Who Have You Loved and Lost? Beginnings, Endings and Bridges

Resurrection

My dad would have turned 80 years old this Thursday. I went to an 80th birthday celebration for a dear friend over the weekend, and there was a moment that I realized that this could have been a party for my dad, mingling with friends and family with similar lines on his face and gray in his hair. He probably would have been telling silly jokes and making sure everyone there heard the horrible story of Horace the Mule (don’t ask!). I wondered for a bit who would be there to celebrate him, and it reminded me of a paper I wrote nearly fifteen years ago.

My dad passed away from multiple myeloma, a blood cancer, during my fall semester final exams of my middler year of seminary. One of the most significant projects I was working on was a long paper due for my New Testament Exegesis class.  Exegesis is the mining of a biblical text, including the text in it’s original language,  for meaning. My professor lived in the country outside of Austin where he kept horses and pastored a small congregation. He had a head and beard full of white hair and was known to be rather tough when it came to grades. His area of expertise was the gospel of Mark, particularly the ending of the gospel. This was one of the choices for our final exam. Every student was counseled by former students to avoid it. I was drawn to it. I decided to choose it anyway. As a result, I spent many of the days leading up to and following my father’s death immersed in the story of Jesus’ resurrection.

I remember talking to some of my colleagues at the church where I worked part-time in Austin about Dr. Alsup.  They made fun of him, particularly of this step in exegesis that he called the hermeneutical bridge. After all your research, he said, you need to take a long walk with a good dog. And then, you sit down and think of a poem, a novel, a scene from a movie, a story from real life that bridges this ancient text to your current context. Only then are you ready to consider your audience and what you wish to say to them in a sermon.

I certainly don’t work all the steps of a good exegesis before preaching anymore. Ain’t no one got time for that! But I happen to believe in the power of long walks, the company of a good dog, and the importance of stories in connecting with your audience. I get this from my dad who was a perpetual learner and avid reader, a teacher, a toastmaster, a devoted student of the Bible and a lay preacher who did occasional pulpit supply, and who took long walks most evenings. He sold insurance and did financial planning for a living, but those would never be the first things I would say to describe my dad.

Dr. Alsup was a very kind professor. He read to us a story about a donkey at the opening of every class. (I would be so happy if someone reminded me of the exact book!) As a literature major, I ate it up. I embraced the creativity and the thinking outside the box that he pushed us toward. He gave me a one week extension on my final exam since I had to travel to Dallas and help my mother with funeral arrangements the week the paper was actually due. I dug it out of my attic this weekend and reread it.

The text I’m studying is Mark 16:1-8, the original ending of the gospel of Mark.  The ending we find in our Bibles today is thought to be a later addition. This was my hermeneutical bridge:

I am sorry to say this text currently reminds me of seeing my father in the funeral home. I went with my mother to view the body before we hosted a visitation. We went into a pleasant room, and the body looked like a wax figure. When I received the news of my father’s death, I was sitting at my computer writing a research paper about Archbishop Janani Luwum who was martyred in Uganda. At his funeral, there was no body because the government never released it. The minister stood by an empty grave and quoted from Luke, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen.” These words came to my mind as I looked at my father lying there peacefully with no expression. I knew he was not really there. The experience brought a sense of closure and acceptance for me. The women went together to the tomb probably much like my mother and I went into that room. They thought they would anoint their Lord. It would be an important part of their grieving process. Instead, they meet a divine messenger, perhaps the Lord himself, who declares to them that the one they came to mourn is alive. What other response is there but to be rendered speechless, trembling and afraid?

And this is a portion of the sermon that resulted. The intended audience is the gathering of family and friends at my father’s funeral. I did not, could not, speak at the service, but I’m grateful I had the opportunity to share these reflections on the resurrection with my professor and now, all these years later, with you.

In this passage, the women come to the tomb for many of the same reasons that we gather here today. One they love has died. They are worried about the preparations as this family has been over the last few days. For us, everything has gone as planned, but not so for these women. Once they enter the tomb, nothing matches their expectations…

The women understandably are alarmed, but the man delivers such wonderful news. “God has raised Jesus from the dead. You can find the one you are looking for here because he’s alive! Go tell all your friends, especially Peter…” They flee trembling and bewildered. This doesn’t seem like the right response to such good news, does it? The Greek word translated here as “bewildered” sounds almost exactly like the English word “ecstasy.” What happened in the tomb is a profound emotional experience. It literally shakes them. The women leave silent and afraid. 

I don’t know about you but their reaction to the good news sounds a lot to me like my reaction to the news of Ed’s death. It was a profoundly emotional experience. I was shocked, stunned, silent, rendered speechless. I have trembled some over the last few days. My mouth has been so dry, and I have no appetite. I confess that I am afraid, too. I do not know what life without Ed is like. He was a guide, a protector, a safe place. Death is so final; it has so many long-term implications. The similarity of the two experiences tells me something important, however. As real as death is, so real is the resurrection. If the news of death rocks our world, how much more does the news of resurrection! It, too, is permanent and life-changing. What other response is possible than to be stunned, shocked, rendered speechless? 

The most troubling thing about this story is that it is the end of Mark’s gospel. That’s it?! He’s not going to tell us how the disciples get the message.  He’s not going to give us any more proof than this. This cannot be the end of the story! Well, it not the end of THE story, of course. Whether Mark offered us more proof or not, the fact would still remain that to know the truth of the resurrection we must believe in it ourselves; we must hear the good news and respond in faith. We must trust in Jesus the Nazarene who was crucified, died and buried but on the third day rose again on our behalf. For those of us who loved Ed, our hearts are probably screaming, “That’s it?! That cannot be the end!”  None of our stories have come to an end, not even Ed’s. For those of us who trust in the risen Lord, as Ed did, even our death is not the last word. The only way to find out the final chapter of life is to follow Jesus into Galilee and wherever he goes. He has gone ahead of us, even in the most frightening experience of death. He has blazed the trail, cleared the path, and removed the obstacles on the road to eternal life. The author of Mark’s gospel says in the very first verse, “The beginning of the good news about Jesus Christ.” It is only the beginning. Jesus is the author of our lives, dear friends. Follow after him. It is the only way to read the final chapter of Ed’s life, of your own life, of this thing we call the gospel. What we know thus far is only the beginning, and truly it is Good News. 

I have had to learn over the last many years what life without my dad is like. Gerry and I were married just four months before his death. Most of the other big occasions of my adult life happened without him – my ordination, our first home, the birth of all our children. My boys were born with round faces, chubby big babies with stunning blue eyes and dark hair.  They both turned blonde at some point and their eyes have grayed a bit, but as newborns they looked just like him.  The thing I grieve the most is that they won’t know him. They won’t ever hunt and fish and laugh with him. They won’t feel his love. My dad wasn’t perfect by any means, but he loved me, and in the end that is what I carry with me. I wish I had known when I wrote this so many years ago, that it was also just the beginning of grief, that fifteen years later my life will be so full, but I will still miss him, and in every subsequent grief, grieve for him all over again.

A lot of my friends faced anniversaries of significant deaths this past week. It’s fitting, I think, that they fell in Easter week. Grief is healed in part by being immersed in the resurrection. I pray for all of you who grieve someone you have lost, that you will know deep in your heart, this is not the end. The story continues, and love never dies.

So, please tell me about someone you have loved and lost – a favorite memory or story.  This week we’ll celebrate together the lives of those who marked us with their love and together bear witness to the hope of the resurrection. You can share short memories in the comments, and if your story is longer, please email it to shannon@lifeprompted.com.  I look forward to hearing from you!

 

 

 

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