'God-incidences'

An elderly lady died out at Kirkliston earlier on this week. And when I say 'elderly' I mean it. She was 96.

I was out to see the family tonight. What a humbling, privileged thing it is to tread on what in truth is often really very sacred ground.

The contours of bereavement.

The family spoke a lot about the lady who had died, of course. But they also spoke about the manner of her dieing and the circumstances attending that.

All the smallest details, so it seemed, had, each and every one, been carefully attended to by God.

Like her son had been singing his way through his mother's favourite hymn, 'Rock of ages', and had reached the final verse and the lines that run - 'While I draw this fleeting breath, when mine eyelids close in death...' - when he was rung by his wife to let him know his mother had just that moment passed away.

Like her daughter-in-law holding her in her arms and committing her into the arms of the Lord at the moment when she died.

Like the way she'd come north in the past few years and had through these final years of her life been surrounded by her family.

Like the care she'd received from those whom the Lord had brought in to meet her growing needs.

Like the fact her son had gone up to his room and had prayed that his mother would somehow be spared a prolonged and a lingering death: and his prayer being answered in such an immediate manner.

Like the lovely way it almost seemed as if the Lord himself had bit by bit just taken this elderly lady like a little child and drawn her to himself, enveloping in successive layers of care within his arms until at last she simply went to sleep.

Like a whole load of other little things which meant I could have easily been there with the folk all night.

'God-incidences' they called them.

Even sort of second-hand, the sense of God's presence was palpable.

That's what I mean about 'sacred ground'. You kind of want to take your shoes off.

And that's what I mean about the privilege that it is as well. I get to be with families at times like this when the Lord is so very close. It's very humbling and fills my heart with awe.

It set me thinking again along the lines I'd been thinking throughout the day. About how it is we get to be ourselves the means through which God blesses all the nations of the world.

Which is what he promised Abraham - 'through you all the nations of the earth will be blessed'.

Something like that.

I was on about that at the lunch-time service today.

The story of Joseph and how he ends up being the one through whom the nations of the earth are blessed by God at a time of massive famine.

And how so many different features of his narrative somehow mirror the experience of Jesus himself.

Being stripped of his cloak, the sign of his father's favour.

Going down to Egypt.

Being sold by his brothers.

Becoming a servant and slave.

That sort of thing.

Long before Jesus ever came, this guy Joseph was sort of carrying him around in his own life.

In the same sort of way that we as well, so many lengthy centuries beyond the years that Jesus spent on earth, we too get to carry him around in our lives day by day.

So that we bring the presence of Jesus to those around. And because of that, we too get to bring the blessing of God to the nations of the earth.

I was in at the hospital earlier on. Seeing a couple of folk who are there.

I was struck by the difference one of the nurses made. To me.

She looked like she was the ward sister, though I'm not that good on the uniforms and what sort of clothes mean what.

Sometimes they can be a bit protective of their charges - especially if I'm visiting beyond the usual hours. Which I was. 'Protective', yes: and a little bit scary, too. Like they're none too chuffed that you're there.

But this nurse was different, she simply smiled and warmly said, 'Hello Sir' as I walked on past.

Not much, but she let me know she was glad that I was there. Pleased to see me.

And it crossed my mind what a difference those two short words, and the smile with which they were spoken, actually made.

It felt like I was noticed, and, indeed, was welcomed. Like they were glad that I was there. It was a kind of 'Jesus' moment again.

Because that's what he did. He noticed people, had time for them. He saw the smallest details and he made it clear he was glad to be there with them in their lives.

And I think that's what's impressed those folk who mourn their mother's passing at Kirkliston.

The Lord has been there with them and has made his presence known.

I don't think you need a burning bush to make it holy ground.

Just him.