Usually one hears these words at a marriage ceremony. The bride and the groom vow to love one another, basically no matter what comes, what life throws at them, they will always be there for one another. Lately though, I’ve been pondering these words as a testament of a love for anyone, not just of the romantic sort.
For instance, many people get into fusses, spats, and alienate themselves from one another, refusing to forgive, to make up, to be a part of a friendship. Whether the argument is over a small incident or of a more lasting hurt, the two parties involved will not on this side of God’s heaven make up. Until. Until a sickness or perhaps near death experience occurs. Suddenly, for some, the rules change. Nothing is too bad to be forgiven. I can’t believe I’ve wasted all this time being upset over blah blah blah. Please don’t die and leave me behind with all of this angst. Please forgive me. The list goes on and on.
So, what is one to do? Why does the thought of someone dying or being hospitalized somehow entitle this temporary stay of execution to be had? Why is sickness somehow relegated to overcome pride yet if one is healthy the attempt is rarely made? Why if the love is there can it not show itself in sickness and in health?
Guilt is my guess. The thought of the loved one dying is overcome by feelings of regret, hopes of reconciliation, or some other nonsense that is clouded by emotion rather than truth. It always amazes me how many people can find time to attend a funeral but not time to visit when their family member is alive and well (or maybe sick, in a nursing home, or just at home wondering if anyone really cares). Oh, the crocodile tears, the sharing of how wonderful this soul was and how I wish I could have been there for him/her. The excuses abound as to why attention couldn’t be paid during the good times, the times when presence was needed, and the loved one could actually know s/he was indeed loved.
The good thing for me is that God doesn’t see things this way. He’s always ready to forgive, to accept the sheep back into the flock, to extend His hand of warmth and acceptance when we call upon His name. He’s not cynical and dispassionate as I tend to be. He loves unconditionally: in sickness and in health. Though He’s been neglected, forgotten, disdained, disowned, and a myriad of other actions we—His children!!—put Him through, He still is waiting, hoping, believing that we will return to Him. He doesn’t hold a grudge. He doesn’t whine that nobody loves Him. God does not play hard to get and doesn’t expect us to flower Him with attention and try to make up for our mistakes with false promises and empty truths. God just wants His children to come home to Him. Sure, He’d rather us come while we are healthy and not so sin-soaked. He’d rather us live daily for Him rather than meet us on our death beds when we finally see the light and realize how much time we wasted on our petty selves. But, in the end, He will still accept us, no questions asked, other than “Do you believe my Son died for your sins, that you are a sinner in need of a Savior, and do you confess that I am He?” If we can respond in the affirmative, then the ultimate reconciliation is to be had.
In conclusion, when are we going to get real about this Christianity thing? Do we have to wait until death or sickness occurs to extend our own hands of forgiveness, of acceptance, of love? Do we? It doesn’t have to be this way. Pride is a lonely companion to have. Fear is a friend we aren’t supposed to associate with. Despair is what keeps many of us alone in our love-starved existences. Are these really the friends we want? Don’t they always leave us alone, leave us saddened, bitter, and alienated from the ones we desire the most to be with? I think it may be time, past time, to say goodbye to these “friends” and renew auld acquaintances with those we have chosen to leave behind. Is what we have to lose by taking the risk of rejection any worse than being what we are now: miserable, spiteful, depressed, dejected, and solitary beings? You tell me.
