Tuesday, I conducted a funeral service for a good man. He wasn't famous... or wealthy...or the life of the party. He wasn't notorious... or particularly witty... but he was a good man. He was committed to his wife; he was committed to the scouts, rearing all four of his sons to become eagle scouts; and he was a committed to his country, serving in the Navy during WWII. He was also a man with a strong faith, and we played "The Old Rugged Cross," during his service. During his eulogy, we focused on his life and faith, and offered a story or two about his war experience... but there was one moment that I found particularly poignant. When everyone else had left the room, Fred's four sons stood in front of their father's coffin. They just stood there for what seemed to be the longest time. They didn't speak to one another. They simply stood together, one and then another wiping away a tear, and occasionally, reaching out to touch their dad. I've seen this moment before...but when I watched these men, now on the brink of being old themselves, struggle to say goodbye, I was struck by their vulnerability. The pain of losing a loved one, it seems, never lessens, no matter how old we may be.
On Thursday I visited one of our seniors in his hospital room, which I've done several times before... because he's been in and out of the hospital for a couple of years now. He's recovering from another surgery and doing well, I think, but his bigger struggle... is with God, who either "allowed" or just "stood by and watched" as his only daughter passed away last year. She was a lovely "girl"- a great mother- a doting daughter- engaging, intelligent, beautiful...in every way... and now she's gone... and my friend can't get over it. His emotional pain is much deeper than his physical pain, and while I pray that he'll find the faith to embrace God's Easter promise, I suspect that his life here on earth... will never be as bright or as full as it used to be.
On Friday, I received a phone call from a young woman who is a good friend of mine. She said that her husband's cancer had "grown and spread" while he was fighting another life-threatening infection. These results were not surprising... but still disappointing... and we will continue to walk with both of them... as my friend continues his journey of courage and grace. Perhaps I'm too personally involved with this couple... but I find myself feeling a good measure of the fear, hope, and anxiety that they must be feeling. I feel good that they've developed a strong faith in recent years, but I feel bad... knowing that they're going to need it.
What does it all mean? What does it add up to? Simply this: without faith, life is very, very difficult!
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