“All we can really do is love people. We can’t change them or make them do things they’re not ready to do. But we can love them…sometimes its from afar, but we can always send love their way.” Vienna Pharaon
Some years back, Robert Redford directed a film called, A River Runs Through It. The setting was in Montana, in the early years of the 20th century. It is a story about a father and his two sons.
A Presbyterian minister, the father taught his sons fly-fishing while telling them stories about Jesus and his disciples as fishermen. As his sons grew into manhood, fishing grew to be a mutual bond and avid practice amongst all of them. Yet the youngest son’s unwillingness to let go of dimensions of himself that were self-destructive led to his early death.
“All we can really do is love people,” ponders one. “We can’t change them or make them do things they’re not ready to do.” Indeed, for every grieving parent, sister, brother, husband, or wife unable to help those whom they love; for those struggling to save a beloved companion or friend from the throes of addiction; for those separated by COVID, distance or alienation; for every counselor, physician, nurse, minister or first responder striving to ease suffering; there are those whom we cannot reach, those whom we cannot help, much less retrieve from harm’s way.
“But we can love them.” Towards the end of the movie, the father and minister was portrayed preaching before his congregation. By all accounts, it was another Sunday service and sermon. But for this father, his words spoke volumes. He spoke for all of us.
“…It is true that we can seldom help those closest to us… But we can still love them… We can love—completely—even without complete understanding…. 
In this Season of Advent, where darkness lingers and those whom we love are out of our reach, be with us, Divine Maker, so that we can love them as you would have us do. Amen.
 Dialogue from, A River Runs Through It, directed by Robert Redford, 1992