Stephen Doughty, whom some of you may know as he has served - interestingly enough - as the Executive Presbyter of the Presbytery of Lake Michigan . . . he says that when he reflects on God’s love, he is struck by two things.  First is the “immensity of the landscape where God’s love appears.”  And second is that landscape is so vast we will never fully chart it, for God’s love embraces all of creation.  From the great waters of Lake Michigan to the inner shores of the heart, God’s love and grace works its miracles and embraces all.

    One dark night in the city of Jerusalem a man by the name of Nicodemus, a Pharisee and leader of the Jews, seeks out Jesus, and there in the dark shadows he confesses his conviction that Jesus must be a teacher from God, for no one could do the signs Jesus has done apart from the presence of God.  Nicodemus, however, easily becomes confused by what Jesus says as their conversation ensues.  And he can only respond to what he perceives as Jesus’ double talk with, “How can these things be?”

    Jesus then tries to explain to Nicodemus the vastness of God’s love.  “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness” - Nicodemus, you are a Pharisee, a leader among the Jews . . . surely you remember how Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness - “so must the Son of Man be lifted up . . . For God so loved the world . . . God SO loved the world that God gave his only Son . . . that everyone may have life . . . eternal life . . . life now and life forever.”

    Jesus insists, he insists that love and grace is always the final word for God, and just as Moses set up the serpent as a means of salvation for the Hebrew people as they struggled in the wilderness, so God’s love and grace is extended to us all once again - but this time most completely - in the cross on which Christ died.  The landscape of God’s love stretches from the barren wilderness to a corner in Jerusalem one dark night to a cross on Calvary.

    Can we begin to look down and out and across and glimpse the vast landscape of God’s love?  An old man, lying in his hospital bed, suspecting his end was near, bore witness to his faith before his family by saying, “Well, if God brings me through this, I’ll be all right . . . And if God doesn’t bring me through, I’ll be all right then too.  God will still take care.”  The landscape of God’s love has no horizon.

    To embrace such an attitude may be our goal, but when the chips are down, it usually is our reptilian brain that takes over, and we cry out.   Why, God?  Why?  In such moments the landscape of God’s love may seem barren and scarred.   But in yet another story I was reading just this past week, a minister was recounting a heart-wrenching experience early in her ministry.  A young mother who was just thirty years old had been diagnosed two years before with multiple sclerosis, and the disease had taken such a toll that by the time this pastor came to know her she had to be lifted from her bed with levers and straps and could not even speak.  When this woman developed a blood clot in her lung and died, she left behind a husband and two children only five and three years old.  This minister who tells this story says despite the tragedy of this loss, she nonetheless experienced God’s grace.  She says that she “learned about grace . . . not in the serenity of nature but in the warp and woof of complicated human relationships: this grace was the honest connection of people with their souls, with whom and what they love, with all they believe, with the power of commitment and the grief of loss . . . The emotions, the thoughts the awareness of the precious quality of life and death allow us to enter the realm of grace.” 

    This minister’s experience reminded me of another story told by Lee Anne Reat, who is pastor of St. John’s Town Street here in Columbus and past president of BREAD.  Lee Anne traveled to Uganda a number of years ago, and while there she visited a small village where disease, hunger, and death were part of the daily life.  She asked a lay leader of the church, “How does this community maintain such a steadfast and joyous faith in the face of such hardship?”  And the lay leader could only respond with surprise and then reply, “How could one fail to love a God who would come and be with us to suffer just as we suffer, hunger as we hunger, and die as we die?”  The infinite horizon of the landscape of God’s love is beyond human knowing.  Charting the vast landscape of God’s love requires a sharp eye, persistent scrutiny and observation, and a willingness to be surprised by the odd and unusual and even seemingly barren and forsaken places where that gift sprouts forth.

    As many of you know, I’m a sucker for dogs, and when I was visiting my son and his family in New Jersey last week, we watched the movie “Marley and Me.”  I’m sure some of you have seen it or read the book by John Grogan.   Marley might be called “the world’s worst dog” - unruly, incorrigible, uncouth, a bit crazy, and maybe dumb, but when Marley grew old, got sick, and died, Grogan and his family felt the anguish of the loss of a great and devoted friend and realized when all was said and done that this wild and crazy animal had taught them profound lessons in love, loyalty, exuberance, joy, appreciating the simple things in life, and following your heart.   Being a great dog lover and having had a dog all of my life, I know these lessons well.

    I do not mean to be trivial at all, talking about a dog’s love.  The point is that the landscape of God’s love is not about doctrines; it is not about human comprehension.  The landscape of God’s love is as profound and deep as the infinite shades of blue that swell up from the waves of Lake Michigan and is as high and as demanding as the sand dunes that rise above those shore.  The landscape of God’s love is as complex and complicated as the warp and woof of human relationships.  The landscape of God’s love is as miraculous as faith in the face of adversity and as surprising as the love and loyalty of an exasperating dog.  The landscape of God’s love is as sorrowful as the garden of Gethsemane and as astounding and grace-filled as the garden where Christ’s tomb lay empty.

    A couple of weeks ago some of us from Indianola gathered with over 2500 other people of faith in Columbus down at the Veterans’ Memorial.  We gathered as people of faith, building power, to do justice.   We proclaimed that we are not two cities but one and witnessed to the vision of city where all people have access to drug treatment, healthcare, and safe neighborhoods.  We listened to the incredible needs of many thousands in our city who have been forgotten or left on the margins and joined with public officials who are trying to help achieve these goals.  We gathered from many different faiths, to be sure, but I believe the strength of that moment was made possible because God so loved the world that God came down to be with us in the man we know as Jesus of Nazareth, and in the confusing mystery that all that might mean, revealed to us unequivocally that it is love and justice and reconciliation and grace and compassion that promise life and overcome death.

    The landscape of God’s love is vast and deep, serious and ridiculous, surprising and nonsensical.   It is unchartable.  God’s love is so deep and so vast that God will even come to live with us and die with us with only one purpose in mind - that we might know God, be reconciled to God and thus be given life.  And with that gift comes the sacred and holy responsibility to meet and mediate God’s grace to a hungering and broken world.  “God so loved the world that God gave his only Son . . . that you and I and all creation might have life and have life abundantly - now and forevermore.”