“I am the Alpha and Omega,” Jesus says. “The beginning and the end.”
Elsie’s beginning, it seems, was some distance away, in England, the other side of the pond. Far away today; further away (it seemed) when she came to the shores of America with her new husband, Frederick, a soldier from the States. It’s funny that war can actually bring people together, sometimes.
Just a few months ago, I came back from a year living in Southeast Asia. It’s true that people are pretty much the same wherever you go, the same worries and fears, the same hopes and dreams, the same love, the same joy. But just because we share one humanity doesn’t mean we have the same ways of doing things, not by any means. I spent a lot of time being frustrated by little, silly things, like the direction of the light switches (which was backwards), or the fact that the shower never had a curtain. Those little things helped me stop from going crazy over the big things.
But I experienced the distance between two modern nations. Elsie might have expected some of that kind of frustration in coming to this land, another Western country, where the language and heritage were pretty much the same. I think she probably would have been within her rights to expect something similar to her life in England. Comfortable. Modern conveniences. Indoor plumbing. That is not what she found. The outhouse out back was probably not much fun to use on a cold day like this, but at least I’m told it was a two-seater. It had better be, since at first, she was living with Fred’s parents. And his twelve siblings.
I don’t think anyone could have blamed Elsie if she’d have turned around and gotten back on the boat. And even with the value system then, a time quite different from ours today, it says a lot about her character that she was willing to stay in that situation for as long as she did. She was faithful to her decision. She was constant in her commitment to her husband. She was enduring for her new family.
It wasn’t too long until Elsie had a home and a family of her own. She and Fred built the little house down the street on Carsonia together, and as their family grew, they built a larger one behind it. She raised four children, spanning fifteen years in age, which means it was a job that lasted at least thirty-three years before being reduced to part-time status. Having had the chance to visit with a few of those children last week, it seems like she must have done a good job, helping shape them into good, caring, kind people. There may have been times when she sent the kids out of the house, just to have some peace and quiet. But there was always some dessert baked on the table when they got back, or after dinner. Every night. There’s a faithfulness in that, a constancy that goes beyond just the fact that she liked to bake. It was a way that she showed her love for her family in an enduring way, something that they, even probably she, took for granted most of the time.
And she taught that to others, as well. Elsie was a part of this congregation for a good part of her life. She served on council and in other leadership positions. She helped to bring about the flea market here, such a great event for our community at Bethany, and a great fundraiser for us as well.
Elsie worked in the cafeteria at Antietam. I always thought, growing up, that I should be nice to the lunch ladies—and to anyone who gives me food. I only realize now what a gift they gave to me, nurturing my body, helping me grow, and well enough that I could focus on my learning instead of my belly. How many truly hungry children received their only meal each day from Elsie’s hand—or their only light from Elsie’s face and heart?
And she had a knack for retail. It was her career, throughout her whole life, in one shop or another. And she traveled, with her husband, acquiring odd, old things and reselling them at flea markets. The most wonderful, odd things, that found new homes with new people, new joy and new usefulness. Elsie’s children tell me that they received something unique from her as a gift every year, something she’d found that reminded her of them, and what a wonderful, personal gift. Not the object, probably some of those objects were useless to them, but especially the, “I thought of you. I know you and love you so much that you constantly stay on my mind when I go about the rest of my life.” What faithful, enduring love.
When our first reading today, from the Book of Isaiah, was written, the Israelites were in a very difficult place in their history. The Babylonian armies had come to Jerusalem and destroyed the city, taking most of the people away from their homes, transplanting them to Babylon instead. The way of life there was terribly different—even the language was different—and the Babylonian ways made no sense to these new displaced people. They grew closer as a community, just to try and preserve what they still had of their culture. It’s funny that war can actually bring people together sometimes.
In the middle of this mess, the prophet spoke the words we read today, some of the most beautiful in the whole Bible, I think. He wants Israel to know, even in this new land, God is still faithful to them. God wants them to know that wherever they go, and whatever they do, and whatever happens to them, God’s love is constant. God proclaims good news, and it rings out into the world, in every city, from valleys to mountain tops, that God has not, and will not forget them; that God will bring them back to their own land; that the grass may wither, and the flower may fade away, and death may even consume the people, but God’s word lasts forever, a word that carries a promise of love that will not stop, but will endure into eternal life.
I think sometimes we want God to act in earth-shattering ways, to pick up our lives and turn us around, so that we may find miraculous healing and wholeness on every corner. To be sure, God works that way occasionally. But most of the time, God’s love comes to us in the small, constant ways in which he is faithful to us. Not us faithful to God, but God faithful to us. Constantly urging, cajoling, giving, planting, nourishing, loving, on the days God says it out loud, and the days he whispers so quietly we cannot hear. God’s love is like a mother who bakes for her children every day, like a warm face in a school cafeteria who feeds the rich and the hungry just the same, like a woman who stays by her beloved’s side even when there’s no plumbing in the overcrowded house.
This is what God wanted us to know when he sent us Jesus Christ. And this is the promise that he gave to Elsie, and each one of us, spoken every moment of our lives. That God loves us too much to let death win. That we are loved into resurrection. That the same God who was there at the beginning will be there at the end, and receive us into his love, and his eternal life.
God is faithful, constant, and enduring in his love. It is there at the first, and it will be there at the last, and beyond. “I am the Alpha and Omega,” Jesus says. “The beginning and the end.” Amen.