Eternal Life, the How-to Manual

Melvin Udall stood in the waiting room of a counseling center. The chairs were filled with pain and people with problems, lots of folk in need of therapy and relief and some support for the weight they carried. Melvin was walking through this sea of sorrow, and he stopped, he looked around, and then in clear voice he asked the patients, "what if, what if this is as good as it gets?"

Melvin had lots of problems, first and foremost was crippling anxiety and phobias and a heavy, heavy dose of obsessive-compulsive behavior.  If Melvin was in his beautiful westside apartment where the paper was in order and the pens were all in a row and there was plenty of his favorite soap and all the M&Ms were sorted by color in clear glass jars if there was good music playing and no one bothered him he could write.  And he wrote a lot.  He was a very successful novelist.  That he wrote romance novels was a bit of a twist.

              Melvin had no charm; he was not a romantic.  He was rude and obnoxious and belligerent and intolerant and just about anything you would not like about people Melvin had a lot of this.  But in his mind, his perfect apartment, his place of control, he could spin a yarn, describe love.  That is unless someone knocked at the door or the neighbor's dog barked or his favorite waitress missed her shift because her son was sick.  Melvin could write a perfect world; he just needed the world to leave him alone. Be quiet.

              All of Melvin's work to keep the world at bay came crashing down when his neighbor was brutally attacked and left for dead.  The neighbor would need to be in the hospital for a long recovery.  And this was sad, but not really his problem until the neighbor's manager told him, he, Melvin, needed to look after his dog.  Somebody needed to take care of Verdell, the little obnoxious barking dog who sometimes didn't make it outside in time, somebody needed to take care of the dog Melvin had shoved down the garbage shoot once.  Threatened and bullied and pushed around, Melvin took the dog.

              Verdell the barking dog entered Melvin's sanctuary, he came into his perfect world where he was told, there is no place here for dogs.  No dogs.  You need not see the rest of the movie to guess what happens.  Melvin falls in love with the dog.  And Verdell's companionship, his joy and quirky ability to mimic Melvin, all took effect.  The crippling fears were not so crippling, the obsessive behaviors were not as controlling. Melvin has a friend, and his perfect world of fear was ruined.

              My favorite moment in the movie is when Verdell must go home; his owner is home from the hospital.  And Verdell who is fed bacon and prime rib all day surprisingly doesn't want to go.  But he does.  Alone again in his sanctuary, Melvin starts to weep.  In his tears though he laughs at himself and says, "over a dog, a stupid dog."

              The next steps of the story are predictable. Melvin helps the neighbor and they become friends; Melvin helps the waitress find a good doctor for her son, they fall in love, or almost, or kind of it is not quite clear in the end, but for Melvin this is as much love as he has ever known in his life which gives you hope.  He speaks of this hope when he tells Carol the waitress near the end of the movie, "you make me want to be a better man." 

              This is a classic romantic comedy, but it is also a clear and profound retelling of the parable of Jesus and if truth be told a poignant way of reading the promise of eternal life offered on Easter.

              The movie As Good as it Gets is a retelling of the Good Samaritan.  No one who should have helped the injured neighbor, his family, his friends, his colleagues, other neighbors all of whom are much nicer than Melvin, all these people should have helped, just like the priest and the Levite. That Melvin helped is the twist in the story just as the Samaritan is the twist in the parable.  Samaritans were hated and despised, untouchables, outcasts, heretics, a resident of Manhattan obviously.  No.  The Samaritan was the last person who should have helped; he was the unexpected.

              Yet, how the movie really gets to the heart of the parable is not just in the basic structure but in the truth about salvation.  The Samaritan is saved when he stops to save the injured man. We can get so caught up in the good deed, so caught up the do-gooder action we call the Samaritan good, we can get so caught up we can forget in real life the Samaritan was most likely not all that nice a guy, not a good guy.  He was probably someone like Melvin, a terrible neighbor, but when push came to shove, when circumstance demanded he gave up his freedom, his safety, the comfort of his world to help someone else.  The parable of the Good Samaritan makes a lot more sense if the Samaritan wasn't all that good.

              This is true not because all people who do good things are bad people.  Although for the most part, most of us balk when it comes to helping when it is a hassle.  Let's be honest, there is a reason why the priest and the Levi don't stop.  But I digress.  No. That the Samaritan was someone like Melvin is important because Jesus told this story as an answer to eternal life: how do I gain eternal life?  This was the question of the lawyer.  And the answer is love.  But if love is not clear to you, then let me tell you about someone who did the unexpected, who was the unexpected one, and in this gains eternal life.

              The parable of the Samaritan is not about being altruistic or helpful or compassionate, all of which we should be mind you, the parable is to say, in giving your life away you will find it; in sacrifice is great reward; in mercy you find mercy.  If the Samaritan was a good guy, then he wouldn't need to learn this, find this, discover the unlikely, unexpected way love rescues us.  A dog, over a dog, a stupid dog.  The unlikely, the unexpected way love rescues us.

              Seeing what is unexpected in the parable is more than recognizing that the Samaritans were not expected to be good.  Seeing the unexpected is finding the mystery of salvation: eternal life is in the unexpected.  More than any other theme, or element, this is the message of Easter in Luke today. We find eternal life in the unexpected.

              We lose sight of the unexpected in the rather anticipated annual occurrence of Easter.  We say, "he is risen" and respond, "he is risen indeed."  There is a lot of certainty in such an exchange. Not a lot of doubt.  A call embodying the unexpected would be like, "are you sure Jesus is alive?"  And the unexpected response, "I'm thinking there is a chance, not a good chance, maybe 10-1, we will have a resurrection this year.  But, hard to say."  Imagine if that was the call to worship this morning.  Is Jesus alive? bellows the pastor.  And the congregation says, "maybe, we're hoping, but you know, who is to say." 

              No. The brass is here; the lilies; the purple has been replaced with white, there are eggs all over the front lawn with candy in them.  No.  We are sure about the resurrection, so sure, the idea of the unexpected should sound strange.

              But if you read the account of Easter in Luke, it is all about the unexpected. The women go in the morning to the tomb.  They go early because they just couldn't wait for the resurrection any longer?  No.  They went in sorrow and sadness and worry and despair taking spices to prepare a corpse.  They didn't expect a resurrection.  And the disciples when they are told of the angel and the empty tomb.  What do they do?  They rejoiced and sang and shouted great praise and said, let us go and see this resurrection, let us live unto hope! That's not quite what happened.  They took the words of the women as an idle tale.  They had no expectation of resurrection.

              With Peter we are almost to belief.  He is amazed it says.  Yet, what is amazement, but when you see something you didn't expect.  Luke takes care of this glimmer of hope and says, "and he went home."  It would be our Easter tradition, our annual ritual if Peter ran through the streets shouting, he is a live; he is risen.  Come see and believe.  Jesus has conquered death!  What to do we get?  He went home.

              Now this can start to sound a bit "bahhumbuggy" and I don't want to do that.  I believe Jesus conquered death.  I believe he is risen, risen indeed.  I am a big fan of jellybeans and the Resees chocolate eggs and I look forward to the brass and I would like to have the postlude back if you please.  But our story, the easter story, and the parable, the Samaritan, and the movie starring Jack Nickolson, Helen Hunt, Greg Kaneer, and Cuba Gooding Jr., the movie is about how eternal life is in the unexpected.  We make Easter a kind of guarantee, anticipated, a sure bet.  No one is giving points on the resurrection. Like Jesus said on the cross: it is finished.  If it is finished, why then why is life so filled with brokenness? 

              The answer to this is found if we ask where and when do I find eternal life?  The question is not asked specifically by the lawyer.  He just wants to get it.  The where and the when are in the response of Jesus.  You gain eternal life here and now.  You live eternal life; you are rescued by love here and now. This is the mystery in the easter story.  Jesus is alive here and now; he is resurrected here and now.  This is the message of the angel. 

              The disciples had no expectation that eternal life was here and now.

              Such is true of us.  Right?  Eternal life is the great reward. Paul tells us if you are baptized with him, you will be raised with him later, after this life is over, in the great hereafter.  The Samaritan, Melvin, the women at the tomb, they don't expect eternal life here and now.  Melvin just wanted to be left alone and he needed people to be quiet and mostly he just needed Carol the waitress to be there on the days she is supposed to be there.  Sound familiar?  Eternal life here and now?  Well, look, I would settle for a nice weekend or if my kids got along, or if I could not have so much pain in the morning.  Eternal life here and now?  Not really what we expect.

              Eternal life here and now is not what we expect.  Jesus is alive.  That's great.  Easter is here; spring has sprung; there is no need to feel guilty about Lent or feeling guilty about not feeling guilty about Lent.  Eggs and candy for everyone.  But that my life could be redeemed by love, rescued in kindness, that I could give my life away to find it?  That is a lot.  The kingdom of God is here and now, right now, in my life?  That is a lot.

              This is not what we expect.  The unexpected presence of eternal life here and now is the great hope of Easter found in such surprising ways.  A dog.  Over a dog.  Unexpectedly sorrow turns to joy.  Amen.