Three New Additions To My Desk
Actually, it’s an ad-duck-tion. I missed the perfect opportunity to say, “and they’re in a row, too!” Silly goose.
Reflecting On A Death
Last week, a close friend died. He was 29. His last words were “God is good.” Yes, Stu. God is Good.
I certainly don’t corner the market on grieving here, but am surprised by how I am responding to our loss, his gain. This is a gain for Stu because he is not suffering and He has all of Jesus and a glorified body to boot. Just before going to the hospital he posted “Prayers for real answers and healing are appreciated.” This is loss for us because, well, that’s what death does. Death is a loser. Death gets nothing in the end, when its' all over.
I was sitting in a faculty meeting when my wife called. I texted, “in a meeting, call you later.” She texted right back to call immediately. I did and she gave me the news. Death has a peculiar characteristic striking those close to the departed with deafness and blindness. I heard her call, loved her, hung up, returned to my seat in the meeting and heard nothing and saw nothing for the rest of the morning. Or the rest of day for that matter. The fog rolled in as we mourned.
Our dear sister, the wife. We had a wonderful visit Wednesday night with friends and Stu did his thing, sending us all into fits of laughter. That was one of his super-powers: bringing laughter. So we laughed--and cried a little--and laughed more. I’m sure I’m not the only one who could say this but as we reminisced and laughed, we could hear his voice as we quoted him.
One can hear his thick white glasses plonk onto the table as he screwed up his mouth proclaiming, “I quit!” or nod in the context of argument, “that’s fair.” It is not difficult to imagine Bigfoot strolling into the cafeteria, looking for burgers. Burgers will never be the same now because I’m going to be looking toward the door . . .
Oh, how the questions come. This is one feature of my grief that surprises me--the questions. I’m too old to have these kinds of questions. Questions like, “why do we say, ‘rest in peace’?” Perhaps we intend that we need peace ourselves because of the chaos of death. My mind begins to explore theological implications.
What do we mean by “rest”? Do we assume the soul is buried with the body, asleep? Are we fearful of some kind of un-rest that is different than any suffering faced by the now-dearly departed? If the soul is in an eternal state, and we know that soul is a peace with God, then the words are more comfort for us--that we can rest in peace now that his suffering is over. I'm not so sure we know what we mean when we say it.
I tried to journal some that day, but could not. When I opened my journal, a handmade card fell out made by our oldest daughter a number of years back. Inside, it reads, “I know that this week is going rough, but you can do anything! Rely on God! With him [sic] you can do anything! I love you, Daddy!” I love you, too, Baby. What an unexpected blessing from so long ago . . .
Popular posts from this blog
“Men and women who saw God in the Bible: Why did they not all die?”
July 2004 I went to Kenya, Africa to speak in two Pastor’s Conferences on the subject of Man, Sin and Salvation. At the end of each day I left just over an hour for questions (half the time were questions touching the subject of my lectures, and the other half for “open questions”; that is, people could ask anything). For the next few weeks, I will be sharing the questions that were asked of me, and my answers—and believe me when I say these people really know how to think! Question from Kenya #1: “Men and women who saw God in the Bible: Why did they not all die?” [“ But He said, ‘You cannot see My face, for no man can see Me and live! ’” (Exodus 33:20) was the basis of the student’s question]. Answer: First, consider those who did see God—how did they respond when they saw Him? They were instantly aware of their sinfulness, and God’s holiness and righteousness (to name a few. And notice also that each responded in an attitude of worship, bowing down): Abraham built altars, wors
A Sonnet
“My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetry Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? Why are not sonnets made of thee? and lays Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the fame, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name! Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse. Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for, as the Deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy Majesty: Each cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse Why should I women's eyes for crystal take? Such poor invention burns in their low mind Wh
A Fresh Perception
“In primitive times, when man awakes in a world that is newly created, poetry awakes with him. In the face of the marvellous things that dazzle and intoxicate him, his first speech is a hymn simply. He is still so close to God that all his meditations are ecstatic, all his dreams are visions. His bosom swells, he sings as he breathes. His lyre has but three strings—God, the soul, creation; but this threefold mystery envelopes everything, this threefold idea embraces everything. The earth is still almost deserted. . . . He leads that nomadic pastoral life with which all civilizations begin, and which is so well adapted to solitary contemplation, to fanciful reverie. He follows every suggestion, he goes hither and thither, at random. His thought, like his life, resembles a cloud that changes its shape and its direction according to the wind that drives it. Such is the first man, such is the first poet. He is young, he is cynical. Prayer is his sole religion, the ode is his only form of