The Harold Angels Sing

He taught in Lutheran schools his whole career. Same grade. Same school for over 40 years. His first year salary in 1951 was $750. In 1994, after a lifetime of faithful service and frugal living, 7^th grade teacher Harold Geyer retired. A few short months later, in the fall of 1994, Mr. Geyer was diagnosed with cancer. 

For one year I prayed for Harold Geyer without ever meeting him. And then, one day, on a round of routine hospital calls, I happened to see his name on the denominational roster at the chaplain’s desk, as a patient of that hospital in room 423. So I journeyed to the 4^th floor with the intention of meeting this man, seeing his face, saying a prayer, and then being on my way. I lightly wrapped my knuckle on his door, introduced myself… but from that moment on… Harold and I set out on a journey that was a much a surprise as it was a joy.

For some reason, for some divinely mysterious purpose, I would not be on my way. Mr. Geyer and I chatted away the morning. We started with the news he’d just received from the doctor, the report that he was expected to survive only 18 more months, and we finished with a prayer… but in between we covered the topics of oncology, teaching, faithfulness, the Detroit Tigers, the presidency, the English language, eternal life, and Watergate. And it didn’t end that morning. For nearly six months, that moved us from the hospital to hospice care, Mr. Geyer and I covered the world, and dreamed about the next.

As easy as it would have been for Harold to frustratingly denounce his lot in life, as understandable as it might have been for him to regret the things he missed because he dedicated his life to training up young men and women in the ways of the Lord, Harold never focused on those opportunities missed, but constantly reminded me of the best that was yet to come. I tried to help him understand that it was my job to remind him of what was ahead, but he assured me that his proximity to eternal life gave him a better view.

He was right. For those six months, I mostly listened and marveled.

Eighteen months to live was a stretch. As his health was quickly deteriorating in the early spring of 1996, it was clear that he was standing as close to the gate of heaven as one could without stepping inside. In one of my last visits, Harold had a confession to make. He grabbed the sleeve of my shirt, he pulled me close, and he whispered, “Pastor, I’m scared”.

They teach us at seminary that when one is confessing, it’s not very professional to look shocked when the confession is made. Something tells me that my eyes failed me. I was rather surprised that this great man of faith was frightened as the shadow of death crept close. “Why would that be, Mr. Geyer?” I asked, trying to mask my startle.

“Sometimes…”, he began, “sometimes the sheer weight of my sinfulness is too much to bear. I am going to Jesus in a matter of hours, and I have no right to be there… I don’t deserve to have an audience with him… and that scares me.” And then Mr. Geyer looked me in the eyes and said, “Pastor, why are you smiling?”

I opened up my Bible, I turned to Isaiah 6, read a few verses, and asked Harold what he heard. “A hymn”, he said, “Holy, Holy, Holy”.

This was Isaiah’s better view. The prophet saw the Lord seated on high. He saw Him soaring and exalted. He stood at the doorway to heaven and saw angels flying and calling to one another in a hymn of praise, “holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty, the whole earth is full His glory.” And with that Isaiah reeled back in fear. He was frightened because he was standing in the presence of the holy God, and he could think of only two things: God’s great glory, and his unworthiness. “Woe to me!”, Isaiah said, “I am ruined.” That’s why I’m smiling, Mr. Geyer. Because you are as close to Jesus as anybody I know, and if that’s the case, then I guess that makes me pretty close to Jesus as well.

Being in the presence of God. Beginning with Adam and Eve who hid from God, fearing His mere presence would overwhelm them. To Aaron and the Israelites who were afraid to be in the presence of Moses… who was in turn in the presence of God. To the disciples who- when the considered the depth of their calling- grew fearful of their sinfulness in proximity to the holiness of this God in flesh who walked and talked and dined with them.

As Christians, we greatly rejoice in all that the Lord has done. His love- which accomplishes unspeakable things. His faithfulness- which endures forever. His peace- which is beyond our understanding. His patience- which is unlimited (1 Tim 1:16). But above all, we rejoice in the gift of salvation that Jesus endured and won on Calvary, by nailing our sins to the cross. For by this offering of His life, he has made us holy.

The Lord Jesus Christ has bought back the life He made in Eden, paid for by His blood, and sealed our righteousness and blessedness when he broke the bars on Easter Sunday and defeated… no destroyed… the last enemy to come under His feet. Death.

By His death, Jesus has destroyed the power of death.

And that is the greatest of all good news. God’s reality does not include death anymore. “He who believes in me”, Jesus said, “will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”

So our fears of death are our reality, not God’s. So, the good Lord says, “Fear not!”. “Yeah”, we might add, “Easy for you to say, God, you’ve never had to die!”

Oops…

Isaiah wasn’t alone. Nor was Harold. Listen for a moment to the descriptive words the gospel writers use to paint the portrait of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. “Distressed”. “Troubled”. “Overwhelmed”. “Anguished”. Why? Because of the pain of crucifixion. Perhaps. Because he was facing death? Perhaps. But maybe because “God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us”, maybe Jesus was all these things because He was preparing to stand in the presence of His Almighty Father as One who was the most vile of all creatures… One who was taking upon Himself the sin of the world. One who was going to enter into death as One who had no right to be there.

That, Mr. Geyer, is why I am still smiling.

Because you were right. You didn’t deserve to be there.

And that’s why Harold Geyer sees Jesus today. Because he didn’t get what he deserved.

And thanks be to God, neither will you. You and I deserve hell. By Jesus, we won’t get what we deserve. By faith, we get heaven.

In the six months I knew Mr. Harold Geyer, I never once saw him on his feet. But because of God’s greatest gift, not only will I stand with him in paradise, but we will call out a song with the angels… and with those who’ve gone before…  singing “Holy is the Lord!”