Paradise Lost

The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. And the Lord God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life. (Genesis 3:21-24)

The introduction of sin resulted in the broken world in which we now live, a domain red in tooth and claw.

Adam and Eve’s sin erased their innocence. Nakedness became a human problem which must be resolved. None of the trees in the Garden of Eden could provide a remedy for Adam and Eve’s sin, so God sacrificed animals to make garments of skin to cover their nakedness. Continuous animal sacrifices became a temporary remedy to cover sin until the appointed time when Jesus’ blood on the tree of salvation would permanently remove sin, something that animal sacrifices could not do.

In the meantime, death reigned. The path back to the tree of life was blocked by cherubim with flaming swords. God drove Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. The long, dark sorrow of the knowledge of good and evil had begun its sordid history in the human race.

If future hope had depended upon the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve to rescue themselves from this disaster, all would have been lost. But God had a plan. Not surprisingly, his idea for rescue involved trees. A lot of trees! That’s where we’ll resume our walk among the Trees of the Bible next time.

End of an Era

My times are in your hands; deliver me from the hands of my enemies, from those who pursue me. Let your face shine on your servant; save me in your unfailing love. (Psalm 31:15-16)

My dad died about two months ago. God graciously gave us a little time with him at the end. Dad was ready for death. When the big day arrived, it marked the end of an era for me. Now I’m part of the “elder” generation. We certainly are not orphans, for God is our loving and present heavenly Father. But we are next in line to walk by sight rather than faith.

With dad’s passing, Carol and I have experienced eight significant deaths in less than five years: Carol’s parents, my parents, my brother Darrell, Carol’s sister Ann, my Uncle Bob and my closest childhood friend Tom. (I blogged about most of them, if anyone cares to look back.) Two losses which have impacted me the hardest are Tom’s death and Dad’s death. Tom’s death hits hard because we were the same age. Dad’s death hits home, I think, because it’s the end of an era. We talked often by phone. I asked his advice as recently as this year. Dad even helped us with the down payment when we bought our house last year. It is indeed the end of an era. My childhood home is being sold. It will no longer be there for us as a holiday destination, a resting place, or even for a simple family visit.

This summer marks the end of an era for me in two other ways, too. First, our nation is bouncing back from COVID-19. The pandemic shaped and dominated my private world and my personal ministry for over a year. It was in the forefront of my planning as a pastor. That season is fading. What comes next will be different. The church will never be the same, even though the immediate risk for our congregation has passed. It’s the end of an era. (Unfortunately, the pandemic is still a threat in many other places, especially in the impoverished third world. So let’s distribute the vaccine as widely as possible!)

Second, I’m recovering from a fall on the ice in the driveway last fall. It has taken a long time for the full injury to manifest, but the effects have impacted my exercise routine. Physical therapy, not the stationery bicycle, has become my priority. I’m trying a balancing act to accomplish as much as possible, but the “easy” season of exercise and weight management has ended. It’s the end of an era for me. As my shoulder improves, perhaps with surgery ahead, I hope it will not turn into the end of my life-style diet and exercise. But these disciplines have struggled recently, especially with two road trips to Ohio.

The triple punch – Dad’s death, the fading pandemic and my stubborn shoulder injury – add up to a special challenge for me. Generally, I can state my personal mission statement and picture personal goals for the church in an instant (although only one person actually asks). Right now, however, I’m not sure about what’s next for the church. Since I’m the pastor, that’s unsettling. I’m in a bit of a leadership fog.

That makes today a really good moment to remember that my times are in God’s hands. His love is unfailing. I hope you can say the same.

Defeating Death in the Game of Life: Overtime Victory!

But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? (1 Corinthians 15:12)

At the end of regulation, the sun sank toward the horizon late on Good Friday. Three mangled bodies hung limply on a trio of crosses outside Jerusalem. Shattered bones protruded from crushed legs of the first and third victims. The second man suffered no broken bones in his sufferings, though a waterish liquid dripped from a fresh spear wound in his side. All three men were dead. There was no longer any doubt about that. Their cooling bodies were removed from the crosses and carried out of sight.

Because local religious leaders filed a protest, game officials decided the Tournament of Life would have to extend into overtime. They posted a guard at the tomb of the second man to ensure that Death would remain victor.

But they were working with an incomplete rule-book. Here are three rules they didn’t understand. To be fair, we struggle to understand the rules of the game of life, too.

1) The game officials on Good Friday understood how life preceded death, but they didn’t understand how death preceded life. They thought death was the end of the game. To the contrary, their own Scriptures taught death as separation of the spirit/soul from the body, not annihilation. When a personal dies, their spirit/soul continues to live. Furthermore, life could could be restored to a dead body. Historical figures as far back as Abraham understood God could raise the dead. The Apostle Paul later wrote to the Ephesian believers that they had been dead in their transgressions and sins (Ephesians 2:1). But they were no longer dead. They had been made alive in spirit. Scriptures demonstrate both a resurrection of the body and a resurrection of the soul/spirit.

2) The game officials on Good Friday understood that everyone is mortal, but they didn’t understand what happens after death. If death is not the end, something else must come next. “Sheol” is a Hebrew word used to describe the grave in the Old Testament.  “Paradise” is a word with roots in both Hebrew and Greek. It occurs three times in the Old Testament and three times in the New Testament. When I was in graduate school, a professor taught us that paradise was a subset of Sheol (the grave), a place set aside for the righteous who are awaiting resurrection. Modern scholarship isn’t so sure. Some scholars believe it refers to the abode of God, that is, heaven. “Paradise” also appears to refer to a garden. The Septuagint used it to describe the Garden of Eden in Genesis 2 & 3. “Paradise” appears in Revelation 2:7, which also is a garden scene.

“Paradise” describes the idyllic world before sin entered (Genesis 2). It describes the redeemed world after sin is eradicated (Revelation 2). It describes the abode of the righteous dead (heaven or the grave). It describes the destiny of the man on the third cross because of the man on the second cross (Luke 23:43). Their bodies were both in the grave, so paradise in this context is a temporary environment, either a cold grave awaiting resurrection or a bright heaven in the presence of God.

3) The game officials on Good Friday understood how the wages of sin is death, illustrated by the sacrificial system, but they didn’t understand how atonement could satisfy God’s righteous judgment of sin (Isaiah 53:11). God’s just satisfaction was demonstrated when he raised Jesus from the dead on Easter morning. God the Father not only raised Jesus to bodily life, he promises eternal life to those who belong to Jesus. Followers of Jesus die to sin on the third cross, a death which leads to eternal life. Jesus said, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19).

Because of the resurrection of Jesus on Easter, the Apostle Paul declared him the winner of the Tournament of Life: When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” (1 Corinthians 15:54).

He is risen! Death is defeated! Hallelujah!

Happy Easter!

 

 

Three Crosses: Beating Death in the Game of Life

Two other men, both criminals, were also led out with him to be executed. When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him there, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. Luke 23:32-33

When I was eight or ten years old, I was troubled by the fact that Jesus was crucified with two criminals. I thought nobody else should have shared the stage with Jesus as he climbed the hill they called Calvary. All the attention should have been on Jesus, not those other guys. Their mothers may have been there watching their sons die in agony, but that wasn’t fair because it distracted attention from Jesus. In my childish mind, Jesus’ crucifixion should have been the cruelest, slowest, most painful death anyone has ever experienced in order to justify his unique suffering for the whole world.

You may laugh that I was distracted by such a mundane detail in the Bible story. But it was very real to me when I was a child. The more I read the Bible as an adult, the more convinced I am that the Bible is inspired of God and is unlike any other book in the world. But it raises questions. It seems like the older I get, the more questions I have. Maybe you have questions, too. I hope you do. For me, this question about three crosses goes back more than five decades.

Maybe asking questions is a good definition of maturity. Maturity is questioning answers rather than merely answering questions. If that’s the case, I must be getting very mature! I’m not satisfied with answers that don’t lead to more questions. The faith of a Jesus follower may be simple, but it’s never simplistic.

Jesus was the most unique person who ever lived. His execution on a Roman cross is the most famous death in history. JFK’s assassination by Lee Harvey Oswald isn’t even a close second for intrigue and drama. My childish frustration with the three crosses eventually led me to ask a question as an adult: Do the two extra crosses add perspective or insight to the cross of Christ?

It’s not a news flash, but the cross is central in Christianity. The crucifixion of Jesus is a major theme of the New Testament. It’s the premise for our celebration of Jesus’ resurrection on Easter Sunday. The cross has become the most recognized universal Christian symbol.

Christianity is about THE cross – singular, as in THE Ohio State University. You’ve heard football players say that with the accent on the appropriate word, especially when they’re national champs. Christianity is about THE cross. One cross. Jesus’ cross. THE Ohio State University. THE cross of Jesus Christ. There’s a ring to it, a kind of pride. THE cross of Jesus. Many of our worship songs are about the cross. We sing about the cross all the time.

But it turns out Jesus didn’t die alone. Three crosses were raised on a hill near Jerusalem that day. Two other men died with him. Jesus died between two thieves. When my youngest son explained the Easter story when he was a child, he said Jesus died between two “spies.” Spies, thieves, what’s the difference? Jesus died in a group execution.

When I was a child, I didn’t think it should have been that way. Jesus was the unique Son of God. He should have died alone. A generation later, my son positioned Jesus between two spies with impunity.

I still remember my struggle as I learned Jesus’ death isn’t even close to being unique. Millions of people have suffered slow, agonizing deaths. Thousands upon thousands of people have been crucified. The Persians practiced crucifixion in the 6^th Century B.C. The Romans experimented with crucifixion and perfected it as a means of torture. The ancients crucified people in all kinds of ways: They nailed the condemned man to a single stake or to a tree. Crosses could like a T, an X, or a Y. Sometimes they tied victims to a cross and left them to languish for days in the hot sun or the cold rain before they died.

Josephus wrote about mass crucifixions when Jerusalem fell in 70 A.D. He said the Roman soldiers amused themselves by crucifying people in various positions, including upside down. They even nailed victims through the groin. Two thousand years ago, crucifixion was a common sight in the Roman world. There’s little wonder the gospel writers felt no need to include the gruesome details of Jesus’ crucifixion. Everybody then knew what crucifixion looked like.

My little bubble has been popped. Awful as it was, Jesus died a very common death. On that climactic day, two men were crucified beside him. Two plus one equals three. Three crosses in an ugly row.

March is a heavenly month for college basketball junkies. It’s time once again for March Madness. After a lost year because of the COVID-19 pandemic, the NCAA basketball tournament is back. Thousands of people filled out brackets predicting winners, but most of the brackets have been busted in the first two rounds because of a rash of Cinderella upsets.

Crucifixion can be described as a tournament in which death is the star player. I’ve made out my bracket for the Elite Eight. Since North Carolina is such a strong basketball state, I stuck with a North Carolina bracket. Here it is:

This is an all-Mayberry bracket. I’m afraid it dates me, but it works. Probably every bracket has been busted in the NCAA tournament this year after just two rounds. But my bracket isn’t broken. Death is winning every game so far in Mayberry, hands down. In the Tournament of Life, Death has only ever lost two games. Death is the #1 seed and he’s got a devil of a coach. It looks like Death is going to win the Tournament of Life in Mayberry. But three crosses in the Gospel accounts teach me Death isn’t going to raise the championship trophy in the real world.

Like it or not, you and I are playing in this tournament. We’re playing against death. The question is, “Who’s going to win?” It’s not a game of chance; it’s a game of choice. Somebody is going to win, either you or Death. That’s what these three crosses are all about. Over the next few days leading up to Easter, we’ll examine each of the three crosses. Can Death be beaten in the game of life? I think so. But we’ll have to go into overtime to find out.

A Tribute to Tom Elliott

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants. (Psalm 116:15)

I had anticipated my next blog post would be lessons from listening, but life has intervened. Rather, death has intervened. Yesterday I received word that Tom Elliott, my closest childhood friend, has passed away suddenly. I can’t say he died “unexpectedly,” because nothing on earth is more certain than death. We deceive ourselves by assuming tomorrow will always come. It won’t. Death may be sudden, but it’s never unexpected.

Tom had a good day on Thursday. He did some farm work, practiced target shooting with a friend, ordered a new crossbow and visited with guests. Then he walked into the house around suppertime and collapsed. His wife told me he was dead before he hit the floor because he didn’t even try to brace his fall. Janet’s CPR efforts were useless, even though she is a skilled and experienced ICU nurse.

I met Tom in second grade, shortly after our family moved to New Concord, Ohio, in the summer of 1963. I remember nothing about how we didn’t get along at first, although Tom later filled in the gap for me. What I do remember is walking home one day from school in second grade. We lived less than a mile from school and I was about a quarter of the way home. It was snowing lightly and I had my face turned up to the sky with my mouth open trying to catch snowflakes. I was literally in my own world. Suddenly, four boys jumped me, beat me up, ripped my shirt, and bloodied my face. Tom had planned it with another second grader and their two older brothers, who were fourth or fifth graders.

Lest this turn into a bullying complaint (it’s not), I should explain further. I don’t remember this, but I had teased Tom and called him names, including “fatso.” If anyone was a bully, it was me. The bottom line is I had it coming. I have no memories of subsequent trauma from the beating. I have never regarded it as bullying.

Back to my story. When I arrived home from school bleeding and crying, my mother immediately drove to Elliott’s house and read Tom’s mother the riot act. I don’t remember that. I don’t remember what happened next, either. But my mom later told me the story with amazement and wonder. The next day, Tom knocked on our front door with the biggest apple my mother had ever seen, asking if I could come out and play.

Very quickly Tom and I became best friends. By third grade it was typical for us to walk home from school together. We would stop at the Muskingum College student union and buy penny pretzels. Then we would stop at his house and watch George Reeves as Superman on TV. Included in our play as young children was the unique game of croquet. Sometimes Tom’s older brother joined us. Denny was merciless as he would “send” our croquet balls into the hinterlands.

Soon Tom invited me out to the family farm. We often rode in their pickup truck. Tom sat in the middle and shifted gears for his father, who had lost an arm in a corn picker. I was amazed at that. I learned to throw hay bales on a trailer and ride a horse. I remember Tom’s favorite horse Missy and his dad’s stallion Chief. The Elliotts lived in town until Tom and I were in high school, when they built a new house on their farm. By then I was spending more time with another classmate on a dairy farm, milking cows and gaining more experience putting up more hay.

As grade school children, Tom and I were unlikely friends. I was thin, frail and studious. Tom was round, strong and irreverent. He taught me how to curse, although I didn’t even know what it was until I called my younger brother a “son of a ______” on Christmas Day one year at my grandparent’s house. My grandmother was horrified. “Do you know what that is?” She bellowed. “That’s swearing.” I was soooo embarrassed. I don’t remember ever swearing at my brother again.

I began to call out Tom’s swearing. I think he cursed just to set me off. Sometimes he called me “preacher.” Every Sunday his family attended the Presbyterian church while my family attended the Methodist church on the same street two blocks east.

The contrasts between us continued. I was a city slicker. Tom was a farm boy. I loved school. Tom hated it. We both participated in Boy Scouts, where Tom excelled. He became an Eagle Scout long before me. Tom Elliott is the reason I achieved the rank of Eagle. I was a weak swimmer. In the final year of my eligibility, I failed Lifesaving Merit Badge at Boy Scout camp because I couldn’t pull the instructor out of the pool. Lifesaving is required for Eagle, so that was the end of the trail for me. But Tom wouldn’t let me give up. Several times after preseason football practice, Tom drove me a hour to the camp where I would practice with him in the water and then try to rescue the merit badge instructor. I failed again and again. Finally, at the very end of the summer, I drug the instructor out of the water just one time. The poor guy signed my merit badge card probably because he was tired of swallowing water. He could have drowned me any time he wanted. So Tom made me an Eagle Scout.

Tom usually was the Scout who pulled the watermelon out of the pool in the greased watermelon scramble on parents’ night at summer camp. On one occasion, Tom hid the watermelon between his legs, swam alone to the other side of the pool and heaved the monster melon onto the concrete. The maneuver was cunningly planned and perfectly executed. The crowd went wild. Our troop ate well that evening.

One side benefit for Tom was that the aquatic director at the Boy Scout camp had a cute younger sister whom Tom got to know. Eventually, Tom married Janet four months after I married Carol. I sang at their wedding.

In the meantime, a neighbor had invited Tom to his church, the Worthington Grace Brethren Church, where Tom heard Jim Custer preach. For the first time, Tom understood the gospel and became a man of strong faith. A few years later Tom participated in a church plant and served as an elder in a C&MA church in Zanesville, Ohio. It was a long drive to church from the farm, so when their nest was empty, the Elliotts resettled in a Baptist Church near New Concord, where Tom remained active until the Lord called him home this week. Tom is the only childhood friend with whom I have remained in constant contact for over 40 years. Carol and I visited Tom and Janet on most of our family trips to Ohio.

When we were young, Tom used to say I was smarter than him about bookish things and God. Now Tom has surpassed me. He knows God far better than I do, for he has seen Jesus face to face. Tom shall not come to me, but I shall go to him.

A Time to Mourn

“a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,” (Ecclesiastes 8:4)

When I posted yesterday’s blog about grief, I had no idea how quickly it would become personal. Today we received word that two people I knew from our pastoral ministry in Windham, Ohio, have died from COVID-19. The first was the husband of a faithful woman who is still active in the church. The second was the widow of one of the elders, my closest friend there who was graduated to heaven in 2009.

This morning C&MA President John Stumbo posted his weekly pandemic video blog. He challenged the Alliance family with 10 Commandments for the pandemic. Command #8 is “Thou shalt lament.” Along with the command, President Stumbo noted the first pandemic death of a C&MA worker.

It is time to mourn. It hurts. I lament. I grieve today’s news, even with a realization there is more death to come.

But we are not without hope. Continuing the theme I preached on Easter Sunday and have emphasized this week, every Sunday is Easter for the follower of Jesus. Every week is Easter week. To live in the moment means remembering Jesus is alive. To live in the moment is to maintain hope because of his resurrection. To live in the moment is to know that God will never desert nor forsake his people, even in suffering.

Last night I happened to come across an Easter sermon which makes the case well. I offer the link to provide encouragement as you mourn. It’s called Easter Matters.

 

 

For Those Who Mourn

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. (Matthew 5:4)

As COVID-19 continues its worldwide scourge of suffering and death, it leaves in its wake a trail of victims we can easily overlook in the frantic fight to save lives: those who mourn. It turns out death is not the final curse inflicted by the coronavirus. Beyond death is the indescribable grief of those who are left behind.

Grief tears the soul asunder. Language does not have the capacity to capture the impact of such loss. We are limited to shallow terms like despair, anguish, hopelessness, frustration and sorrow. None of these words are adequate to describe the frail condition of those who mourn.

In a first century Roman-occupied nation in which life was cheap and grief was universal, Jesus offered a divine antidote to grief. It’s brief, only one sentence. Yet it’s the opposite of what we might expect. Jesus said that in God’s new order, a person who mourns actually will be blessed. The word almost means happy. That’s nonsense to all mourners who cannot see beyond the grief of their loss. It’s folly to those who believe death is the end of one’s existence. In the natural world, those who mourn cannot be happy.

But Jesus wasn’t through, so we shouldn’t quit on his words just yet. He said mourners are blessed because they will be comforted. Something bigger than their loss – someone larger than death – will bring to those who mourn a comfort which transcends their devastation. Jesus’s simple statement, which is a meaningless platitude in the natural world, becomes a monumental platform of hope in the context of his resurrection.

For the believer in Jesus, every day is Easter. Our hope rests on his resurrection. Because he lives, we shall live, too, even if we die. The coronavirus may take us through death to grief. But grief is not the end result for the believer because death is not the end of the story.

The Apostle Paul put it this way: Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again…” (1 Thess. 4:13-14).

With those who mourn, we grieve, but not without hope. What is the reason for hope in the face of death? The resurrection of Jesus! No wonder Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

 

Remembering Ann Jennings

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them. And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:1-4

Today would have been Ann Jennings’ sixtieth birthday. Ann was my wife’s younger sister. She died a week before Christmas. Her memorial service was last week in Norwalk, Ohio. The public gathering was very small, as she was not well known in the community. Ann was deprived of oxygen at birth due to a complication, resulting in severe brain damage. She could not read. She could not count. She could not write her own name, though not for lack of trying. Her family worked hard to give her the best education possible.

If I had just one word to describe Ann, it would be childlike. Ann was inquisitive and often asked questions. She loved all things Mickey Mouse. She wore a Mickey Mouse watch for decades (several, actually), even though she could not tell time. She was trusting, dependent, and vulnerable.

It turns out that child-likeness is one of the highest virtues of Scripture. Jesus’ disciples didn’t have it, even though it’s essential. Jesus said they couldn’t enter heaven without it. They would have to change first. One of the traits of child-likeness is humility, taking a low position. That didn’t describe Jesus’ disciples. They weren’t childlike, not until they changed. But that did describe Ann. She took a lowly position her whole life, holding babies in a church nursery, wiping tables at a restaurant, or putting handles on ice cream buckets at the workshop. She did her menial work with pride and joy.

Such humility reminds me that Jesus was talking about child-likeness, not childishness. A childish person is demanding, self-centered, and disrespectful. Ann was childlike, not childish. Oh, she did have many childish moments. We all do. That’s one reason Jesus came and died for us, to relieve us of that burden.

The disciples didn’t have a clue about child-likeness. They would become the pillars of God’s church, but they didn’t understand much about character. Very few pillars of the church today understand child-likeness, either. We don’t like lowly positions. We prefer promotions and sophistication. We want to advance in this world rather than in the kingdom of God.

Ann Jennings advanced in the kingdom of God rather than in this world. She was childlike, a trait we don’t value much. But Jesus did value it. We devalue Ann’s life at our peril. We diminish Ann’s menial service to our loss. We discard Ann’s disabilities to our folly. Ann was a model of childlike faith. According to Jesus, that’s a virtue we need.

Four Details for Dying Well

As we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we need a big-picture perspective. Yesterday dad told me he was unable to make decisions about mom’s funeral service. He asked the family to handle the details. I told him that was fine. He needed to be doing only two things: 1) process his emotions and 2) process his faith – in whom he was trusting. That’s the big picture.

Nevertheless, when we die our loved ones will be busy. Since my mother’s death Monday night, I’ve recognized four simple tasks we can do before we die which will help our family when we’re gone. My mother did some of them. Others she did not.

1. Get a will. This is the single most important detail for dying well. If you die without a will, your family will have to do a lot more work to settle your estate. It will be messier and cost them more money. You need a will whether or not you are wealthy. If you don’t have a will, get one now. If you can’t afford a lawyer, find a friend with a computer and buy inexpensive software to write your will. It won’t cost much and it won’t take long. It won’t matter to you, but it will matter to your family. Copies don’t count. It must be an original. Mom had a will and she had told us exactly where she kept the original document. Thanks, Mom!
2. Complete a planning book. The funeral director will want immediate information, beginning with vital statistics. You might know a lot of the data from memory, but don’t trust your memory. It’s amazing how much we “know” that isn’t true. This information is going to become the official record. Get it right. Mom had a planning book. It wasn’t completely filled out, but it really helped. It was the primary source for writing her obituary. Mom included some of her wishes regarding her funeral. The main problem was that we didn’t know where it was. My sisters looked for an hour or two before they found it. I don’t know what we would have done without it. Get a funeral planning book and fill it out. You can get one online or from a funeral director. Fill it out and tell your family where it is. Mom also kept an up-to-date address book, so we were able to contact distant relatives and old friends. A few numbers didn’t work, but it was a helpful resource. Thanks, Mom!
3. Collect the photos. Most funerals now include a display of pictures. If you don’t create a photo collection for your funeral, your family will have to do it at the worst possible time. This was something Mom didn’t do, even though she once had a ton of pictures. Actually, she made it worse a few years ago by giving each of us a photo album of our childhood. Mom didn’t have those photos afterward. Naturally, we didn’t have them with us when we rushed to her bedside. Therefore, we didn’t have many family pictures when we needed them for her funeral. When we were collecting pictures, twenty years were largely missing from mom’s parenting years. We managed to patch something together, but there was more stress than necessary. Collect your photos. Tell your family where they are. Even better, get digital copies.
4. Keep some cash. When you die, all your financial accounts will be frozen immediately. It will take a minimum of two or three days for the paperwork to reactivate your accounts. But your family will need money. In our case, dad went to the bank and withdrew money only hours before mom died. That helped with immediate expenses like meals at a restaurant. He couldn’t even use his credit card. That’s why he needed cash. Funeral expenses are yet to be paid, but dad has set aside savings for that. To die well, don’t leave your family with the expense of your funeral. It may cost them more than you expect. Save long-term for the funeral. Keep some short-term cash.

When the pastor arrived to plan the funeral service, Dad stepped up to the plate despite his grief. He joined the meeting and contributed to the discussion. I think it was a helpful experience. I give him credit for courage and courtesy. He had asked to be excused, but when the time came, he stepped up with grace. It was a good family moment.

Death

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. (Philippians 1:21)

Mom died just a few minutes before midnight last night. She has completed her sojourn. She now walks by sight, not by faith. It is well with her soul.

The doctor was right yesterday morning. It did turn out to be mom’s special day. About 4 p.m. Carol and I were alone with her when Carol noticed that she seemed to be awake. These moments would last only a few seconds, so Carol quickly suggested that I read Scripture and pray with her again. I read Joshua 24:15 and reminded mom about her plaque with that verse. She nodded weakly. I told mom that for her, that verse was more than a plaque, it was a proclamation. It was a promise mom kept.

Back on Saturday when we arrived at her hospice room, I told mom she had lived her life well and had two remaining tasks. The first was to meet her eighth great-grandchild, James Walter Clevenger. She performed that assignment admirably to our joy and delight. I might add that James played his role perfectly, as well. Mom’s second task was to blaze the trail of faith to the end of life and model for her family how to die well. Usually that task is given to dads. Husbands die first in a majority of marriages. But in this marriage, that responsibility was given to mom. She was doing her final task very well.

After Scripture and prayer yesterday afternoon, mom was still awake. So I took the opportunity to tell her we thought she still had some time left. Carol and I might return to Minnesota. I told her that dad, Pam and Brenda would take good care of her. Would it be OK if Carol and I returned to Minnesota?

Mom croaked, “Yes!” in a loud, clear, deep tone that sounded almost like her normal voice. She was giving me mother’s permission for the final time. Perhaps she was also giving herself permission to die.

Within a few minutes, her condition deteriorated significantly. Her breathing became much more shallow and irregular. At 4:30 p.m. we called in the rest of the family, sang hymns for mom, and watched as death crept nearer. Dad sat silently and held mom’s hand. We all had one question, “How long?” Pam and Warren were sitting attentively with mom when she quietly passed into the Lord’s presence.

Barbara Bush, one of the world’s most prominent women, recently died. She is reported to have been a great woman of faith who loved Jesus and anticipated heaven. I marvel that the transcendent God who directs with the flick of his finger the course of the universe – or multiverse, if you prefer – would stoop in his imminence to notice Barbara Bush. I marvel even more that this same God embraced an obscure, unknown, elderly woman lying unnoticed by the world in a hospice bed and carried her into his presence. More astounding yet is that this same heavenly Father offers the same invitation to anyone who will respond to him in faith. If God’s transcendent power is unspeakable, his unmatched imminent grace can only be called “amazing.” The superlatives of language have been exhausted before they plumb the depths of God’s divine attributes. No wonder the great Apostle John concluded his book of the Revelation with, “Amen! Come, Lord Jesus.”

      And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
     The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
     The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
     Even so, it is well with my soul.
                                                 Horatio G. Spafford, 1873