In the Meantime

I've been singing Christmas hymns all my life, but never until this year did I notice how many references to DEATH or hardship are in them. How did I miss this? Here I thought we were singing about starlights and angel songs, and yet among those phrases are references to death and dying. Go read your hymnal.

I notice any reference to death right now, since just 3 weeks and 1 day ago, I sat with a friend while she died. I was sure that moment would be much more frightening than it actually was. As a pastor, I've been there with many people who were dying, I've showed up at the last minute, or I've been there right after the death. It's not that I'm unfamiliar with death. But this time was different. I knew Karen as very much alive. I knew her for 2 years as a very much alive, active, joyful, funny, beautiful person. Karen's presence always filled a room. If Karen was there, there was no way to miss her. I knew her when she found out she had a mass on her pancreas. I knew her when she heard it was Stage 4. Still, through all of that, she was still Karen, my friend, and there was a bit of unreality to it all. I saw her in the hospital, before and after surgery, and I saw her swift decline over two months. In the midst of all that, we had such wonderful talks. We laughed, we cried, we talked about our pasts, our histories, we prayed, and we were more honest than most people get normally. During that time, I sensed that our friendship was deepening rapidly, even as I anticipated losing her. How agonizing!

C.S. Lewis wrote in A Grief Observed, "You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you.... only a real risk tests the reality of a belief." (p. 25) I've been preaching for 17 years, and have presided over hundreds of funerals during that time. Easter is my favorite time of year. But it wasn't until Karen's illness and death when the rubber really hit the road, so to speak. Suddenly my beliefs about eternity became a matter of life and death, not just good fodder for a sermon. Suddenly what I believe about life and death matters more than ever.

Scriptures are frustratingly vague on the subject, but what else could they be? How could we possibly understand? I do believe that whatever eternity is, it is beyond human language; not easily reduced to fine print. That's comforting, yes, but on the other hand, I want to KNOW. I want DETAILS. We confuse sentimental hymns or songs with Christian theology or Scriptures. We muddy some boundaries with new agey-type testimonies of bright lights and tunnels. Jesus says in the Gospel According to John, that he is going to prepare a place for us, that he will not leave us orphaned, that he is coming to us. He tells his disciples that they weep now, but then they will rejoice! "Peace I leave with you," he said, "I do not give to you as the world gives, do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid."

Well, I was afraid. We don't talk about death much in our culture, in fact, we act like it doesn't exist, despite all the death in our entertainment. Death somehow becomes benign through overexposure, or falsely sentimental. But I was afraid. I was afraid to trust my friend to the Unknown. I was afraid to let her go-- not that I had a choice-- without knowing what exactly I was letting her go to, and whether or not I'd ever see her again. I was afraid, watching her struggle to breathe sometimes, or wince in pain, or miserably throw up when there was nothing left to throw up. What a helpless feeling, to watch someone you love suffer. If I'd had a choice, I would have brought my sleeping bag into her sun room and laid down by her hospital bed-- lived there, just to be there.

Her death was surprisingly peaceful, after long weeks of hurting and struggling and being sick. At one point, her gasping slowed down, and she seemed to pass into a calm, relaxed state, like catching her breath after a long, hard marathon run. Her husband Jim and I talked to her, told her it was ok to let go, to stop fighting, that she deserved a break. I prayed. We cried. Her breathing just slowed until with one long sigh, she stopped breathing. It was so quiet that it was a few minutes before we were sure she was actually gone. It wasn't scary. It was probably the least scary moment since this cancer-journey began. For that fleeting, Emmaus-like moment, I knew she was free. I was certain she was ok, that the battle was over for her. And I am still hushed at the honor of being there to see her off.

So what is the proverbial rope that I cling to? What is the knot that I hang onto, to keep from falling into abject despair over such a great loss? I believe she's ok. I don't know the details. We experienced such profound holy moments together in those last days, that I can't believe that that's it. Jesus never said exactly how it works. He never said that if the place he prepares for us is on the same street as all the people we can't wait to see again. But he did talk about banquets and feasts in regard to the Kingdom of God. Jesus always talked in communal terms. And if God allows us such holy, other-worldly, downright sacred and holy connections to other souls here on earth, than I have to believe that those connections are just foretastes of the Heavenly Feast. Appetizers, if you will. If our friendship was that profound on this limited, sometimes heart-breaking earth, than how much more profound and joyful will it be in God's eternity?? God has given me too many glimpses of heaven on earth to let me think that this is all there is. I feel like I stood on the edge of life with Karen and reluctantly let her hand slip out of mine, trusting that I will feel that hand in mine again someday, and that we'll laugh our fool heads off in joy.

I won't know anything, really, until I get there. All I can do in the meantime is trust, wonder, and hope. Sometimes I hate that. In my good moments, I actually feel like my love for Karen and our connection is so much bigger than it was when she was here. Because she's in a place/dimension, call it what you will, where life and love is so much more vast and large and unfathomable. I don't know if she can see me or hear me. I hope so. I saw the love born of 42 years with her husband, Jim, and it only makes sense to me that a love and connection of hearts and souls like they had DOES last for eternity, because God's really into that sort of thing.

Since Jesus was so vague on it, I do rely a lot on great country songs, or popular songs and hymns to comfort me in the meantime. I know that they are only songs, and they aren't THE Gospel, but they help my heart reach a little further toward the Gospel. The truth. Now I only see in a mirror dimly, but then I know I will see face to face. That IS Scripture. And I have to believe it. Or I'd go insane.

I miss you, dear Karen. I love you. I'll see you later.