However, I don’t have the same certainty about the myriad circumstance surrounding death. Each death is different. God shows no partiality. Recently I attended the funeral of a 57 year old woman who, in the space of a week, went from not feeling well to dying in the hospital. Then there is a friend, also in her late 50’s, who has entered hospice after a six month cancer diagnosis. And what about my mom, who slowly and peacefully went to God at age 101? All very different experiences, and thus different grieving for each of the families. For the loved ones of the dying, the peace of God seems less certain. It may not be apparent the God is with them, but I have to believe God is there in the whirl wind or in the small voice.
I’m not afraid of death. In fact, I spend a fair amount of time, as the expression goes, dealing with the death issue. I can visit with the dying because I believe and have come to know that they are surrounded by the peace of God that passes all understanding. I saw this time and time again when I was a spiritual care counselor for hospice.God was always there accompanying the dying into the mystery of the next unknown.
However, I don’t have the same certainty about the myriad circumstance surrounding death. Each death is different. God shows no partiality. Recently I attended the funeral of a 57 year old woman who, in the space of a week, went from not feeling well to dying in the hospital. Then there is a friend, also in her late 50’s, who has entered hospice after a six month cancer diagnosis. And what about my mom, who slowly and peacefully went to God at age 101? All very different experiences, and thus different grieving for each of the families. For the loved ones of the dying, the peace of God seems less certain. It may not be apparent the God is with them, but I have to believe God is there in the whirl wind or in the small voice.
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There’s no easy way to get away from Christmas nostalgia. Even if you turn off the radio so you don’t have to hear Bing sing “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” or “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” one more time, memories of childhood Christmases pour in. Remember the time when you got just what you wanted? From my grandmother I remember the play soda fountain that I had starred four times in the F.A.O Schwarz catalog. Fortunately, my memory of the year when one of our sisters got the big gift is mighty dim and even brings a smile. But as Martin B. Copenhaver wrote today in “Still Speaking”, the Christian message is not one of nostalgia, but one of hope, for, yes, the best is yet to come. How comforting this is. Sure, I have wonderful Christmas memories, memories that fill my heart, memories never to be forgotten, memories that enrich my faith. But the Christmas message of the hope of things to come, of things not seen, transforms nostalgia into hope that will never end, no matter where we are on life’s journey. I saw this hope live in my mom right up until the end of her 101 years, and I believe it is with her now. God doesn’t leave us during this life, nor did God leave Mom when she took her last breath. Nothing nostalgic about that!! It’s hope that never dies. From “Still Speaking,” December 26, 2100, by Marten B. Copenhaver. dailydevotional@ucc.org “In either case, nostalgia is always suspect from a Christian point of view. That's because we affirm that the good old days--even when they really were good--are nothing compared to what God has in store for us. Even the triumphs and joys of the past will be surpassed by what is to come. That is the understanding that allows the Apostle Paul to testify: "This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead."” My church from my Angel Room window. There are many reasons why I’m a member of a church--nothing particularly unique. I’m sure many of you have a similar list, although perhaps worded differently: worship, communion, participating in joys and concerns, music, fellowship, outreach within the church community and out in the world, help in time of need. Yesterday I added another: a pastor who listens. For an hour my pastor listened to me talk about my mom. He’s trained in this kind of work, so of course he had a few observations and questions. But what was special, what made me grateful that I have a church, was that this time was all for me. I knew I wouldn’t hear his matching stories; I knew I wouldn’t feel compelled to ask him how he was doing. Most of us are proficient active listeners. Our friendships include conversations with a healthy ‘back and forth’, which is just what we want most of the time. But I didn’t want this yesterday. I wanted to tell my ‘mom story’, to work out what it means for me to miss her so, and to ponder what my life will be like without her. Although I didn’t come up with any definitive answers, I feel alive with possibilities, thanks to having a pastor who can listen. It part of what church is all about. Thanks, Pastor Tom, I’m grateful. I’ve been reading through the papers in Mom’s manila church folders. Although we four kids knew that ‘mom volunteered at church,” we had no idea of the extent of her participation. Right now I’m reading prayers that she wrote for her prayer group which met once a month. The wording is traditional and lacks inclusive language, but please remember, this was in the late fifties and early sixties. Mom’s prayers were complete: prayers of praise, thanksgiving, confession, petition, and intercessory. Here’s a little sample of the later. Be pleased to send thy help to those whom we name, whom we lift up to thee, Amy Jones, Edith Small, Jane Bruce, Eloise; the lonely, the bereaved, the ill, the old, the unemployed, the over-worked, the discouraged. I knew those people mom named--friends and family in need of prayer. Some things haven’t changed, have they? We’re still praying for people and I believe that a church community is a mighty good setting for it. Yesterday I drove to Connecticut. Oh, how many times in the past few years did I make that round trip in one day? It began when Mom’s attention span became shorter and shorter, and so after a brief visit she would dismiss me and home I’d go. The days of walks and talks and dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant (Mom would insist on using the 10% off coupon she received in the mail), were gone. Ad so yesterday was different; there was no mom to visit; no picture to send to my sisters and brother from my IPhone. I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to turn off the Merritt Parkway and not drive to receive her simile. “Oh, I don’t have Mom in my daily life anymore.” Didn’t I know this? Of course I did. Of course I didn’t. Do I know it now? I went to the Memorial Garden at the church and that helped. Carved on a big stone I read Jesus’ comforting words from Matthew, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest” (11:28). This garden is a ‘thin space’ where trouble and sorrow is lifted, where God is present. Mom was there, too. My mother had a routine of prayer and Bible reading that she practiced faithfully every morning before she got dressed. On the table by her bed were several well-worn prayer books, the “Upper Room”, and of course her Bible. I now have the shredded remains of A Diary of Private Prayer, by John Baillie (copyright, 1949), the “January-February 2011 Upper Room” (probably the last one she read), and of course her Bible. I became aware of this daily practice of Mom’s while traveling with her after my dad died. In the morning, there she’d be, loudly whispering all her readings and prayers. I wonder if this sub-vocalizing had something to do with the fact that Mom was very hard of hearing. Maybe it helped her to slow down so both she and God could pay attention to each other? One thing I know for sure; she was totally present to God during these morning times. I’m taking four days of solitude after a month and a half of intense activity, which included my trip to Scotland, being with Mom during her last eight days, the two weeks leading up to the memorial service, and then the busyness of last weekend. I’m quite sure that everyone present on Saturday left the service knowing deep in their hearts that gratitude guided Mom’s life. Gratitude was the catalyst for how she led her life. Through the lens of gratitude Mom honestly and thoroughly examined and responded to every situation in her life, both the commonplace and eventful; and then she would end with gratitude for how God had worked for the good. The important point here is that Mom’s gratitude was not for any particular outcome, but for the very fact, which for Mom was faith and knowing, that God was always there with her in both the good times and the tough ones. Mom wanted the best for everyone, but she never thought that we all needed the same particulars for happiness and success. She had a knack for responding in just the right way to someone in need. I can’t begin to count the number of people who have told me stories of something special Mom said or did for them that made them feel happy and successful. I believe that the happiness and success of my neighbor are as important as my own. Therefore, I will seek in behalf of others the same things that I see and ask for myself. |
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