I had a somewhat startling and uncomfortable epiphany of sorts this week: I get most inspired to write (and to blog) about things that hurt, especially recently. The last 3+ years have been full of joys and hurts, mountain top highs and deep, deep lows. Many of the events of my life in the last few years have to be described as having dual-identities, dual-meanings, and dual-convictions.
Here's where my Lutheran heritage and theological roots come in to play in a helpful and comforting, yet also frustrating and irksome, way. One of the pillars of Lutheran theology is this idea of the now and not yet, death and Life, Good Friday and Easter; in essence living in the in-between. I have hope that the Kingdom of God will be fully and absolutely realized one day; but today I see pain and fear and death. But, as I've said before on this blog, I am an Easter man. I refuse to stay in the presence of death but force myself to move forward in the Hope of Life.
Back to my recent revelation. I wrote a lot, more than I shared, when my buddy from camp died mysteriously and unexpectedly. I wrote a lot, more than I realized, when my Papa died of old age, cancer, and at rest in his home with his wife and daughter just a few feet away. I wrote, more than I wanted to, when one of the youth I work with took his own life this past May. I am writing, here and now, in the wake of senseless devastation of people I never met in a Colorado movie theater.
However, this time my inspiration comes second-hand, from a mother who lost her son in May to suicide. She posted on Facebook a sermon from a Denver-based Lutheran pastor from the Sunday after the theater shooting. Here is the link to the pastor's blog, which contains the text and audio of her sermon. It's a good read. It's a better listen. Listen first, read the text, listen again. Honestly, I've listened to this sermon almost a dozen times today.
I sing Hallelujah in the midst of tears. I celebrate the promise of Christ in the face of the evils of this world, minor and major. I hope and love and pray for my niece from states away. Heck, I'm dating a girl 2,000 miles away! If there is a way to explain my life right now, it is this eschatological, stuck in the in-between, now and not yet, looking for Easter in the midst of Holy Week, kind of way.
I live for the someday. I live in the today. And through it all, I must sing Hallelujah, because if I have no hope, I have nothing. Thanks be to God for the Hallelujahs of my mouth and the silence of my heart. Thanks be to God for showing up: in people, situations, Facebook posts, and sermons from states away. Thanks be to God. There is peace to be found in this.
May you see Jesus where he shows up. And may you be Jesus to others by just showing up. Amen.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
I can only be an Easter man...
Fifteen days ago, one of the young men I work with passed away suddenly. Two weeks ago today, we held a prayer vigil at our church for those of us in shock due to this tragedy. I was asked to lead a short Bible-based reflection. What I wrote and spoke is below. Never again do I want to begin to eulogize a fourteen year old.
A reading from Lamentations 3:22-24:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
These three verses are at the exact center of the book of Lamentations.
At the center of the pain, and anguish, and despair of this poet are the following words:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
All I can do today is hope.
I cannot fathom, I cannot understand, I cannot feel so deeply.
And so I hope.
I hope in the baptismal promises that Alex and 38 other young people affirmed on Sunday.
I hope in the Easter promise of death overcome by Love through Christ.
I hope up against uncertainty and the unknown of this time.
I hope in the midst of my hurt, my confusion, and my fear.
I hope because hope is all I can do.
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
Amen.
A reading from Lamentations 3:22-24:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
These three verses are at the exact center of the book of Lamentations.
At the center of the pain, and anguish, and despair of this poet are the following words:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
All I can do today is hope.
I cannot fathom, I cannot understand, I cannot feel so deeply.
And so I hope.
I hope in the baptismal promises that Alex and 38 other young people affirmed on Sunday.
I hope in the Easter promise of death overcome by Love through Christ.
I hope up against uncertainty and the unknown of this time.
I hope in the midst of my hurt, my confusion, and my fear.
I hope because hope is all I can do.
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
Amen.
The title of this post is about being an Easter man. This is not a chocolate bunnies and peeps sort of deal. This is a claim of hope and trust that death is not the end, that death is a (major) bump on the road of Life. In the face of this young man's death, in the face of the defeat I feel, in the face of the sinkhole of despair that so many have found themselves in, I hope in the Easter promise. I wake up to this hope every day, I go to sleep with this hope, I drive around with this hope, I walk the halls with this hope.
If there is a theological conviction that sinks into the very being of who I am, it is this hope of Easter. Not the one Sunday out of the year, or the little Easters we celebrate every Sunday, but it is the Easter, the eschaton, the final hope of the full realization of the Kingdom of God in this world. That day, someday, death will cease to draw people from life and Life with God will be everlasting.
That is what I hope for, in spite of the circumstance and suddenness of this boy's death, in spite of the fear of the death of people I love, in spite of the things that feel like death in everyday life. The love of Christ, the promise of the Easter, the merciful judgement and righteousness of God, these things are what I cling to each new morning. Because all I really have is hope.
Hear now the words of hope through music, the song "Beautiful Things" by Gungor via Relevant Magazine. (Opens a YouTube video in a new window.)
Peace and Hope be with you all. Amen.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
An Easter Prayer
Risen Christ,
It is good to be here today. Indeed, today it is good that we are an Easter people.
We are not a people waiting and dwelling on the past around the Passover Table.
We are not a people trembling in fear and disappointment at the Foot of the Cross.
We are not a people in shock and alone in a locked room, fearful to take the necessary steps to return to 'normal' life.
We are not a people left to tend the dead, looking forward to nothing but a rotting corpse and a heavy stone blocking our path away from cleanliness.
No! We are an EASTER people!
We are a people who look at the Empty Cross and know the sacrifice you made for our sake.
We are a people who stare into the Empty Tomb terrified and thrilled, unsure and expectant, concerned and curious.
We are a people who deny you like Peter, who doubt you like Thomas, who betray you like Judas, who heckle you like Pharisees, who watch you go like Zebedee, who speak your name like Paul, who die for you like Stephen, and who love you like John.
We put you on the Cross a rabbi, a teacher, a healer, and a friend. You rose from the Tomb a miracle, the Savior, our hope, and God's intended future.
It is good to be here today. Indeed, today it is good that we are an Easter people.
We praise you, our Easter Christ. We thank you, our sought after Savior. We seek you, our hope and your promise.
Amen.
It is good to be here today. Indeed, today it is good that we are an Easter people.
We are not a people waiting and dwelling on the past around the Passover Table.
We are not a people trembling in fear and disappointment at the Foot of the Cross.
We are not a people in shock and alone in a locked room, fearful to take the necessary steps to return to 'normal' life.
We are not a people left to tend the dead, looking forward to nothing but a rotting corpse and a heavy stone blocking our path away from cleanliness.
No! We are an EASTER people!
We are a people who look at the Empty Cross and know the sacrifice you made for our sake.
We are a people who stare into the Empty Tomb terrified and thrilled, unsure and expectant, concerned and curious.
We are a people who deny you like Peter, who doubt you like Thomas, who betray you like Judas, who heckle you like Pharisees, who watch you go like Zebedee, who speak your name like Paul, who die for you like Stephen, and who love you like John.
We put you on the Cross a rabbi, a teacher, a healer, and a friend. You rose from the Tomb a miracle, the Savior, our hope, and God's intended future.
It is good to be here today. Indeed, today it is good that we are an Easter people.
We praise you, our Easter Christ. We thank you, our sought after Savior. We seek you, our hope and your promise.
Amen.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Doubt, Easter, Hope: a Recipe for Faith
Doubt: curiosity, a challenge of certainty, honest
wonderings.
Easter: chocolate bunnies, cornerstone of Christian church,
Life out of death.
Hope: longing for something promised, looking ahead with
optimism, basis for maintaining my sanity.
There are three events that have come together in my recent
experience to inform and inspire this post.
For the past 6 months or so, my staff at church has been
practicing a form of Biblical discernment called “Dwelling in the Word”. Every
Tuesday we gather for staff meeting and begin each week with reading, thinking
about, and wondering with Luke 10:1-12 (in my Bible, this is called the “Sending
of the Seventy”). We share and discuss what stands out to us each week and what
this passage of Scripture is making us dwell upon. Sometimes, I get irked by my
coworkers’ enthusiasm and optimism and other times am deeply inspired by the
insights of my colleagues.
About a month ago I reread an article one of my grad school professors had written on Confirmation teachers, mentors, and curriculum. Since
this topic is a major part of my job, I read this article again, a couple of
times. The first time I read it, while still in school, it was an academic exercise.
Now as full-time staff, it is pragmatic and something of a pain in the, well,
guess. Dr. AR talks about doubt being the cornerstone for Confirmation, both in
the things ‘taught’ and the relationships built.
This morning I listened to an archived sermon on wanting to
see the Kingdom of God, preached from text in the Gospel of John, and
illustrated by a Vacation Bible School activity. Children were asked where they
see God, and their answers spanned from the smile of a neighbor to a chocolate chip
cookie. Dr. CK, the preacher of the day at Luther Seminary back in February,
spoke about how we cannot always see the Kingdom of God when we want or try to;
but we know that it is near and it is here. (Link to archived chapel services is here. Look for 2/24/2012, start at time stamp 8:55.)
Now to synthesize these three experiences, these three encounters
with thoughts and ideas about who God is, who I am and who we are, and what the
relationship between God and me/us is.
In Luke 10 we hear the missionaries declare both a word of peace
to another’s house(hold), which leads to the assurance that the Kingdom of God
has come near to that person and their house(hold), and a word of warning and condemnation,
that the Kingdom of God has come near, ready or not, worthy or not, faithful or
not, doubting or not. To the first, this is a word of hope and of promise—to the
other it is a word of fear and of the unknown, the doubted or disbelieved.
AR’s article brings up an idea that doubt is woven into the
fabric of our very beings. He brings up the fact that we hear about the peace
and wholeness (Shalom) that we find in Christ Jesus, but what we experience is
the depression of life, of medical pronouncements of unhealthy unborn babies,
the continuation of mourning—months and years after the passing of one dearly
beloved. We hear about the community of the faithful, but we feel the loneliness
of our callings, the frustrations of our workplaces, and the frailty of human
relationships. A good and gracious God, a loving and forgiving Savior, and
guiding and comforting Spirit, these things sound great on paper, but what is
known is deep anguish, uncertainty, and straight up doubt. And AR is telling me
that doubt must be the curriculum for faith formation in the process of
Confirmation?! Get out of your office and into my classrooms, AR! Seriously!
But seriously? Well, maybe…
CK’s preached word, spoken nearly six weeks ago, the word
that I heard just today, that faith resides is the conviction and the
proclamation of the Good News, the Gospel, the Easter story. We cannot always
see God, the Kingdom of God, the work and ministry of God, but in the simple
yet complex announcement that there is
Good News to be heard, there is faith. Is every detail of the Gospel right and
true and accurate? Maybe not. I doubt it. But the fact that there is Good News
to be proclaimed, announced, hoped for, sought after, heard, read, and
surprised by, in that I find hope and ultimately faith.
So why do I do what I do, why did I study what I studied,
and why oh why do I believe what I believe? How can I rationalize this, make it
logical for the Spock in me, and how the heck to I explain it to the barista at
Starbucks?
Here I live, in the liminal space, the in between, the yes
and the no, the Life in the midst of death, the joy in the face of despair.
Somewhere in the batter of doubt, Truth, hope, experience, immediacy, distance,
Good Friday and Easter living—here is where my faith is mixed, is kneaded,
rises and is pounded down, baked and cooled. Of course, it can’t be as simple
as that—my life is not over, my story had not been completed, I’ve still got
living to do.
But isn't that just the beauty of it all? That I can live with my doubt, can still live with my faith, and can still live in the now and not yet. Yes, that indeed is the beauty of the gift of Life. I may never have it all figured out to anyone's desired levels, but I will still be loved. That's ridiculous, crazy, amazing, and certain.
Peace and Love to you, your household, and whomever you hold dear.
KJ
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Why I (Hate) Ash Wednesday but Love Lent
Okay, maybe hate it too strong of word. I'm not a fan of Ash Wednesday. I appreciate it as the beginning of my favorite liturgical season, but in and of itself, meh.
I must admit my bias, however, because I am certainly jaded as a theologically trained and historically minded church worker towards my dislike of Ash Wednesday but my deep fondness for Lent. Looking back at my Facebook feed this morning, I see all sorts of posts about Lenten devotions, disciplines, and resolutions. For example, these are actual status updates from this morning, with names removed so I can only judge them so far:
I have two post-secondary degrees that focus on religion, history, and ministry--particularly Christian, Lutheran theology and history. I have no idea who Madeleine L'Engle is, though I can assume that this is a French monastic mystic who was HUGE into fasting, prayer, and alms giving, the traditional practices of the Lenten season. I know the post was meant to inspire Lenten devotions, but all I read was "Look what I know and what I am gonna do!"
"I am dust" and "Welcome Lent" are better, in my biased and trying-hard-to-be-humble opinion. Dust to dust, Tree in Eden to Tree of Life in New Jerusalem, Creation to ongoing creation. Lent as a time to reflect on how limited "free will" is, that we are dependent of God's creative hand in our very existence. I like these better, but they still are so limited because we, as Christians, already know the ending of the story.
The last two are poetic, somewhat straight forward, yet all together confusing and complex. A reminder of our Baptismal promises mixed with vocational language of bearing the cross of Christ in our lives. A teaser-trailer that we will suffer the consequence for our sinfulness, but that it shouldn't be feared because of a man who lived 2,000 years ago. Because that makes sense. And in order to celebrate this confusing and ridiculous claim, we wear black and put ashes on our heads. That's what I call a party!
I just took a quick lap around the church building, and this is what I saw:
This Lent, I don't want you to know what I'm doing. That's between me and God. And I don't need to know what you're doing, even if it's beautiful, poetic, or simple--it should be between you and God.
(Disclaimer: I'm in a snarky mood. It happens. Sorry. And while I read into things (often with a cynical lens) I am glad people take Lent seriously, at least to some extent. There is something special about Lent, and it's more than a reboot of a New Year's resolution.)
I honestly think there is something deep and transformative about taking time to reflect on our relationship with God, Christ's relationship with us, and confess both the promised future and the realized present work of God. Sermon over. So is Fat Tuesday. Let's take time for Lent and I'll see you at Easter.
I must admit my bias, however, because I am certainly jaded as a theologically trained and historically minded church worker towards my dislike of Ash Wednesday but my deep fondness for Lent. Looking back at my Facebook feed this morning, I see all sorts of posts about Lenten devotions, disciplines, and resolutions. For example, these are actual status updates from this morning, with names removed so I can only judge them so far:
- "Beginning my 40-day journey with Madeleine L'Engle devotions. Happy Lent!"
- "I am dust."
- "I am dust...and to dust I shall return. Welcome Lent!"
- "Ash Wednesday is when your baptismal cross, long daubed and dried into invisibility, is sketched in shadow across your forehead. It’s when we are invited again, each of us with clear eyes, to take up the cross that has already taken up with us."
- "Ash Wednesday...a day that we (for lack of a better term) celebrate the notion that we will die because of our sin...but furthermore, we celebrate that through Christ we don't have to fear it...now, where are all those black clothes that I need to wear today"
I have two post-secondary degrees that focus on religion, history, and ministry--particularly Christian, Lutheran theology and history. I have no idea who Madeleine L'Engle is, though I can assume that this is a French monastic mystic who was HUGE into fasting, prayer, and alms giving, the traditional practices of the Lenten season. I know the post was meant to inspire Lenten devotions, but all I read was "Look what I know and what I am gonna do!"
"I am dust" and "Welcome Lent" are better, in my biased and trying-hard-to-be-humble opinion. Dust to dust, Tree in Eden to Tree of Life in New Jerusalem, Creation to ongoing creation. Lent as a time to reflect on how limited "free will" is, that we are dependent of God's creative hand in our very existence. I like these better, but they still are so limited because we, as Christians, already know the ending of the story.
The last two are poetic, somewhat straight forward, yet all together confusing and complex. A reminder of our Baptismal promises mixed with vocational language of bearing the cross of Christ in our lives. A teaser-trailer that we will suffer the consequence for our sinfulness, but that it shouldn't be feared because of a man who lived 2,000 years ago. Because that makes sense. And in order to celebrate this confusing and ridiculous claim, we wear black and put ashes on our heads. That's what I call a party!
I just took a quick lap around the church building, and this is what I saw:
- a large crowd preparing to attend a funeral of a long-time member,
- one of our staff members sorting and checking through boxes to find the ashes and oil for tonight's Ash Wednesday services,
- a group of professionals using our space for a training day (they all are dressed in Hawaiian shirts and leis), and
- out the window are 3- and 4-year-olds sledding in the snow from Monday's flurry.
This Lent, I don't want you to know what I'm doing. That's between me and God. And I don't need to know what you're doing, even if it's beautiful, poetic, or simple--it should be between you and God.
(Disclaimer: I'm in a snarky mood. It happens. Sorry. And while I read into things (often with a cynical lens) I am glad people take Lent seriously, at least to some extent. There is something special about Lent, and it's more than a reboot of a New Year's resolution.)
I honestly think there is something deep and transformative about taking time to reflect on our relationship with God, Christ's relationship with us, and confess both the promised future and the realized present work of God. Sermon over. So is Fat Tuesday. Let's take time for Lent and I'll see you at Easter.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Vulnerability as a Way of Life, or the Courage to be Vulnerable
I heard this video presentation at some point in the last year. I heard it again today. It's about 20 minutes long, fairly sociological, but well worth listening to, especially if you struggle with trying to be perfect or accepting imperfection. Rather than focus on that (while I think it's worth focusing on), I want to focus on the last few minutes of Brene Brown's presentation from June 2010.
I would encourage you to watch the entire video, then go back and start at the time mark 17:58.
This speaker talks about speaking to our children as though they are worthy of love and belonging in spite of and in the face of imperfection and disappointment. She says that if we show a generation of children and young people that they are worthy of love and belonging simply because they are, simply because they exist, then the issues and problems of identity and the impossible pursuit of perfection will no longer plague our children and eventually our society and culture.
I want to point this part of her talk out for two reasons.
First, I work with children, youth, and young people. I want to tell them that they belong to Jesus, that they are loved for who they are as imperfect beings. I want to tell their parents to be vulnerable in front of their kids, to live into the reality that adults don't have everything figured out, that sometimes adults fail, and it is only by love, compassion, and courage can they/we/I move forward.
Second, I am one of those children who is and was celebrated in spite of my perceived shortcomings, my failures, and my imperfections.
My mom blogs. Often. And beautifully. She has this incredible way of telling stories through her words, pictures, and descriptions that I absolutely love. I'm proud of her. Each Tuesday, she has a "Tuesday at the Table" entry that I'm especially drawn to. If you know me or my family, you know tables and what happens around tables is super important to us. Today Mom wrote about her mom, my Grandma, our family's Matriarch, who taught my mom how to cook.
Okay, passing on recipes and techniques is great. Delicious. What is more important that the surface foodie stuff is that Grandma told her children (and grandchildren and great-grandchildren) that they have worth, that they belong, and that they are loved.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I am worth breaking bread with, baking cookies with, and passing on recipes to.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I belong with them, to them, and they to me. I may be states away, but I know I will forever have a seat at their table.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I am loved. Through food, through hugs, through phone calls, through Facebook, through text messages, through the simple knowledge that I am being prayed for. I am L-O-V-E...LOVE-d!
You might not get that last joke. It's a family thing. Last week I wrote a eulogy for my Papa. Today I want to say thank you and Happy Birthday to my Grandma!
As a young man living essentially on his own states away from his hometown, I often find it hard to be vulnerable. One of the beautiful things about the blog-o-sphere is that I can be vulnerable here and there ain't nothin' you can do about it.
It's late and I have a busy day tomorrow. But know this: invest in the people around you, show them they are worth loving and be okay with their imperfections as much as possible, and they will respond. Being vulnerable, existing alongside imperfection, and loving in spite of failure is hard work. But it's what my mom and my Grandma do and did, and it's the way of Life that I choose.
Happy Birthday Grandma. I love you.
I would encourage you to watch the entire video, then go back and start at the time mark 17:58.
This speaker talks about speaking to our children as though they are worthy of love and belonging in spite of and in the face of imperfection and disappointment. She says that if we show a generation of children and young people that they are worthy of love and belonging simply because they are, simply because they exist, then the issues and problems of identity and the impossible pursuit of perfection will no longer plague our children and eventually our society and culture.
I want to point this part of her talk out for two reasons.
First, I work with children, youth, and young people. I want to tell them that they belong to Jesus, that they are loved for who they are as imperfect beings. I want to tell their parents to be vulnerable in front of their kids, to live into the reality that adults don't have everything figured out, that sometimes adults fail, and it is only by love, compassion, and courage can they/we/I move forward.
Second, I am one of those children who is and was celebrated in spite of my perceived shortcomings, my failures, and my imperfections.
My mom blogs. Often. And beautifully. She has this incredible way of telling stories through her words, pictures, and descriptions that I absolutely love. I'm proud of her. Each Tuesday, she has a "Tuesday at the Table" entry that I'm especially drawn to. If you know me or my family, you know tables and what happens around tables is super important to us. Today Mom wrote about her mom, my Grandma, our family's Matriarch, who taught my mom how to cook.
Okay, passing on recipes and techniques is great. Delicious. What is more important that the surface foodie stuff is that Grandma told her children (and grandchildren and great-grandchildren) that they have worth, that they belong, and that they are loved.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I am worth breaking bread with, baking cookies with, and passing on recipes to.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I belong with them, to them, and they to me. I may be states away, but I know I will forever have a seat at their table.
My Grandma and my mom showed me that I am loved. Through food, through hugs, through phone calls, through Facebook, through text messages, through the simple knowledge that I am being prayed for. I am L-O-V-E...LOVE-d!
You might not get that last joke. It's a family thing. Last week I wrote a eulogy for my Papa. Today I want to say thank you and Happy Birthday to my Grandma!
As a young man living essentially on his own states away from his hometown, I often find it hard to be vulnerable. One of the beautiful things about the blog-o-sphere is that I can be vulnerable here and there ain't nothin' you can do about it.
It's late and I have a busy day tomorrow. But know this: invest in the people around you, show them they are worth loving and be okay with their imperfections as much as possible, and they will respond. Being vulnerable, existing alongside imperfection, and loving in spite of failure is hard work. But it's what my mom and my Grandma do and did, and it's the way of Life that I choose.
Happy Birthday Grandma. I love you.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Walking Miracles: I Know a Guy
I once knew a guy that was a walking miracle.
As a child and a youth in SoCal., he worked to help his family survive.
As a young adult, he was an enlisted man, though thankfully without the bullet holes to prove it.
As a man he was married, had children. Relationships that never were supposed to be painful were poison.
He survived his first marriage, though not without brokenness.
As a grown man, he married again, now to a woman who herself knows pain and struggle deeply and intimately.
As he was pushing towards retirement age, he was family--not by blood but by love.
As an elder, he was a leader and a mentor, a father and a grandfather and a great-grandfather, a faithful husband and a friend.
As an old man, he was sick and diagnosed. Cancer of more than one kind; illness that would not leave him be.
As a dying man, he was prayerful and loving. He was hopeful and positive.
And as far as I'm aware, the last words he spoke were words of love for his wife. That is a miracle.
This is the first time I've written down a eulogy for my grandfather, my Papa. He walked through the Pearly Gates 282 days ago today. I'm sure he was smiling, teasing St. Peter and joking with the saints that have gone before as we walked into Heaven.
Yes, Death overtook his life. But the last thing he ever said to me was this: "I'll see you at Easter. I love you." I took that to mean Easter Sunday 2011. He meant it at that, but as much more too. Easter isn't just a day every calendar year for Christians. It is a hope and a promise of Life. Death ended Papa's life, but can never destroy his Life. That is the promise of Christ Jesus.
I once heard miracles described as little bits of Heaven breaking into the world. Faithful prayer doesn't always lead to the miracles we want or expect. But we can see snippets and glimpses of the Kingdom of God in the miracles that do happen. I'm choosing to see a life well lived and a Life worth living as miraculous.
You want a walking miracle? Let me tell you about my Papa. He was a walking miracle his whole life through. And that's a fact.
As a child and a youth in SoCal., he worked to help his family survive.
As a young adult, he was an enlisted man, though thankfully without the bullet holes to prove it.
As a man he was married, had children. Relationships that never were supposed to be painful were poison.
He survived his first marriage, though not without brokenness.
As a grown man, he married again, now to a woman who herself knows pain and struggle deeply and intimately.
As he was pushing towards retirement age, he was family--not by blood but by love.
As an elder, he was a leader and a mentor, a father and a grandfather and a great-grandfather, a faithful husband and a friend.
As an old man, he was sick and diagnosed. Cancer of more than one kind; illness that would not leave him be.
As a dying man, he was prayerful and loving. He was hopeful and positive.
And as far as I'm aware, the last words he spoke were words of love for his wife. That is a miracle.
This is the first time I've written down a eulogy for my grandfather, my Papa. He walked through the Pearly Gates 282 days ago today. I'm sure he was smiling, teasing St. Peter and joking with the saints that have gone before as we walked into Heaven.
Yes, Death overtook his life. But the last thing he ever said to me was this: "I'll see you at Easter. I love you." I took that to mean Easter Sunday 2011. He meant it at that, but as much more too. Easter isn't just a day every calendar year for Christians. It is a hope and a promise of Life. Death ended Papa's life, but can never destroy his Life. That is the promise of Christ Jesus.
I once heard miracles described as little bits of Heaven breaking into the world. Faithful prayer doesn't always lead to the miracles we want or expect. But we can see snippets and glimpses of the Kingdom of God in the miracles that do happen. I'm choosing to see a life well lived and a Life worth living as miraculous.
You want a walking miracle? Let me tell you about my Papa. He was a walking miracle his whole life through. And that's a fact.
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