The Power Of A Sermon

Written by Ernie Perry

When I was in my early twenties I experienced my first memorable loss; one that would leave an indelible, although buried, impression. While there had been other losses prior to this, it was this experience, and what came of it, that would define the course of my life. The event was the loss of my stepfather who, from the age of three, had raised me as his own. Not a perfect man by any means, but the father figure that I needed.

It was in his final day that this memory had its origin. As he was wheeled off to theatre for an operation, he called out to me. The nurses paused, waiting for me to respond, but I could not. Like a rabbit in the headlights I was frozen to the spot. So too was my younger brother. We stood there and watched him go. It was the last time we saw him alive. A lost opportunity to say goodbye — to say thank you for being my dad. This memory, like earlier experiences, was buried and life went on.

And so it was until one day in church, listening to a sermon, the words I heard triggered such emotion that I had to leave the congregation, and sit privately and alone until emotions had settled. It would take time and a great deal of soul searching to understand the cause of my distress and to reflect on the words that had cut like a two edged sword. Those words awakened a buried pain, brought it into the conscious mind, screaming for attention.

Fear of death, fear of being alone, fear of loss. All those hurts and fears, those past experiences, so at work in the shadows, limiting joy, limiting freedom, limiting life, revealed through the words of a sermon. Eventually I came to understand and recognise this deep fear in me. And the recognition of it was the beginning of a journey. I made a concious decision to take steps to overcome, and engaged with my local hospice as a volunteer community befrender, visiting the sick and dying in their homes. As one of the support team said; "it was a bumpy ride". And so it was.

There would be many occasions that this fear would be a barrier, and prevent me from engaging in critical moments. Not just in this hospice role but again in my private life too. But since the day of that sermon, God's Word and His great love have continued to guide, to strengthen and console. And today, as I engage in this work of care, God's healing and enabling presence has helped me to be present, to care in those critical moments, to offer something of myself, something of God, to console and comfort. So I give thanks with a grateful heart — for church, for sermons, for a loving Father in heaven, and for Jesus, our Friend, our Brother, our Saviour, for making such things possible.