I will praise you with my dying breath

Some years ago, Gavin McGrath once mentioned in a systematics class (of all places) that the singular greatest honor ever visited upon clergy is the opportunity to shepherd parishioners from this life to the next. “There is no honor greater,” he pounded in to us. I must confess, I have found his assertion true. And I was reminded this magificent day why it is.

One of the spiritual patriarchs of my church is, as we pray this week, changing from glory into glory. Norm is a spiritual patriarch against his will. He would be the first to tell us all that none of this was his idea. Mostly it was his bride’s. Maybe she nagged God into it, maybe it was God's plan all along. He is always humble and self-deprecating in the face of such praise, but, by virtue of his life and tenure, he became a patriarch in the parish of St. Alban’s.

Norm is dying of cancer. He has chosen not to fight it and extend his life two months. He has chosen, instead, to go to hospice. As I was sitting on the couch this morning, we reached a quiet moment in our visit. It was during a quiet moment that a nurse walked in and missed seeing me. “Are you ok, Norm” “Are you afraid of dying, Norm?” “Would you like me to get our chaplain?” “We want you comfortable, and you cannot be comfortable if you’re afraid.”

Norm told her he was fine and that he had a good bargain with his Lord. “A bargain?” she asked. “A bargain.” said he. “What kind of bargain have you made with your god?” she wanted to know (and so did I, I must admit). Norm responded, “I trust Him, and He takes care of the rest, even death.” But Norm was not done. “Do you trust Him?” he pressed. “I’m not sure.” she confessed. “Well, I hurt too much to continue this conversation, but my priest here can help you find out why you don’t and see why you should. Talk with him.” he responded with finality.

After apologizing for not seeing me and repeatedly telling me that she was not trying to kick me to the curb by bringing in a chaplain, I got a word in edgewise. “Do you trust Him?” She confessed that she was not sure. She deals with death on a daily business. Death is ever present with her job. Sometimes the deaths are good. Sometimes the deaths are painful. She just is not quite sure whether she believes that Jesus was and is who He said He was and is, and so she is not sure what to make of death. I won’t relay any more of our conversation. Her struggles are very real, and I think they are best left unpublicized. Those who know me can probably guess at the conversation. Her’s is a hard job without faith. My guess is, if she does not find it, she will be forced to get a job elsewhere in the coming years. Without the hope of the risen Christ, her job is smply too hard to do, day in and day out.

But when she had left, I laughed at Norm. “What?” he asked grumpily. I just smiled and reminded him of some previous conversations where he had explained to me some of his deep thoughts. He shrugged, “I wasn’t worried for me. I was a bit worried for her, but I was mostly worried about all those that she takes care of.” He continued, “If she does not begin to learn that there is no good death and that God weeps at each one of our deaths, she will never be a great caregiver. She’ll just be somebody who gives food and medicine to the dying. She will make the dying worse for her patients, and where’s the hope or fun in that?” “Well, thank you for letting me see that.” I replied. “See what?” he brushed aside my thanks. “The Gospel so well distilled.” He turned away with a “that wasn’t anything big. It was just the truth.” I nodded and said to myself that nothing truer has ever been spoken.

As Christians, we so often stand at the grave of a loved one and sing our Alleluias after they have passed from this life to the next. But every now and then, if we are so lucky and so honored, we get to see the loved ones do the same, before they ever enter their own tomb. And so, this day, I give thanks and glory to God for the life and coming death of my brother Norm. And I give thanks for the grace that enabled him to praise God and think of others, even when death's shadow was so close at hand. And I pray that God will "give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth, until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before; through Jesus Christ our Lord."

Peace,
Brian†

Growing up in Christ . . .

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. St. Paul, as we have been discussing for the past three weeks, is addressing a problem that often crops up in Christian circles. For the better part of a chapter and a half, Paul has reminded us and them that we are called together as a body. That body is made up of individuals just as a body is made up of limbs and organs. Each of those individuals, Paul reminds us, is gifted by God so that the entire body might fulfill His purpose. Unfortunately, we are seldom satisfied with that understanding. We, like the Corinthians, want a splashy gift. We want a gift with a “wow” factor. And so, like the Corinthians, we begin to rank the gifts and ask for, not what He wants us to have, but what we want and value. And so, ever the teacher, Paul reminds us that we are like children. What does he mean?

Think back, hopefully, to when you were a kid or when your own children were young. Children seem to know instinctively how to go about getting what they want. Initially, they cry about their needs. They cry when hungry, or when their diaper needs to be changed, or when they do not feel good. Then they move to nagging. Can I have a piece of candy, please? Please? Please? Please buy me that tow. I have been so good. And let's not talk about the tantrum/turtle on the floor designed to embarass us into capitulating to their desires. Sometimes, as they age, they move to the not-so-subtle hinting. Wouldn’t some ice cream taste great now? You know, if you bought me a car, I could run errands for you and save you time? Finally, if our parents have done their jobs or we have done our job as parents, the children begin to understand that the world does not revolve around them. At some point, the children begin to realize that we need to plan for our lives. Ice cream might taste good today, but do I want to spend the money on that or a movie? Ice cream might taste good today, but do I want to waste the calories on it? Long term goals become the focus rather than short term needs. As St. Augustine would say nearly 2 centuries after Paul, selfishness or self-centeredness gives way to self-discipline (Can you imagine either’s thoughts about our current economic mess in light of this teaching?).

Part of being a mature Christian is understanding how the body of Christ works. When self interest becomes the focus rather than the love of God or of the neighbor, then we are acting spiritually immature. Similarly, when we find ourselves envious of the gifts of others or even throwing ourselves a pity party because we do not think we really matter, we are acting spiritually immature. St, Paul reminds each one of us that we are called grow into spiritual adulthood. As we contemplate the work done for us, and the cost, we should find ourselves trying hard to put away the childish things and to put on adulthood. Yes, we will still make mistakes. Yes, we may find ourselves making impulse decisions (for now we see in a mirror, dimly), but we know that one day we will see and know Him as clearly as He has seen and known us. But the joy is that He loved us even when we were most unlovable (throwing tantrums, concerned only for our needs), and still He loved us perfectly and made it possible that we might one day grow up and receive His full blessing and fulfill all the plans and hopes He has for us.

Peace,

Brian†