Several years ago, there was a woman who was part of my Gettysburg congregation whom I'll call Jane.  Jane was in the nursing home, and she wanted to die.

Now, don't misunderstand that.  She was not suicidal, or even particularly depressed.  But she could no longer see, she could not hear very well, and she could not get out of her chair.  She simply felt that, as she could no longer do anything for anyone, and as she could no longer get much enjoyment out of life here, it was time for her her life on earth to end.  It was time to move on and find out what comes next.

I would visit Jane from time to time, and I always enjoyed our visits.  One day, shortly before Christmas, she told me that her wish had been granted.  On December 27, the doctor was going to come and shut off her pacemaker, and she would be allowed to die.

Now, I was skeptical of that then, and I'm skeptical of it now.  I don't know that a doctor could turn off someone's pacemaker, and I'm not even sure it's possible without surgery.  But none of that is the point.  The point is that Jane believed this was going to happen, and so did her family.  It was not my job to offer medical advice.  It was my job to provide pastoral support and encouragement and any spiritual guidance that I could.

So came Christmas Eve, the last Christmas Eve Jane would spend on earth.  I had my usual round of Christmas Eve worship services, and when they were over, around 8:45, Mrs. A and I decided to stop and see Jane for a few minutes before we went home.  We got there, and Jane's daughter Sandra was there.  We visited for a while, and Mrs. A got tired.  And the thing about Mrs. A is that she can go for a long time, but when she hits the wall, she hits the wall.  She needed to go home, but I could see Jane did not want us to leave yet.  So Sandra told Mrs. A to go home, and that she would give me a ride home later.

More time passed.  It was 11:00 or so.  Sandra had a really bad back, and she needed to go home and rest.  But I could tell that Jane was not ready to be alone yet.  So I told Sandra to go home.  I could walk home.  It was a nice night for Christmas Eve, and it was only about nine blocks.  I'd be fine.

So, it was just Jane and me.  We talked for a while.  We were silent for a while.  We sang some Christmas songs.  We talked some more.  Finally, around 12:30, Jane said that she'd be all right, and I should go home.  We wished each other a Merry Christmas, and I left.

The temperature was in the high 20s, and a light snow was falling.  The town of Gettysburg was totally silent.  There were no cars moving.  There were no lights in any of the houses.  There was not even a dog barking.  If not for the street lights, you'd have thought it was a ghost town.  As it was, it was almost like the rapture had come and I'd been left behind.  The only sound was of the snow hitting my overcoat and my feet crunching the snow on the ground.  It was really something.

Well, December 27 came.  Jane's family was gathered around her, as she prepared to die.  And in fact, while she was sad to leave her family, she was looking forward to it.  Mrs. A and I were there, too.  The doctor came in.  He said, Jane, I don't know how to tell you this, but your pacemaker stopped working some time ago.  Your heart is beating on its own, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Jane was incredibly disappointed.  She had been looking forward to this day, when she would be released from her earthly body, and now she was going to have to remain for a while longer.  She was not happy about that at all.

Jane lived for a few more months.  I was not there for this last bit, but Sandra told me about it later.  One day, when Sandra was visiting, Jane looked up at a corner of the ceiling and said, "God, you and I are going to have a talk."  And the next day, she was gone.  Apparently, she and God had that talk, and God granted her request.

Just as an epilogue, Jane had a clock.  Every hour, a bear would come out from each corner of the clock, and they'd play a tune.  Well, some of you know about me and bears.  I often expressed how much I loved that clock.  When Jane passed, Sandra gave me that clock.  It's in my office now.  It still works, and I still love it.  And I still think of Jane once in a while, and I hope that whatever came next for her was everything she hoped it would be and more.

Merry Christmas, everyone.