Mom regularly hiked the hillsides of our 28 acre farm gathering wild flowers and herbs like Golden Rod and Wild Heather, anything with color value. She consistently prepared fresh cut bouquets for our kitchen table. On special occasions, like funerals and weddings, while others relied on professional florists, she humbly represented our family with her own arrangements. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I fully appreciated the inexpensive elegance of a fresh cut bouquet. Even today, I’m able to close my eyes and imagine the faint perfume of her handpicked flowers…their scent carried along on a breeze only made visible by the curtains’ rustle.
Grandpa Grubb died in 1957. His passing was significant not only because he was my grandfather but because this was the first time, as an eight year
old, that I experienced the death of someone I knew personally, someone with whom I’d only recently spoken.
I remember the very spot I was standing when her words sunk in. We were walking together down the steep hillside that led to the wooded area of our tiny 28 acre farm. I stopped in my tracks and asked, “Wait, what do you mean Grandpa passed away?” Interestingly, I don’t recall her response, or even if she responded. Although, I have no doubt she did her best to help a little boy grasp such a bizarre concept.
Few things impact our lives as dynamically as the loss of a loved one. One day life seems to be operating normally (whatever normal is for each of us) and then suddenly the next day, life is forever altered. Everyone’s passing leaves a hole in our life. Whether they impacted our life profoundly or were merely a face in the background of our ‘group photo’, their passing affects our life.
My congregation has just experienced four funerals in four weeks, and it has left us a little wobbly. I recall as a young man of 30, after the sudden passing of my father, how I was struck numb with grief. I dreaded the thought of the funeral experience: the viewing and actual funeral service. I didn’t believe I would have the courage to ‘make nice’ while others expressed their condolences.
But then, something unexpected happened. As the process unveiled itself, I witnessed not people merely coming to ‘pay their respects’, but as I watched, I realized there were many who, like me, loved and respected my father. Most profoundly, I watched as they personally grieved his passing, and it deeply touched me. I realized my family wasn’t alone in our sorrow, but that we were in the midst of a human condition common to us all. The separation of death, though painful, is as much a part of living as the bright hopefulness that accompanies a new birth.
As a pastor who has just officiated four funerals in four weeks, I am even more convinced of the importance of the funeral process. I have witnessed an increased sensitivity toward one another within our congregation, and I am poignantly reminded how important it is to not take one another for granted but rather to embrace the time we are given with one another.
I’m afraid we live in a world of ever-increasing cynicism. We’re entirely too critical of one another and of ourselves. Many of you who regularly read my articles comment how you enjoy reflecting on gentler times. I hope you’ll join me in my renewed desire to make this time, today, a gentler time. I hope you’ll purpose to think the best of others. I want you to know there is at least one person out there that is thinking well of you and not ill, and I pray you’ll do the same for me.
The theology that surrounds this life and the life hereafter can be a very confusing subject, but the Gospel message couldn’t be simpler.
“God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son. So that whosoever believes on Him, will not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16
The good news is, God thinks well of you always! I pray it doesn’t take a funeral for us to think well of one another.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.