Unfinished Business: An Exegetical Narrative
Rev. Tim Schomp

Haggai 1:15- 2:9 (NRSV)

on the twenty-fourth day of the month, in the sixth month.
In the second year of King Darius, in the seventh month, on the twenty-first day of the month, the word of the Lord came by the prophet Haggai, saying: Speak now to Zerubbabel son of Shealtiel, governor of Judah, and to Joshua son of Jehozadak, the high priest, and to the remnant of the people, and say, Who is left among you that saw this house in its former glory? How does it look to you now? Is it not in your sight as nothing? Yet now take courage, O Zerubbabel, says the Lord; take courage, O Joshua, son of Jehozadak, the high priest; take courage, all you people of the land, says the Lord; work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts, according to the promise that I made you when you came out of Egypt. My spirit abides among you; do not fear. For thus says the Lord of hosts: Once again, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all the nations, so that the treasure of all nations shall come, and I will fill this house with splendor, says the Lord of hosts. The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, says the Lord of hosts. The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts; and in this place I will give prosperity, says the Lord of hosts.

 

 

The ding of the elevator jolted the pastor back to earth.  During the lift’s ascent to appropriate floor of the hospital, he’d been absorbed in thought – contemplating deep theological issues – at least this is what he hoped his persona suggested.  Actually, he was silently singing along to the Muzak version of Bachman Turner Overdrive’s “You Ain’t Seen Nothin Yet!” And, in his mind, Baby, he was gettin jiggy with it!
Or, had his singing been silent?  His traveling companion – the woman in the elevator – the one in surgical garb – looked over to him and smiled – “BTO, good song – been years since I heard it.”  That’s when he knew – he had done it again – so lost in his own world, he had blurred the boundary between private thought and public utterance.  “She must think I’m an idiot” – he thought, or said.  Mercifully, the door opened – he offered a clerical nod and quickly made his retreat.
He was happy to escape his most recent embarrassment; however, being out of the elevator, he quickly remembered why he was there – to see HER – the bane of his existence – she who must be obeyed – the matriarch – the protector of yesterday – the guardian of tomorrow.  A greater anxiety now replaced what had been a momentary relief.
For the past seven years, this woman had infused her opinion into just about every aspect of his life – she was no shrinking violet – she was arrogant – usually direct, sometimes passive aggressive – always in his face and on his back – she was in a word – UBIQUITOUS!
Sure, there were moments when she could be somewhat gracious.  On his first anniversary – she bought a bible – King James Version – on the cover – his name in silver letters – in the inscription: a reference to James 2:24.  On his fifth anniversary – a milestone the congregation did not recognize – she gave him a copy of the church constitution in an exquisite gold frame.   Scripture = silver / church constitution = gold – Neither of them, he assumed, lost the irony of such generosity.
And, there were moments when she was slightly supportive. During football season there were protests about the length of his sermons.  Homilies lasting longer than 10 minutes interfered with kick off.  In a congregational meeting, she rose to his defense:  “Sermonettes”, she reminded his detractors, “make “Christianettes.”  “OUR pastor’s little ditties about love and acceptance were not too long and over the years had showed mild, if not steady, improvement.”  “THANKS,” he thought.  However, when she voiced her support, the issue died – attendance remained steady – at least until the playoffs.
She routinely showed up at his office – to discuss how this might work or how that might go.  These impromptu staff meetings always ended with him promising to follow her suggestions and her uttering these words: “PLEASE, SEE THAT YOU DO, DEAR!”
SEE THAT YOU DO, DEAR – God, he had come to loathe those words – so condescending – so disrespectful – so seemingly insincere.  She said it so often – her friends – the gaggle of old ones – the remaining few, all over 80 who remembered the church in its former glory, started saying it themselves.  They thought he liked it – “SEE THAT YOU DO, DEAR” – a cackled chorus of criticism.
The fact was, while he had been there, the church was experiencing mild and steady growth.  The neighborhood, as they say was coming back.  Far from its old brilliance – back when the Bishop and the Lt. Gov. had implemented the last building campaign.  However, they were an alternative, a breath of fresh air – a progressive voice ready to roar – if SHE would only let them.
Now, she was dying – “bound for glory.” as she liked to say – she predicted her demise was imminent; however, they’d been through this before – each time, like a Phoenix, she had risen from the ashes only to exhort more influence, more suggestions, more work – he was certain she would outlive him – she had many others.
When he walked into her room, he was not anticipating what he saw – a frail old woman – pain etched on her face, grasping for breath.  When she saw him, she smiled – SHE smiled!  He always thought her body would reject such a facial contortion – she smiled at HIM.  Instinctively, he grabbed her hand and like two old friends they revisited their journey.  Mostly in glances, because words were difficult – with her eyes she told him how proud she was of him and the recent success of their joint ministry.  “Soon,” she said with her heart, “soon, God will finish what began so long ago” – how blessed she was to take part – “now it was up to him” her spirit demanded – “he could do it,” she manifested, as long as he had faith, a willingness to work until weary and daily remembered to seek God’s guidance.  They prayed and he turned to leave – a little smarter and greatly humbled.  Just as he reached the door, she whispered softly, “Reverend, you’ll find my wishes for the memorial service on the chair next to you.”  “I’ll follow them to the letter,” he said – “Please, see that you do, Dear.  See that you do.”
Needless to say, it was a long drive home – the tears, like BTO could not be held inside.  Unlike the elevator, he no longer gave a rat’s backside who saw or knew of his potential goofiness – his friend, a recently recognized angel – was gone – grief, no matter how inconvenient or uncopasetic, was appropriate.
His mind raced – he wanted to find the gaggle and squeeze their wisdom from them, before they too, were all gone.  He thought of all the things he needed to do – things that would please her – things that would please God – he wanted to make lists, draw charts, organize a committee – he wanted to be Type A forever! Somewhere, deep inside, he knew it wouldn’t last – he would eventually revert to unintended elevator concerts and constantly misplacing his keys; however, because of her he knew he needed help – because of HER, he knew God would send it.  He hoped next time he would recognize it a little sooner.
When he pulled into the driveway, now composed but still mournful – he saw her sitting on the steps.  Last time they spoke – it had become a little tense.  He had given her what for – about her friends, her music, her attitude, well, about her everything.  Like her mother, she wasn’t one to take such criticism lying down – she held her own – made good points – backed him into a corner a few times and always came out swinging.  They had resolved the issue; however, they had yet to make peace.
He simply sat in the driveway for a moment.  She was reading – that made him happy.  He could hear the music – what a bunch of NOISE.  However, she liked it – he so wanted to understand why.  “It has a great message,” she intoned.  “Message,” he thought.  What was that?  “Don’t torture small animals because this is what it sounds like?  “No,” he thought – “it’s time to re-evaluate – give it a chance – she’s earned that.”
As he watched her – he went to the standard places – where had the time gone?  What did the future hold?  Where was the little girl he carried?  As he watched her, hope quickly replaced nostalgia – Look at her – “she’s splendid – so smart, so driven – she had a tremendous work ethic – much greater than his – he knew it was a cliché, BUT she could DO ANYTHING.
He had so much he wanted to say, but it was late – he was exhausted.  To avoid a potential problem, he only smiled as he walked by – he could not help himself, he reached down and patted her head.  “I love you too, Dad,” she said.
He turned and saw she was reading his bible – the one with the silver letters.  Reading the bible, listening to animal torture – his daughter and her generation – what is the world coming to? “Bold beauty, that’s what.”  Something must have registered on his face, who knows, he might have been talking out loud.  She looked up and politely inquired, “I hope you don’t mind, I like the way this one sounds”  “No problem, honey, anytime,” he said.  “In fact, I want you to have that bible.”
“What do you think this means,” she asked – “Ye see then how that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only. “ “Well,” he said, “I suppose it could mean a lot of things – how did you come by that passage?  “DUH,” she said, “James 2:24 – it’s on the inscription page” – he had never taken the time to read it – she went to it immediately.  SPLENDID!
“I’m not sure I agree with that,” she said, “I’ll have to think about it” – “See that you do”, he said, awkwardly adding a “Dear” – “please, see that you do!”  “You’re such a dweeb,” she said.  “That may be,” he said; “however, you should still find a way to respect your elders.”  “Whatever,” she said, “Whatever.”