January 27, 2008
Laity Sunday
Ellen Simpson

Imagine if you will a small girl, maybe eight or nine years old.  She’s a Tomboy – loves all sports and loves all the cowboys of the day:  Gene Autry; Hopalong Cassidy; The Lone Ranger; and of course Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.  Today she is reading a book called The Littlest Angel, written by Dale Evans.  It is the true story of Dale and Roy Rogers’ daughter Robin who, born with Down’s syndrome, only lived for two years.  It told about the agony faced by her parents and how her life brought them, a Hollywood couple used to the fast paced life, to a greater understanding of faith and a closer relationship with God.

The small girl reading this book was yours truly and I must have read it 10 or 15 times.  Somehow it spoke to me of a relationship I was called to have with God and Jesus.  “Come, follow me,” the book said.

Fast-forward 12 years and I’m a sophomore in college trying to decide on my major.  “Pick something practical,” my parents advised, “something that will help you get a job when you graduate.”  I’m in a public speaking class and the assigned speech is “what have you chosen as your major and why.”  Others are giving their speeches but I’m sitting there in a panic because my speech is not only not finished; I’m not sure what my major should be!  As the time gets closer for me to speak, a sudden calm comes over me because I know what I must say – something that has been in the back of my mind trying to push through for weeks.  I get up and give an impromptu speech explaining why I will major in religion.  “Come, follow me.”

Two years pass and I’m about to graduate.  Let’s see, how many jobs do you think are readily available for one who has majored in religion?  So, again, I finally reach a decision that has been on my mind for a long time.  I decide to go to seminary!  “Come, follow me.”

Years have passed.  I did go to seminary and ended up, as my mother predicted and as I swore would never happen.  I ended up marrying a minister.  My career was put aside as I busied myself raising our two children.  Now it is 1982.  The children are both in school full time and I’m finally trying to decide what I want to do.  We’re living in New Britain.  Homelessness and hunger are emerging on the national scene through deinstitutionalism and a decline in public housing.  New Britain, too, is starting to deal with the issue and I’m approached to run New Britain’s Community Kitchen.  “What would I know about that?” I wonder as a politely decline.   Time passes, I’m still trying to decide what I want to do and New Britain is developing its first shelter.  Would I be interested?  Heavens no!  That’s not for me.  Again I decline.

It’s now 1984.  New Britain decides to merge its Community Kitchen with its Shelter.  Would I be interested in joining this organization called the Friendship Center?  “Geez, why don’t they leave me alone?” I think one morning as I’m in the shower.  “Don’t they know I’m just not interested?”

Hold on – wait a minute.  Could it be?  Is it possible God is trying to tell me something?  Is it God who keeps knocking on my door?  Come, follow me.

We jump to 1998.  I’ve been at the Friendship Center for 14 years.  The kids are grown, both now living in Portland Oregon.  Life is good.  Two careers on track, no money worries for a change.  Time to enjoy what we’re doing and cruise toward retirement.  Right?

Wrong!  My husband of 32 years wants a divorce.  He’s asked to leave the church.  Suddenly this peaceful life has fallen apart.  And I, I who had felt God’s call upon my life all of my life; I now had no place for God.

It’s not that I was angry with God. I wasn’t.  God just didn’t exist for me.  All that was inside was ice and cold – no room for God there.

I went to work every day and left as soon as I could – going to the comfort of my bed.  Jim had moved out, but I told no one, not even our children.  I stopped going to church, the church we had shared for 20 years.  I lived a solitary life – work, home to bed where sleep or TV diverted my pain. 

I’m in bed, sleeping.  It seems like I’m curled into the fetal position.  Suddenly, I’m not alone.  There is a presence there in the bed with me, right beside me.  “I can’t take away your pain Ellen,” God says.  “But if you will allow me I will walk beside you every step of the way.”  Come, follow me.

I’m driving.  The radio is on.  Suddenly I realize I’m tapping my finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.  For an instant, I feel joy!  I haven’t felt joy for so very long!  Come, follow me.  I am the way to joy.

Jump ahead to 2003.  The pain of the divorce is past.  The kids have moved back east and both have two children, two little boys only 10 days apart, my son’s step daughter age nine and my daughter’s baby of 18 months. 

I’ve retuned to a church community, the kids are happy; I’m enjoying living alone for the first time in my life.  Life is good.

“Mom, I have MS.”  Fear penetrates my heart.  My daughter has been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  As the months pass, we find that hers is not the typical relapsing, remitting MS.  No, Betsy has the progressive type and within three years she has become a quadriplegic.  My beautiful daughter can only move her head.  Her husband leaves and returns to England.  She is left with two children and she can only move her head.

I’m driving.  And I’m screaming, maybe out loud, maybe only in my head.  I’m not sure.  “OK, God.  What is it you want from me?  If you’re trying to break me, guess what?  You’ve succeeded.  I’m broken.  You win.”

Out of nowhere, a sudden peace fills my body.  It’s incredible.  I’m filled with peace.  And a voice, calm and soothing, fills me.  “Not your will, Ellen, but mine be done.”  Come, follow me.

So I stand before you today.  My daughter is still a quadriplegic; we have 24/7 help in our home for her.  I’m blessed to be able to share so intimately in the lives of my grandchildren – sharing in the raising of them with Betsy.

Am I scared?  Yes.  Do I dread what lies ahead for the children and me?  Yes.  Do I wonder how I will find the strength to raise them, especially through the teen-age year?  Yes, been there, done that and can’t say I’m looking forward to it again.

But I cannot deny the experiences I’ve had.  This radically inclusive God chooses to include even me.  And in the process of following God, I was led with my friend Donna to this Church.  I’m grateful, and give thanks, for the support I’ve received here – from all the ministers and from so many of you.  This church understands, as few do, the meaning of discipleship and it has been extended to my family and me in abundance.   

The man who baptized our children was the son of a minister.  His father ministered in South Africa in the years before apartheid.  He built an integrated school, a school that was destroyed as apartheid took over the country.  On his deathbed his son, the man who baptized our children, asked his father, “Dad your life’s work was destroyed.  Would you do it again?  Was it worth it?”

The response is one that resonates in my soul  “Nevertheless, yes.”

I join with him. In spite of it all, “nevertheless, yes!”  Come, follow me.