It was only day 9, yet it seemed like an eternity. The results of my disastrous first surgery seemed to be going from bad to worse.  Most of you know that in the process of removing a benign tumor by my ovary, the surgeon snipped my bowel in two places.  The bowels were not regaining their ability to function.  I was in a lot of pain, and emotionally I was very discouraged.  That night of day 9 I started wondering if I would survive or die.  I was trying to write some emails and started writing ‘goodbye’ emails to my loved ones.  Thankfully I was too exhausted to write any more than one—to my son Jason.  By the morning, of course the rest of the family knew about the email and were quite worried.

     In the next day or two the decision was made for me to undergo a second surgery, which happened on 2/24, two weeks from my first.  It was very extensive, lasting five hours.  And then my recovery was back to the beginning.  I was quite worried about my self.  Neill told me later that around this time when he came into the room, I looked as if I were dying. He took a video of our beloved cats to bring to show me in hopes that would spark some life in me.  I knew I was not doing well.  I had been having trouble praying, and I began to realize that I had to have a break-through spiritually if I were going to heal.

     For the most part ever since I was a child I have been a person of strong faith.  Yet I have also been a person with strong doubts.  The first sermon I ever spoke, at Youth Sunday when I was a senior in high school January 1958, was based on what I chose for today’s gospel reading.  “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.” I still have that sermon and read it over in preparation for today. There was not as much relevant in the old sermon as I expected there to be. My theology was much more conservative in those days; I did a lot of talking about theodicy, a fancy word that means the study of why there is evil and suffering in the world. I also talked a lot about the need to witness to Christ.  I started the youth sermon off asking what the speaker meant by, “I believe, Help my unbelief.”  Let me quote a few sentences: “It has been said that the Christian faith consists of two distinct halves.  One half is what we do on our own to try to understand our religion and draw near to God, through sermons, discussions, Bible study and meditation.  In a way this understanding may be what the speaker in Mark meant when he said, ‘I believe.’  But this belief by itself is not enough. Real Christian faith must be more than just understanding.  It must be something deeper—a conviction that we so deeply believe in and are so happy about that we must constantly tell others about it. . . .This is the half of the Christian faith in which we all so badly need to ask God’s help. Maybe this then is what is meant by “Lord Help our unbelief.”

     Belief and unbelief.  The doubts I was feeling in my hospital bed were more along the lines of “Where are you God?  Why don’t you stop my suffering and heal me?  Are you really still speaking?  How do I know it is you?” and so forth.

     During this hospital time I hadn’t been talking much to God.  Immediately after the first surgery I certainly thanked God for the tumor not being cancerous.  I wasn’t aware of being angry at God for the complications of the surgery.  I’m not one who says, “Why me Lord?”  My thinking goes more like, “Why not me, Lord?”  Why should I have it so good when so many have to suffer in so many ways? It’s only fair that I have my share of suffering. As many of you know, I seldom miss a morning of devotions, an hour or so reading the Bible, praying or meditating, or doing reading relating to spiritual/theological themes.  But this was not happening in the hospital. Of course a big reason for this was that I was very sick and could hardly focus or concentrate on anything both due to pain and to pain medication.

     I’m not exactly sure which night it was that I will now describe, probably a few days into the third week.  I was now at the stage of  “Lord I believe, but I’m not so sure that will do any good.  Are you there?  Can you help me?” The image that came to me was Jacob wrestling with God, the Hebrew scripture you heard this morning that says: a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.' But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' The man asked him, 'What is your name?'   'Jacob,' he answered. Then the man said, 'Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome.'  To me this story is about determination and perseverance.  I knew I had to struggle and not give up.  I decided I would not sleep that night until I had struggled with the angels or the Spirit of Love, or with God and was given a sign that I would recover, a blessing.

     I do not remember a lot of the specific prayers of that night; however, I know I prayed deeply and for a long time with lots of repetition.  I’m not one that remembers a lot of scripture by heart; however, I recited the ones I could remember.  The 23rd Psalm was one I repeated many times, along with the Lord’s Prayer.  The “lord, I believe, help my unbelief” was another phrase I repeated many times.  What I most remember saying is: “God, please help me.  I want to live; I want to get better.  What do I need to do?  Please God, speak to me.  Let me know you are there and concerned about me.”  And then, thinking about Jacob’s night of wrestling, I would say, God I’m not going to stop praying until you do something, until I know you have heard me,   and will help me get better.” My memory is that I went in and out of consciousness—maybe dosing off and then would pray some more. Someone has asked me if there was a point where I believed or felt that God had heard me and answered.  If that happened I can’t remember it.  What seems to me happened is that I finally fell asleep and when I woke up I knew things were different.  I knew that I would soon be much better and ready to go home.  I felt a spiritual strength, or another way to put it; I felt God’s presence much more strongly than I had for a long time.  There was a calmness, a sense of peace. Then the most amazing thing started to happen: everyone I saw—patients, staff, and family—started remarking on how good I looked.  I glanced at myself in the mirror and wondered how I must have looked before.  No makeup, hair that had not been washed for a very long time, yet I too noticed that there was something in my eyes.  Maybe I can best describe it as light, a shining from deep inside that had replaced the dullness or darkness that had been there earlier. (This is the point I usually start crying, even as I’m writing this sermon.  I stop and give thanks and praise to the Holy Spirit.) The morning after my night of wrestling with God was a new beginning for my faith and for my healing.

     You remember that Jacob was left with a limp where his opponent had touched the socket of his hip.  He was also given a new name as he had struggled with God and men and had overcome.  My name is still the same; what is different I believe is the depth and certainty of my faith.  I know without a doubt that God blessed me that night with an inner light.  I’m not sure that this light will always be obvious to me or to you; however, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I have been blessed and that the Spirit’s presence will never leave me. I pray that I can touch your lives in such a way that you too will know and feel the Spirit.  Thanks be to God.  Alleluia, Amen.