates you have a year or less to live.

 

            Like the song urges:

 

            Love deeper and speak sweeter.

            Give the forgiveness you haven’t given.

            Be the friend that a friend would like to have.

 

            Be the husband, the wife, the parent, the son, the daughter, the friend, the neighbor…be the person you would be if you knew you had a short time to live. But be that person NOW.

 

            Live like you were dying…knowing that NOTHING in all creation can separate you from the love of God.

 

            When you live like you were dying, you show and you share the love of God in Christ Jesus.

 

            Dear people of God:  Live like you were dying!

* * * * *

            Please pray with me now.