I wonder if Paul McCartney
got it right. “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you
make.” The couplet, which finished off the Abbey Road album, is often
misquoted, or mis-remembered with the version remembered by John Lennon, like
this: “and in the end, the love you get is equal to the love you give.” Is love
something you take, or is it something you get? Is love something you make, or
is it something you give?
In a few hours I will deliver
a memorial sermon as I try to help family and friends understand what to make
of the life of my friend, Albert. I have spent these last days
remembering my times with Al as we talked about politics and sports and
theology and living and, most to the point, dying. Al has been dying for the
better part of two years, suffering from a diagnosis which he and I knew was
terminal. Yet he fought. Hard. He didn’t fear death. He didn’t
welcome the thought of dying, but he didn’t fear death. He believed with the
apostle Paul that to die is “gain.” What lies ahead is better than what we
leave behind. But, he fought hard to hold onto life as long as he could because
of his love for is dear wife of over 50 years. On his 50th
anniversary he knelt before her and asked his children rhetorically, “Isn’t she
just as beautiful as the day I married her?”, which he followed with a spirited
version of “I Love You Truly.” He fought hard to be with his children and
grandchildren and great-grandchildren for as long as he could because he loved
them and he knew they didn’t want to lose their dear “Papa.” The love you
make; the love you give: it comes back to you. Al lived in the
knowledge that God loved him and preserved him, so the only question for Al was
this: “How then shall I live?” His answer was to serve rather than to be
served; to serve grace and mercy and love.
But, now it is in the
end. Sort of. Al and I talked a great deal about what heaven will
be like. We agreed that we had no concrete idea. But, Al concluded after having
lots of time to think about “next”, “God has been good to me in all my life, so
why doubt that whatever is next, that it won’t be perfect.” In the midst
of his dying in pain that the medication could only mask, his faith sang, like
Job, “I know that my redeemer lives…in my flesh I shall see God.” That vision,
that song, sustained him during the long nights while he still saw only
dimly. It sustains me this morning.
My friend wasn’t perfect. Who
is? Certainly not me. And that is his point. In the end, the love
we get, the love of Jesus, is greater than the love we give. It is a love
we take alright, like we get a gift we didn’t deserve, but, if we are humble
enough, we take the gift anyway. And in the End, the love we take is much
more than equal to any love we can “make”, that is, offer to God or our
neighbor. The good news is that God doesn’t keep score. In the end,
that is what my friend, my mentor, taught me as he died. Don’t fret over the
details of religion and politics and “whatever.” Focus on this: God is love.
Jesus loves me. And in the end, that is better than any song any human, even
Paul McCartney, could write. It is a song that was written long before
the Beatles.
Al, I am still singing it.
Thank you, my dear brother.