BEFORE WINTER COMES

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8; II Timothy 4:9-22; Luke 14:15-24

"For everything there is a season," said the writer of Ecclesiastes, "and a time for every matter under heaven." (Ecc. 3:1) Living in Alaska after living in Oregon for six years, I am reminded that folks here may have special insight into the words of the writer of Ecclesiastes. Those who read the fireweed have seen the signs that winter is coming. There are even a few patches of yellow where only a few days ago it was all green. If they haven’t already, the geese that are not permanent residents will have completed their practice flights and head south. These are nature’s signals that the seasons are changing. On Friday when I was at the barbershop in Eagle River—and yes, I do need occasional visits to such establishments—I listened to the barber say that in these days she doesn’t look up at the mountains when she commutes back and forth to Anchorage; she doesn’t want catch a glimpse of the first “termination dust.” And, of course, there are other signals, most notably the beginning of school this past week.

Some have been scurrying to get fish for the winter and are ready to do the same with moose and caribou. Others have lists of tasks to complete before snow and temperatures make them difficult if not impossible. A pastor friend of mine who served a number of years here in the Great Land dubbed the summer as Alaska’s “Manic Season.” Some welcome the change in season as much as others are anxious about it. Whether welcome or anxious, even in the face of the uncertainty of what warming will mean for this winter, we know that winter is coming.

I think we in Alaska may not only have special insight to bring to today’s text from Ecclesiastes, but also to the words we read from Paul’s second letter to Timothy, especially in its references to winter. Many scholars doubt that Paul actually wrote the first and second letters of Timothy. They seem to reflect a later time in the life of the church than during the life of Paul. Few, though, doubt that the two letters include fragments of actual letters of Paul and the passage we read today seems to be at least part of one he wrote to Timothy.

Paul wrote these lines from his prison cell in Rome where he was awaiting final judgment by the Roman supreme tribunal, perhaps even Caesar himself. Paul does not expect to live much longer. before he closes, he has a special request of Timothy, his son in the faith and perhaps his closest friend. This is not a letter of instruction to a church, but a personal plea to a trusted friend: “Do your best to come to me soon… When you come, bring the cloak that I left...at Troas, also the books, and above all the parchments.... Do your best to come before winter...."

Why come "before winter?" Although we are not certain where Timothy was when he received this request, we may assume that it was not too far from Troas where he was supposed to pick up Paul's coat. Troas is in present day Turkey, about 1,200 miles by boat from Rome. Twelve hundred miles is a long journey, especially in the first century. A twelve hundred-mile voyage on the Mediterranean Sea was perilous anytime, but in the winter, such voyages became unthinkable. Traffic ceased in the fall and did not resume again until the next spring. Paul's request to "come before winter" means that if Timothy didn't come in the fall, he wouldn't be able to come for another six months. The tone of Paul's letter is that he wouldn’t be alive when the spring came.

One of the realities of life is that there are times or seasons in which some things must be done, if they are to be done at all. I'm speaking about more than winterizing the car and getting the furnace checked.

I was seventeen and in my first year at Texas Wesleyan College when I received a note from Mrs. Jeter. Mrs. Jeter was the mother of my first girl friend when I was in the ninth grade. The relationship with the girl friend didn't last too long, but my relationship with her parents did. That seemed to be the case with a several of my girl friends. It had been three years since I had seen or heard from Mr. and Mrs. Jeter. Mrs. Jeter’s note said she had heard that I had decided to enter the ministry and that she wanted to offer her congratulations. She also told me that she was seriously ill. I was pleased to hear from her but distressed to learn about her illness. "I'll write her right away," I told myself. A week went by, then two, then a month. One Sunday afternoon I sat down and wrote a letter to her, telling her how much I had appreciated her friendship and her confidence in me. I didn't know what to say about her illness. "I'll finish it tomorrow," I told myself. Two days later I learned that she had died about the time I was writing the note. There are some things that have to be done before winter, or not done at all.

Perhaps it was that experience that -- 25 years later -- when I learned that my father had been diagnosed with colon cancer and was to undergo surgery that I quickly rearranged my schedule and went to Texas to be with him. I arrived the day before his surgery. It was to be a fairly routine procedure, but Dad had a feeling that he would not come through it. Since my dad had talked about dying for as long as I could remember, I wasn’t sure how seriously to take what he said. It had gotten to be a kind of standard way of saying goodbye after a visit, “Well son, I don’t know if I will still be here when you get back.” I think it is something parents are tempted to do to generate a little guilt in their grown children who live away from them.

But I stayed at the hospital and we literally talked all night. Even though I didn't really believe there would be any problems, I said all of the things I wanted to say to him. We talked about death, even the funeral service he wanted. But we also talked about what we would do when he recovered from the surgery, and how we would have a family reunion next summer at the annual rodeo in Clarendon. When he was in recovery the next day, something happened. He just didn't come out of the anesthesia. Instead, he went into a coma. He died two weeks later without ever regaining consciousness. It was just a freak thing that sometimes happens. But that night together was a gift for which I will ever be grateful.

I had some hesitancy in telling you about these two experiences. Some of us -- perhaps most of us -- are hounded by guilt about things left undone, obligations left unfulfilled, opportunities missed. We have trouble accepting the fact that we cannot do all those things we would like or feel we ought. But this sermon is not meant to engender guilt.

We can never be fully prepared for our relationships with others to end, or for other opportunities that we miss. There will be times when we wished we had acted sooner. There will be times we did act and be grateful. Life is like that. Many of our choices about the use of our time and energy are not choices between the important and the unimportant, but between the important and the essential. Timothy had to decide between the important and the essential. He doubtless had many obligations and opportunities where he was when he received Paul's letter. He chose what he believed to be essential. He apparently got to Rome before winter, was able to be with Paul in his last days, and was able to assist Paul in writing at least three important letters in the Bible: Philippians, Colossians, and Philemon. And for that we, too, are forever in his debt.

Although our text doesn't do so directly, we are reminded that we do not have unlimited opportunities for decisions about making changes in our personal lives or in our relationships with God. This may seem to be at odds with the good news of the gospel that the future is open, and that at any moment we can begin to live a new life. But although God is always with us, we can put ourselves in a place where God cannot reach us.

In the Gospel text read this morning, Jesus told a parable about how God’s grace is like the invitation to a great banquet. God’s love and forgiveness are available to all. Somehow, though, some of those who were invited found other things more important to do first. One had bought some property and said he had to go see it. Another had just bought five yoke of oxen and had to go try them out. And another had just gotten married and so declined the gracious invitation. The hard truth about the parable is those who declined the invitation failed to distinguish between what was merely “important” in their lives for what was “essential.” The parable doesn’t suggest that God’s offer of grace is ever withdrawn, but it suggests that we can put other concerns first for so long that we put ourselves beyond the reach of God’s love and grace.

When I was a pastor in Juneau, one of the members of our church introduced Connie and me to a neighbor of hers, a young man with AIDS. The first time we met John he told us that he was going to die and that he wanted to do something about his relationship with God, something he said he had put off during his earlier life. He was all of about twenty-five. He wanted to know about God. He wanted to know how to pray. Most of all, he wanted to know how to die. Over the weeks and months that we talked and prayed with John, he sometimes said that he wished he had started this process years before. But in those months John did -- in the apostle Paul's words -- "work out his own salvation." When the end came, he was ready.

With everything else we have to do, it seems easy to put off time for reflection, prayer or Bible study. John had the reality of AIDS to give him a new sense of priorities in his life. We may not have such clear signals to help us distinguish between the "important" and the "essential" in our lives. But Paul's plea to Timothy can be our reminder that there are some things that, if they are to be done at all, must be done before winter.

There may be a phone call you want to make this afternoon, or a letter you have been intending to write. Do it. There may be things that you want to do to make this world a better place. Don't put them off. There may be a decision about your spiritual life that you’ve been postponing. Make it.

We will never do all the things we hoped to do. Perhaps the most important words of this text are "Do your best...” These may be the words with which you send your child off to school each day. Paul repeats them twice: "Do your best to come to me soon," and "Do your best to come before winter." God does not expect of us things we cannot do. Nor should we expect of ourselves things we can’t do, so don’t go away from here this morning feeling guilty about things you didn’t do in the past. The past is gone and we don’t know what the future will bring. All we have is the present and it is a gift; that’s why we call it the “present.” God expects us to "do our best" in the present. And when we do our best, God will take care of the rest.

Perhaps our prayer today might be in the words of Marijohn Wilkin who wrote a country gospel song with title, “One Day at a Time:” "Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus, and tomorrow may never be mine. Lord help me today, show me the way one day at a time."