2 Samuel 23:1-7
In 2016, Dr. Wil Alexander, a patriarch of Loma Linda University Health, lay dying. At 95 years old, this seemed inevitable — but not to him. He had a whole world of expectation for the future, even though his body could no longer keep up with him. Since life had brought him near death several times, he had many “last conversations,” but they were never “last,” nor did he intend them to be. Throughout our time together, he often asked, “Are we done?” It was his obligatory offer to step back, fully expecting that I would respond (as I always did), “No, Wil, not yet.” It gave him permission to do what he was going to do anyway — keep teaching young physicians how to give whole person care until he could no longer make it to work.
But there came a point when that moment arrived.
The night before he died, he and I had a “last conversation.” At the end of it, with eyes more piercing and serious than usual, he asked, “Are we done?” He searched my face for the answer — the real answer. I knew he would not return to work again, so I hesitated.
Then the answer came to me — the real answer. “Wil, you know what I’m going to say, and you know it is the truth. No, we are not done yet.” He laughed out loud. “I knew you would say that! The Lord will continue to bless, won’t He?”
David’s last words were similar to Wil’s — expressing a deep knowledge of what God had done and would continue to do because of His “everlasting covenant” (2 Samuel 23:5).
When the “Rock of Israel” speaks, He means what He says, and that Voice changes everything. And that Voice states that “The one who rules in the fear of God is like the gleaming of the sun on new grass after rain” (verses 3-4, paraphrase).
Have you ever seen that? It is easier to see at night. One night I awoke suddenly by the sound of rain that had just stopped. Uncharacteristic of California rain, it had come down hard, then suddenly, without tapering, stopped, like a flash of lightning disappeared. The absence of sound startled me, and I wondered at the silence. Jumping out of bed, I ran to the front door and flung it open.
There was gold everywhere, flowing down the street, like it was the book of Revelation. I gasped. The light from the street lamps was illuminating every drop and trickle of water, giving the whole landscape a gold hue through the reflection. “Can you believe that?!” I said out loud to nobody who was listening. It was 2 a.m. I waited for someone else to come outside their house and see what I was seeing, but the street was empty, except for the gold.
After a long time, and with reluctance, I closed the door again, still looking through the window. Had I imagined it? No, there it was, gold everywhere, still gleaming under the lights from the streetlamps.
Still gleaming.
David’s last words assure us that death is not the end. Last words are simply the announcement of what began long before we were born and continues long after we stop coming to work. It is an “everlasting covenant.”
The sun continues to gleam on new grass after rain.
And it is spectacular.
—Carla Gober-Park, PhD, is assistant vice president of Spiritual Life and Mission at Loma Linda University Health.
