During one of my earliest devotionals for this website, posted on 5 March 2019 under the title I Believe in The Resurrection, I told you all about a very special man called Jeffrey Durbin who spent much of his life struggling with a lack of faith. Yet, he lived out many of the qualities of the Christian walk far more thoroughly than I could ever hope to.
This morning, I thought about Jeffrey – my lovely dad – again as I was reading from Matthew chapter 7. This is the final section of Jesus’ sermon on the mount which begins in Matthew 5. I don’t think we could ever study these three chapters thoroughly enough, because every time I read them I notice something new. Jesus’ teachings were so profound – so deep and full of layers.
You might be wondering why Matthew chapter 7 made me think of my dad, so I’ll tell you. During my childhood and early teens, there was one thing about my father that infuriated me. I’m ashamed to write it now, but it’s the truth, so here’s my confession. Dad had a real heart for elderly people who lived on their own, or couples without children. If he thought someone was lonely and in need of love, he would visit them. The problem was, he liked me to go along too, as he claimed seeing a child would make their day.
This became a particular issue at Christmas. He bought potted plants and insisted on me accompanying him to visit Peggy at the top of the street, or penny and Edgar who lived somewhere in the middle. Then there was Uncle Eddie – a rather eccentric elderly widower who was so set in his ways that his tea had to be stirred anticlockwise and his soup bowl had to be warmed up before the soup was poured in. he proudly told us about how he set his alarm for 05:22 every morning, and he had specific to the minute times at which he ate and did just about everything else. When we went to his house, he made us chicken sandwiches with the crusts cut off and gave us slices of Madeira cake. Oh, and he told us the same stories on almost every occasion – about how he went to serve in the army in Iraq during the war.
In many cases, I got off lightly. I was only expected to accompany Dad on his visits at Christmas, but Uncle Eddie was the exception to the rule. Dad visited him every Saturday evening, and I was regularly encouraged to go along. Looking back now I realise Dad was right. Uncle Eddie did love to see me, but all I could think of then was the things I could be doing if I didn’t have to sit and listen to his stories.
Uncle Eddie died several years ago, and Dad visited him faithfully almost every day, even when he was confined to his chair in a nursing home and had lost much of the dignity that had made him a creature of habit. I had the privilege of playing the piano at his funeral, attended by less than half a dozen people, because Uncle Eddie had never found it easy to make friends. Yet what mattered most was that one person had always remained loyal. My dad was the son he never had, and he organised his funeral with love, tenderness, and respect. By then I was a little less selfish – now being in my mid-twenties, and I had learned to appreciate everything my dad had done for Uncle Eddie and so many others like him.
My father continued visiting the elderly, infirm, and lonely, right up until his own health failed. When it did, people visited him. At his funeral four years ago, so many wanted to come and pay their respects to a man who had embodied Matthew chapter 7 verse 12, which is the scripture I was reading early this morning that started me thinking about Dad and his visiting. It says: “Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. This is the essence of all that is taught in the law and the prophets.” Dad received little back from his kindnesses. He wasn’t motivated by money or personal gain, but by love – the kind of love the Bible calls agape, which is a love that expects nothing in return.
Whenever I grumbled about Dad asking me to accompany him to Uncle Eddie’s flat, or to transport one of the Christmas potted plants, he would quote that verse, although he did so out of the King James Bible. He would say, in his best stern Dad voice: “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Although he didn’t attend church or read the Bible, he knew the principles of scripture, and he was as keen for me to learn them as my Sunday-school teaching, Bible-study attending mother.
This morning, I am sitting pondering what I consider to be Dad’s life verse. In particular, it strikes me that Jesus wants us to interact with others in the way we wish them to interact with us. That means loving even when we are hated, being kind though we are persecuted, and giving when we can expect nothing in return. This is the full definition of agape love, and it is how Jesus loves us.
Dad hammered home the “Do unto others” lesson when I had issues with friends, using it to encourage me not to stoop to their level. If they were unkind to me, I had no excuse to retort. I was to treat them as I hoped they would treat me, no matter what. Now as an adult, this life lesson means more to me than ever before, and I am so grateful to the man who taught it. When we meet again in heaven, I want to thank him, and ask whether he was aware he had a life verse. He probably wasn’t, since he only came to know Jesus two months before the Lord called him home.
Now I look back on my selfish attitudes as a young child and as a teenager with shame, and I am attempting to make Dad’s life verse my own. I pray that in 2022 and beyond, I will treat others in the way I would like them to treat me, whether they do or not. The Bible encourages us not to judge. If someone is sharp with you or unkind, perhaps they are having a bad day or going through something painful they are unable to share. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt because that’s what Jesus does for us. Let’s look out for the needs of the lonely, the sick, the eccentrics like Uncle Eddie, and those who we consider to be hard work. Let’s try and remember to do unto others as we would have them do unto us.