In this meaningless life of mine I have seen both of these: a righteous man perishing in his righteousness, and a wicked man living long in his wickedness.
John and Heather Johnson have been friends for a quarter of a century. I was on the search team that brought them to Lents Baptist Church, John’s first senior pastorate. I got him involved in teaching at Western first as an adjunct and then as a full time professor of pastoral theology. I introduced him to Village Baptist, where he’s lead pastor now. We hang together a lot, including rooming at Evangelical Theological Society in Providence, RI last week.
On Wednesday we wrestled with this passage, the one scheduled for this weekend’s services at Village. He was looking at the idea that Solomon was addressing righteousness as a formal moralism which will do no one any good. I suggested the passage meant that in this broken world, disaster may come to the most righteous, the most godly person, while a truly evil person may prosper. So the lesson is don’t depend on your righteousness for success in the life.
The phone rang this morning as I was driving to Western to do some uninterrupted paper grading. A call at this time from Jim McGuire, executive pastor at Village, can’t be a good thing.
"Heather had an aneurism burst about midnight. She’s in the hospital unconscious."
I used my "Rev card" to get through the security into ICU suite 111 where Heather lay, totally limp, intubated, with machines quietly beeping and displaying, John and I embraced as deep friends do in overwhelming times. His eyes were red from crying. I listened while he spoke of what it was like to have his beloved complaining that her head hurt terribly as she came into bed after stooping down to put some turkey into the refrigerator. As John turned to her, she erupted vomit and went totally blank as her consciousness left.
"She’s dying!" his mind screamed at him.
It was grace that John was awake when it happened so he could make the frantic call to 911. The operator guided him and their two children through first aid until the paramedics rushed into their bedroom.
I stayed with John as the executive pastoral team and Heather’s family came. The doctors explained the situation before they performed the cranial angiogram. It didn’t expose any aneurism, which is good, Dr. Robb explained. The minutes dragged into hours as the medical staff monitored her closely.
John won’t be preaching Ecclesiastes 7:15 this week because he’s living it. Heather’s godliness is exemplary. But in a moment she went from the strong woman who loved giving and serving to a gravely ill patient, completely without consciousness.
"LORD, I pray Your Spirit is communing with her spirit." was a phrase as I prayed with her family as they left the hospital where Heather laid silent.
Baby Caroline, whom I blogged about previously, lays silent in another hospital. The surgeons opened her chest, repaired many holes in her heart’s arteries and left her chest open so there was room for the swelling. But Monday she flat lined for the first of four times. The physicians told Edward and Darla to prepare for the worst as her kidneys were failing and other organs began to shut down. But two days later, she’s still alive . . . barely. Edward and Darla are trying to live out their Christian hope, but it’s so incredibly difficult when your newborn is gray.
As I was finishing this blog, my cell phone rang. The ID said Jim McGuire. My heart flipped. Had Heather gone to be with Jesus?
"Hey, Jim," I answered.
"Dan Crawford [a physician friend] was just with Heather. She’s off the respirator and looking around, conscious through the sedatives. She looks good."
There is no accounting for how tragedy crashes into a life. Neither is there explanation for how the LORD’s grace comes.
Dare I hope?
