A Light That Cannot Be Extinguished

Longest Night Homily

Dear Church,

Here is the homily for the Longest Night Service by our lay leader, Pam Jones. Do yourself a favor and spend some time with this Advent.

Enjoy Your Forgiveness,

Rev. Jason

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If you have never attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, the speaker for the evening opens with “Hi, my name is Mary and I am an alcoholic”. I will introduce myself in similar fashion. Hi, my name is Pam and I’m a person suffering the pain of a broken heart and at times debilitating grief that makes breathing difficult and tears flow down my face like pouring rain in a summer thunder storm.

Tonight, as we gather for this Longest Night service, we come with open hearts to acknowledge the darkness that we are walking through. For some of us, the pain of loss is fresh, the shadows of grief stretch long and we feel a deep sense of fear and heartache as we find ourselves facing a season we never imagined we would.

Whether we are grieving the loss of a loved one or feeling the weight of a challenging season for some other reason, tonight we gather not only to acknowledge the darkness but to find comfort and hope in the presence of Immanual, God with us, and with each other even in the midst of our grief.

For some of us the memories of Christmases past only intensify our grief and sense of loss. The holidays that once felt so joyful, filled with family, friends and celebrations are now marked by absence and heartache. The laughter that once filled the room has stilled. Shared traditions that were once so familiar now seem hollow and no matter how hard I try my eyes are drawn like a magnet to that damned empty chair. And though I know that grief is a process and that healing takes time, a lot of time, there are moments when I feel lost, afraid and exhausted. The ache of loss is always there, lingering just beneath the surface. At times I wonder if I’ll ever find my way through the darkness of the past year or might be swallowed up by it.

If you, like me, are carrying a deep sense of grief, this night can feel like a strange and painful experience. While the world around us is getting ready to celebrate Christmas, the birth of Jesus, the light of the world, our hearts can be pulled in the opposite direction. Grief doesn’t fit neatly into the warm, glowing scenes of the season. Joy seems out of reach. We’re left in perpetual darkness, not knowing how to move forward.

For me, the darkness feels particularly close now. Last Christmas, I unexpectedly lost the love of my life, Steve, my partner for 49 years. During the last two and a half months of last year, Steve and I went on a roller coaster ride unlike any other. That roller coaster moved at warp speed and try as we may, we couldn’t get off. I want to share some highlights of that ride with you.

From age 30 to then age 80, Steve had many spinal surgeries and once again he was experiencing significant pain. After a year of searching for help, in October we were thrilled to learn that his orthopedic and neurosurgeon thought working in tandem they could perform yet one more surgery that would relieve Steve’s pain. Praise God!

In preparation for surgery Steve had to be cleared by his cardiologist who he had seen twice a year for 15 years to monitor a 10% blocked artery. No problem. The cardiologist issued a clean bill of health and said, “Steve, that artery has not changed in 15 years. Not only are you cleared for surgery but from now on you only need to see me once a year. We’ll save your insurance company some money!” Steve was on the way to spinal surgery and pain relief. We were elated.

But wait! Not so fast. Sadly, one short week later, Steve was hospitalized due to that same artery being 95% blocked which would require cardiac surgery. How could that happen? From 10% to 95% blocked in one week! Of course, cardiac surgery broke in line in front of the spinal surgery. How rude! Ok, remain calm we told ourselves. Always the optimistic ones, we kept stiff upper lips.

We went home for a week for Steve to have some additional outpatient tests and wait for cardiac surgery. During that week, on November 9 actually, I came home from the mission center one night and Jeff, our son, was visiting with Steve. I sat down with them and Steve said, “I have something to tell you. I had a dream the other night. God told me to “get ready”. He is going to take me home very soon. Jeff, here is the title to my car. I signed it over to you. Pam, we have a meeting on Monday with the funeral home to finalize our plans.” He went on to say he would give our daughter-in-law, Patti, his computer, passwords and banking information. Jeff and I sat in stunned silence. Over the years Steve told us about other things God said would happen which I admit always did, but this one, no. I decided Steve was for the first time in his life afraid of having surgery and he had a bad dream. I cancelled the meeting with the funeral home and completely dismissed that conversation.

The very next day Steve was rushed to the hospital with a major cardiac event and was hospitalized. More tests! He remained in the hospital while his cardiologist made plans for surgery. Then again, a change of plans. The doctor decided Steve would have to go directly from the hospital to an inpatient skilled nursing rehabilitation facility to get stronger before the cardiac surgery so he would be strong enough for cardiac rehab following surgery.

That news issued another gut punch and huge disappointment. The wild coaster ride continued. We had a family trip planned to Costa Rico in late November and Steve was so excited. It would be his first trip out of the country. Unbeknownst to our granddaughter Rachel, her then boyfriend, Heitor, had asked her parents, Steve and me for her hand in marriage. We were thrilled. Heitor planned to ask Rachel to marry him while we were in Costa Rica. Sadly, Steve would have to miss the trip because he had to go directly to the rehab facility and he wasn’t allowed to fly. Steve went off to rehab and the family went to Costa Rica without him. Me included. Steve would have it no other way. He absolutely insisted that we all go.

That nightmare of a roller coaster ride continued. I was suffering whiplash, feeling very discouraged and guilty for leaving Steve despite his insistence I go. I was devastated and very angry with God. Steve though, as I said, the eternal optimist, sent us off with hugs, kisses and a smile and said only “God’s got this. I’m blessed. Get out of here! Have fun and send pictures!” I was still waffling but finally agreed to go because four of our best and trusted friends promised to be with Steve in rehab every day until I returned. Two of them are here tonight, Cyndi and Chris Jones. Well, I tried to have fun but my mind was in rehab with Steve. I returned home the first of December. I couldn’t get to Steve fast enough.

After ten days in rehab I was disappointed that Steve was not working as hard as he needed to work in rehab. The therapists, nurses and I tried to encourage and motivate him but to no avail. On December 13 I arrived home around midnight after visiting with Steve. I always stayed with him until he fell asleep. I don’t know that that made Steve feel any better but it did me. I hated leaving him. My phone rang and I figured Steve had awakened after I left and was calling to see if I was home. Sadly, instead of Steve, it was the rehab doctor calling to tell me she had decided to send Steve immediately back to the hospital because he wasn’t benefitting from rehab. Send him back at midnight? Really? Off to the hospital I went and sat through the night with Steve.

In the morning, I went home to change clothes while Steve had more tests. When I returned to the hospital a few hours later my phone rang as I was walking in. It was a doctor asking me to meet him in his office before I went to Steve’s room. He issued yet another devastating blow. The tests done that morning showed Steve had stage 4 metastasized cancer throughout his body and it was to late for any treatment. Really! Cancer was the one of the few medical problems Steve hadn’t suffered from. I was in disbelief and honestly at times I still am! Not fair, God! Why? A thousand times I screamed, “Are you there God? It’s us, Pam and Steve.” Silence. Had our God who had carried us both through so many medical challenges abandoned us?

Over the next 5 days Steve started slipping away from us but even in his semiconscious blind state he never failed to reach his arm out for Bill Iwig when he heard Bill’s voice. Within days Steve was in horrible pain which couldn’t completely be managed with medication for fear of stopping his heart. On the 5^th day in the hospital his oncologist told me that Steve would have to move to a hospice facility immediately and the transport would arrive in an hour. His justification - there was nothing the hospital could do that could not be done in hospice. I appealed to the medical team to keep Steve in the hospital but lost the appeal. The oncologist said Steve had 5 or 6 months to live so he could not stay in the hospital.

Scott, our son from Tampa, had just arrived. Scott rode in the transport with Steve to Goodwin House hospice. l rushed to the business office at Goodwin to do paper work. Darkness had set in that cold rainy December evening. I went to the business office to do paper work and Scott stayed with Steve. I got to Steve’s room at 6 PM in time to meet the hospice nurse and chaplain. She prayed with us and read the 23^rd Psalm, Steve’s favorite. Despite appearing to be completely out of it Steve squeezed my hand. Thank you at least for that God! And then the inconceivable happened. At 7:23 PM on December 19 Steve breathed his last breath. He just quietly and calmly stopped breathing. The roller coaster came to a screeching halt. How could that be? Was he really dead? Three and a half hours! And where was God in all of this? Again I cried out, “Are you there, God? It’s me, Pam. I desperately need you.” Silence. A hospice counselor recently told me Steve still holds the record for the shortest stay in hospice! Was that a blessing? I’m sure Steve would say, “Yes. I’m blessed”.

For my family and I Christmas came and went. We went through the motions on autopilot but honestly were relieved when the holiday season was over. We could take off our happy face masks.

We selected February 17 for the celebration of life for Steve. Despite the frigid and windy day over 200 of our friends joined us to celebrate Steve’s life. Following the service and reception Scott and I returned home and talked for hours trying to make sense of all that had happened in recent weeks. About 3 AM it hit me like a ton of bricks. Six weeks after Steve told us the Lord was going to take him home soon the Lord did just that. Scott and I sat in dazed silence. Had I taken Steve’s pronouncement more seriously were there things I would have done differently? Absolutely! That’s just one of the things that still haunts me.

In the weeks and months that followed I frantically tried to out run my desperation but I couldn’t out run it. I’m still running and a bit of a mess tonight. The past year has been challenging. I’ve stumbled, fallen and gotten back up so many times. I’ve searched for answers and for God. At times the silence is still deafening and the empty chair looms. How do you carry on when the very fabric of your life is ripped to shreds? How do you make sense of the world when your compass is suddenly gone? I struggled to find answers to my questions but regrettably grief doesn’t come with an owner’s manual. And sometimes, my faith that I’ve always clung to for comfort was hard to find. There were days when I couldn’t pray and nights when sleep wouldn’t come. There still are sometimes.

As I reflect on my journey this past year with my therapist and Stephen Minister, here’s what I’ve come to realize. Even when I can’t feel God’s presence in a tangible way, when I’m stumbling alone feeling lost in my emotions and circumstances, I’ve seen God’s light shining through the people around me - my family, my friends, my church community. The light of Christ isn’t always a dramatic, overwhelming feeling of God’s presence. Sometimes, it’s the simple, quiet moments when people show up in unexpected ways that I can’t explain.

Over and over God used the people in my life to bring His light into my darkness. When I felt lost, there were friends who called me to check in, even when they didn’t know what to say. Or the unexpected message of encouragement from someone who knew I needed it. Cards, calls, letters from folks young and old telling me the many ways Steve impacted their lives. There were family members who stayed with me when I didn’t know how to be alone and moments when someone showed up just to sit with me. These weren’t grand gestures or dramatic moments of feeling God’s presence in some overwhelming way. They were small yet profound reminders that the light of Christ is always at work in the quiet, faithful presence of others showing up when I needed them most. It was as though through them, Jesus was saying I am with you. I see your pain. I’m here in the love of those around you reminding you that you’re not alone.

In the Gospel of John, we read these words: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Those words have been a source of comfort to me as I’ve struggled to find my way.

Jesus, the light that shines in our darkness, does not turn away from our pain. He does not abandon us in our sorrow or our fear. Instead, He draws near. He understands our suffering because He has walked this earth in human flesh, and He knows the depths of loss, loneliness, and anguish.

In the midst of my grief, I have come to realize that I don’t have to have all the answers. I don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel lost and not know how to move forward. I don’t always have to smile and say, “I’m fine.” It’s ok not to be ok. Jesus doesn’t expect me to have it all figured out. What He offers is His presence. His comfort. His light that shines into the darkest corners of our hearts, lighting the way when all feels uncertain.

To me, one of the most poignant and beautiful aspects of this season is the reminder of how Jesus came into the world as a baby, born in a humble manger, in the midst of darkness. It wasn’t a time of peace and comfort. In fact, there was much fear and unrest surrounding His birth. Herod sought to destroy Him. Mary and Joseph were refugees fleeing with their infant son to protect Him. And yet, in that raw, vulnerable moment, the light of the world entered the scene, bringing hope into a broken world.

As I reflect on that moment tonight, I find a deep sense of comfort knowing that Jesus came not just to bring light to the world in a general sense, but to bring light to our world, the world we live in, the world of loss, grief, and suffering.

The light of Christ does not erase our pain, but it illuminates a path through it. It gives us hope that the darkness will not have the final word. It reminds us that even in our darkest nights, there is a light that cannot be extinguished.

Pam Jones