Tag Archives: death

One Day, Two Good-byes

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Sunday will be a unique day in my life and my ministry.  In the morning I will preach my last sermon for my congregation after five years of ministry; in the afternoon I will conduct the memorial service for my mom who died at the age of 89.

I choose October 25th to be my final Sunday a month ago.  Like all good-byes I am experiencing a mixture of emotions: sadness, loss,  but also some excitement and hope as I embark on a new venture.  I have sensed the powerful prayer support of family, friends and community as I transition in my ministry. (Read more here)

Mom and GraceMy mom, Sylvelin Keller, had been a nursing home resident for the past four years as dementia robbed her of speech and memory.   She did not know my name or converse when I visited but she could still smile and laugh.  She seemed happiest when she held her great granddaughter, Grace.

I was away at a pastor’s conference last week when I received the phone call that my mother had died in her sleep.   I was both surprised and relieved.  She had always said she wanted to die in her sleep and her wish had been granted.  Before I left the conference to travel home, my bishop gathered the other pastors around me for prayer.  Again I felt the great cloud of witness surrounding me.

Suzanne, Christina and Jon loved visit from FarFar and FarMor

Suzanne, Christina and Jon loved visits from FarFar and FarMor

My daughter, Suzanne Keller, wrote a post on Facebook that describes her relationship with her Farmor (grandmother):

As a child who grew up with scholarship and the struggle to dissect understanding of things as others created them, my Farmor was the greatest force of unrelenting creation I can remember.

She made things with her hands and her heart and turned the world from a place of study to a place to leave a thousand tiny marks. She sewed, she baked, she cooked and she made memories that my dad could recount with fondness with her own two hands. She sewed and embroidered entire expanses of my childhood. She lived across the country, but with one plate of cookies created an entire iconic aspect of my Christmases. She was a craftsman of cookies and memories, a legacy of genetics and stories.

My Farfar left me his name on a chain from fighting in World War II, and my Farmor left me with a packet of recipes and the understanding that a thousand little creations can create a story.

She and Michael Brashears, the two most creative people I’ve ever had the honor of knowing, passed in October. I wrote a poem in college calling fall the dying season, but what a hateful thing having the greatest composers of legacy leave us in the same month, if years apart. What a hateful thing to lose, what a beautiful thing to be transformed.

Mom surround by her children four years ago.

Mom surround by her children four years ago.

My mother had five children, who now are scattered from Kodiak Island, Alaska to Atlanta, Georgia.  Coordinating the date of her memorial service was challenging.   Finally the date that worked was Sunday, October 25, the same day as my final worship service.  Mom had joined my congregation five years ago when she moved to Minnesota.   I had been her pastor during that time and now I needed to do her memorial service.  I did not feel the need to baptize my children or marry my son, but this is somehow different.  Maybe it’s part of the fourth commandment.  I don’t know.

All I know is that Sunday will be filled with some incredible emotions, both sorrow and joy, as I say good-bye to a tribe and to a mother.   The one sure anchor in the midst of these storms is the very name of my congregation: Resurrection Lutheran Church.

cropped-2014-rlc-logo-cropped-2.jpgJesus said  “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.” John 10:25

The Grass Withers

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Spring has arrived in Minnesota. The lilacs are in bloom and the trees are in bud. The grass has turned green and my days of mowing have begun. Vibrant life surrounds us.

Still, in the back of my mind, is this nagging sense. This season will pass. The trees in bud will drop their leaves. The grass will wither.  Spring is transitory and fleeting.

A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. Isaiah 40:6-8

Robert C. Roberts in his book Spiritual Emotions: A Psychology of Christian Virtues reflects on Isaiah’s message,

You are grass: your life is a blooming and a fading, a flourishing and a withering, a birthing and a dying. This thought frequents the human mind – though mostly in its recesses. Walking to work, peeling potatoes, chatting at a cozy party over a glass of wine, holding hands with your spouse, playing silly games with your children. And there’s the lurking thought: flesh fading and disappearing, withering grass. (Robert C. Roberts. Spiritual Emotions: A Psychology of Christian Virtues (Kindle Locations 663-665).

Our mortality can never be totally denied. We may try to push the thought of death far from our minds, yet death will come to us all. Roberts continues,

But at times this truth comes home with a special shock, and what is only a nagging uneasiness changes into outright terror: the sudden absurd death of a friend, a close brush with accidental death in the midst of play, a pain that I interpret as the first symptom of a dread disease. (Roberts, (Kindle Locations 665-667).

So if we are such transitory beings who know that death awaits us, why not just despair and turn to drugs, alcohol, sex or some other pain killer to escape that reality? Because God our creator has provide a steadfast hope for us.

A person who is inclined to view his own life honestly and admit without casting his eyes aside that all flesh is grass will welcome the thought of an enduring rock amidst the flux of things. Isaiah’s preaching, if we really hear it, touches our deepest need. He ministers to the worry that pervades all our thoughts. But why does he say that the word of our God endures forever? Wouldn’t it be enough to proclaim that God is eternal, that he stands forever? (Kindle Locations 678-679). Kindle Edition.

No, God’s eternal nature is not enough for us as humans, but rather God’s eternal connection to us, his word of steadfast love and mercy is what we need to heal our fear. God is not only eternal, but has created us with an eternal longing to be connected, to hear the message of God’s love.

When I die, I trust God’s first word to me will be, “Beloved child, welcome home.” And it will be a word that only God can speak and my heart hear.

Lord Jesus, calm my fear with your word of grace.

Ashes and Water

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Today, Ash Wednesday, begins the 40 days of Lent. In several Christian traditions, the placement of ashes upon one’s forehead is a reminder of our mortality and our need to repent. As Abraham spoke to Almighty God, “Let me take it upon myself to speak to the Lord, I who am but dust and ashes.” Adam was made from the dust of the ground (Genesis 2:7). We each return to the dust and ash when our bodies die and decompose. We may not like to face that fact, but the truth keeps coming back.

Ashes are also a sign of repentance, our need to turn back to God. The book of Jonah describes how the people of Nineveh responded to Jonah’s message to turn back to God.

And Jonah cried out, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” And the people of Nineveh believed God; they proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When the news reached the king of Nineveh, he rose from his throne, removed his robe, covered himself with sackcloth, and sat in ashes. (Jonah 3:4-6).

The imposition of ashes also connects us to our baptism. Many Lutherans and others were baptized with water on their forehead. It was a sign of washing and renewal, of dying with Jesus and rising again to new life. Paul writes how baptism is connected to Jesus crucifixion and resurrection.

But if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God. So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus. (Romans 6:8-11):

The ashes are thus a reminder that we have already died in our baptism. We died to sin and corruption, and have begun to live the new life in Christ. The ashes we place on our head will eventually wash away; the promise of our baptism is not so easily removed. The Holy Spirit holds us in Christ Jesus.

Lord Jesus, let me die to sin and death that I might live with you now and forever.

The Door of Death

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In reflecting on the deadly tornadoes this week, one spiritual question arises about which I am hesitant to write. The question has an answer that has caused harm to grieving people. “Is death always a tragedy?”

A Door into Deeper Joy

In C. S. Lewis’ The Last Battle, the last book of his Chronicles of Narnia, all the children* who once visited Narnia are reunited in a new, wonderful land that resembles Narnia. They wonder how this is possible since the great lion Aslan had told them that they would not return to Narnia. Yet this new land is more spectacular and more real than the old Narnia they had known. Slowly the children come to realize that their last memory of our world had been a terrible train wreck. Unlike previous stories, Aslan had not transported them from our world to the world of Narnia. Instead they have walked through the door of death and entered the outskirts of heaven itself.

Lewis does something incredible in this story. Certainly he could have written about their deaths from the tragic perspective of the survivors still on earth: friends and relative who grieved the children’s sudden absence from life on earth. But instead Lewis gives an imaginative description of their homecoming in heaven, where the joy and delight of heaven grows deeper and more profound each moment.

As Christians we believe in the promise of God that whether we live or die we belong to Christ. In Philippians 1:21, Paul writes, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” The gain in dying is to gain more of Christ and his joy. Death is not something to be feared, but rather embrace as the door to God’s good presence.

So what is the harm in telling a grieving person, “Your loved one is in a better place?” The harm comes from the fact that a grieving person does not want the person “in a better place” like heaven. The grieving person wants the loved one in this life, sharing in the joys and sorrows of their mutual love. In time the grieving person may embrace the truth of “a better place,” yet in the aftermath of death, such words can be biting and harmful. Compassionate silence is better than quick answers.

What perspective do you have on death?

Lord Jesus, help me to see death as the door way into the resurrected life and to be gracious towards those who grieve.

*Susan is not included, but that is a different posting.

Water Thoughts

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Elwah River in Olympic National Park

Water images have dominated my thoughts this week.  Gary Bailey’s funeral (see 1/5 post), the Life of Pi,  and my Sunday sermon all have strong water themes.   The Life of Pi centers on a sea survival story; my sermon will be on Jesus’ baptism.   Water evokes both fear and hope, death and life.

Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I saw a lot of water.  On a clear day my family home had a view of the Puget Sound, but I also experienced plenty of clouds and rain.   The abundant rain kept everything green and alive, but when I had to deliver the afternoon newspaper, rain could make the load and route miserable.  While backpacking in the  mountains I would marvel at how glaciers of ice carved such spectacular landscape.   Yet when it became necessary to cross glacier-fed rivers, I realized that with one wrong step I could easily become one of boulders tumbling towards the sea.

In the Bible water is a symbol of the chaos and destruction as well as life.  In Genesis 1:2, the water is part of the dark void before God’s creative Word is spoken.  In Exodus the Red Sea destroys the Egyptian army while providing a means of escape for the Israelites.   In I Kings  17-18, a drought is a sign of God’s displeasure with King Ahab, but later Elijah demonstrates God’s power to bring healing rain.  Jesus calms the stormy sea that threatens life in Mark 4 while in John 4 Jesus offers the Samaritan woman living water.  Water can destroy or give life.

What water image brings you life or hope?