The Anniversary of a Death

A year ago today I walked into a hospital room. I didn't know when I got in my car that day that I would receive news that death was near. I found out after I donned a gown and gloves, according to protocol for that unit, and walked down the hall. His family was gathered. The machines would be turned off; I would have been called soon. And so we settled into that hospital room. We prayed, we sang, and then we waited. We waited for several difficult, beautiful hours. I was not there for many, but not all, the hours of waiting. 

The pain of those moments is real, but I'm often amazed at how fully sacred texts speak promises that cannot be forgotten in those moments, "But we do not grieve...as others who have no hope" (1 Thessalonians 1:13). I've been present at deaths several times. It remains amazing to watch people of deep faith walk into death without fear. There is grief, to be sure, but it is not a hopeless grief. Christians are, after all, a resurrection people. 

I'm one of the people who is less certain about what comes after death. I'm not banking on eternity or bodies rising from the ground. My confession about death is this: whatever comes after, God is there. On a good day, I believe that we are only more fully in the presence of God. But I am always aware that my grief is a hopeful one. 

The funeral sermon for that man was punctuated with the line from scripture, "Well done, good and faithful servant." It's from Matthew 25, a vision of the final judgment, when Jesus names all the things that those who follow him do. For a retired chaplain and pastor, it was well-suited. I imagine, though, it would have been well-suited even if he'd chosen a different vocation. 

His stoles, a sign of the office of clergy, now hang on my wall and occasionally around my neck; his wife gave them to me a few weeks after his death. They are a deep reminder of the great cloud of witnesses that holds me now (Hebrews 12:1). I am certain that cloud of witnesses only grows larger with the passage of time. 

On this difficult, but beautiful, anniversary I cannot forget one of the great gifts of the Christian faith: we do not grieve as those who have no hope. We trust in and occasionally live in the the thin places, where God could break in and fully take over at any moment. We are never too far from the holy, for God calls us to be partners in what God is doing in this world. By virtue of our name, Church, we are called out to a holy purpose. The Christ who has called us and bound us together remains with us; the Spirit breathes new life into us with each passing day. We do not grieve as those who have no hope for we are resurrection people, trusting that life can and will overpower death at any moment. 

Today, I am so grateful for this cloud of witnesses.