The Road Back, Which Never Ends

            As a young adult, I grew to appreciate the writings of W. C. Heinz, but it was Heinz’s interviewer that caused me to connect with Heinz. Several years ago, when Heinz was age 85 and in the twilight of his life, he granted an interview with freelance writer Jeff MacGregor. He asked Heinz about the death of his 16-year-old daughter, who died suddenly of toxic shock or some virulent form of strep.            

            Listen to MacGregor describe Heinz’s response, “It is quiet torture for him to tell this story, and he tells it carefully, as though these words were made of glass and might shatter in the telling. Might cut him.”

            Did you hear that? When you love someone deeply, and you lose him or her, talking about it can cut your soul.

            Heinz went on to speak of the day he and his wife spread their daughter's ashes at her favorite camp in Vermont. According to MacGregor, Heinz’s "eyes shut tight against something he still can't stand to look at.” And then with great poignancy, Heinz told him that as he and his wife left their daughter’s ashes behind, they “started on the road back, which never ends."

            Have you lost a loved one? Do the words you utter when talking about your loss cut you like glass? Have you started on the road back, which never ends?

            I want you to know that even though the road never ends in this life, it will end in the life to come—if you are in Christ. In Christ, in the world to come, you will find closure and ultimately healing.

            3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Rev. 21:3-4. NIV)

What is it like to Die?

            Some of you may have the book,  A MAN CALLED PETER. I’ve read it and have seen the movie based upon the book.

            It was written by Peter Marshall’s widow, Catherine. He was an amazing preacher—one of the most influential in the twentieth century. His most famous pulpit was in Washington DC, but he also ministered to the U. S. Senate as its chaplain.

            The movie portrays Marshall speaking to a regiment of midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. He was addressing the December graduating class. Sensing the need to change his message, he switched his text to James 4:14: For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away.  

            Marshall included the following story in his sermon. Watching the movie, I got goose bumps; what I share is the story as recorded in the book:

            

            In a home of which I know, a little boy—the only son—was ill with an incurable disease. Month after month the mother had tenderly nursed him, read to him, and played with him, hoping to keep him from realizing the dreadful finality of the doctor’s diagnosis.

            But as the weeks went on and he grew no better, the little fellow gradually began to understand that he would never be like the other boys he saw playing outside his window and, small as he was, he began to understand the meaning of the term death, and he, too, knew that he was to die.

            One day his mother had been reading to him the stirring tales of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table: of Lancelot and Guinevere and Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat, and of that last glorious battle in which so many fair knights met their death.

            As she closed the book, the boy sat silent for an instant as though deeply stirred with the trumpet call of the old English tale, and then asked the question that had been weighing on his childish heart: “Mother, what is it like to die? Mother, does it hurt?”

            Quick tears sprang to her eyes and she fled to the kitchen supposedly to tend to something on the stove. She knew it was a question with deep significance. She knew it must be answered satisfactorily. So she leaned for an instant against the kitchen cabinet, her knuckles pressed white against the smooth surface, and breathed a hurried prayer that the Lord would keep her from breaking down before the boy and would tell her how to answer him.

            And the Lord did tell her. Immediately she knew how to explain it to him.

            “Kenneth,” she said as she returned to the next room, “you remember when you were a tiny boy how you used to play so hard all day that when night came you would be too tired even to undress, and you would tumble into mother’s bed and fall asleep?”

            “That was not your bed…it was not where you belonged. And you stayed there only a little while. In the morning, much to your surprise, you would wake up and find yourself in your own bed in your own room. You were there because someone had loved you and taken care of you. Your father had come—with big strong arms—and carried you away. Kenneth, death is just like that. We just wake up some morning to find ourselves in the other room—our own room where we belong—because the Lord Jesus loved us.”

            The lad’s shining, trusting face looking up into hers told her that the point had gone home and that there would be no more fear … only love and trust in his little heart as he went to meet the Father in Heaven.

            In the movie, you see Marshall driving back to Washington that morning after the sermon. It was then that he heard the announcement on the radio that Pearl Harbor had been bombed.

            Many of those young men were soon sent to war. Some were soon dead.

            With spiritual prescience, Marshall prepared those boys for what was to come.

            Death will be here all-to-quickly for all of us. We will be ready?

       

The Kiss of God

            I love the old story of the nobleman and his garden. The source is unknown:

            A nobleman had a garden of beautiful flowers. He had a gardener who was a wonderful steward. He was responsible and cared for the garden with great detail to make it like a paradise.

            One morning, the gardener entered into the garden to inspect his favorite flowers. To his dismay, he discovered that one of his most lovely flowers had been cut from its stem. Next, he saw that the many of the most magnificent flowers from were missing.

            The gardener's adrenaline began to surge through his veins. He was filled with anxiety… and then anger. He hurried to some of the laborers who worked under his leadership and demanded to know, "Who stole my treasures?"

            One of the workers replied, "The nobleman came into his garden this morning, picked those flowers himself, and took them into his house. I guess he wanted to enjoy their beauty."

            That’s when the gardener realized: he had no reason to be concerned. It was good for his master to pick some of his own prize blossoms.

            Deut. 34:5 describes the Lord taking Moses home,  So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord. KJV

            Moses did not die of old age; he died because the Lord said it was his time.

            The original word for “word” is used 341 other times in the OT where the KJV translates it “mouth” instead of “word.” Many of the ancient rabbis noted that and interpreted it in a tender way, “Moses died at the kiss of the Lord.”

            I like that phrase.

            Whenever God is ready to pick me for his house, I am ready. I am ready for the kiss of God.

            How about you?

            

HOW DO YOU LIVE YOUR DASH?

            An old poem has resonated with people through the years. The author is unknown, but the themes addressed have stood the test of time:

How Do You Live Your Dash?

I read of a man who stood to speak

            At the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

            From the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth

            And spoke the following date with tears,

                        But he said what mattered most of all

                                    Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time

            That she spent alive on earth...

                        And now only those who loved her

                                    Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;

            The cars...the house...the cash,

                        What matters is how we live and love

                                    And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard...

            Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left,

            That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough

            To consider what's true and real,

                        And always try to understand

                                   The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,

            And show appreciation more

                        And love the people in our lives

                                    Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,

            And more often wear a smile...

                        Remembering that this special dash

                                    Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read

                        With your life's actions to rehash...

                                    Would you be proud of the things they say

                                                About how you spent your dash? 

Living Death

In Johannesburg, South Africa in1993, 24-year old, Sipho William Mdletshe, was involved in a traffic accident and declared dead. His body was placed in a metal box and taken to a mortuary.

Forty-eight hours later, after drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, Mdletshe slowly became alert enough to realize he was trapped in a box. Terrified, he began screaming for help. Workers in the mortuary heard his shouts and let him out.

I have known a lot of people, who lived their lives like Sipho William Mdletshe. They may not have been placed in a metal box in a mortuary, but they lived their lives in a stupor. Some, literally, dulled their senses with drugs and alcohol and basically lived their lives as sleepwalkers.

Others, like Mdlestshe, suffered injuries in wrecks. Instead of being hit by automobiles, they were hit by people. Humans inflicted abuse upon them. Unlike Mdlestshe, they never cried for help and chose to remain trapped in their boxes.

Jesus is all about death, but it is death to the old life. After that, Jesus wants to create a new life and a new identity rooted in him. Jesus calls you out of the box of death and into life, “I came so that everyone would have life, and have it in its fullest.”

I was Closed-Up in a Coffin–and I Survived!

One of the greatest evenings of my life was the night of the Halloween Carnival 1967. I was a first grader at Como Pickton elementary school.

At the Halloween Carnival, the various classes were able to perform skits and songs. Our class, I thought, had the most original skit.

Someone arranged for the loan of a casket from the local funeral home. Our teachers asked for six boys to dress in Halloween costumes that looked like skeletons and climb into the coffin. I volunteered!

Shortly before we were to perform, we crawled inside the coffin and they closed the lid of the casket, placing a shoe at the spot where the lid met the rest of the casket. This allowed us to open up the casket on cue.

Someone wheeled us into the auditorium, which was full of people, and placed the casket at the very front. The lights were dimmed, then we opened the lid and sang the song, “I Ain't got Nobody.”

I thought that was one of funnest things I did in all of my childhood. I think it serves as a nice metaphor for what I expect for my future.

Before the carnival, I remember several people expressing fear at the thought of crawling inside a coffin and closing the lid. Yet I was totally unafraid; indeed, I looked forward to it. I felt like it would be a cool experience. And it was.

Likewise, today I hear a lot of people expressing fear at the thought of being placed inside a coffin. They are afraid of death.

I am not afraid of death. Because I believe there will be a good experience following death. I believe in a God that will one day raise me from the dead. Because of Jesus, I believe that I will someday be closed up in a coffin. But I will be released from that coffin and I will survive–for eternity.