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Life and Death, And Life In Death

April 14, 2019

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                     April 14, 2019

                   

Yesterday I participated in a memorial service for a gentleman and a gentle man named Jim Newsome. I had been his pastor for the last three years or so of my final pastorate. Back in November I posted a writing about the last visit Carol and I had with him and his wife, Pat. He knew he only had a few days to live and in the only time I ever saw him exhibit impatience he said to his wife, “Okay! I’m ready to go, but when’s it going to happen?” Five days after we sat by his bed he passed on into Glory.

The gathering to remember him was punctuated with stories and laughter, a book of tales and experiences. During the service someone made the statement, “Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

I have found the truth and the meaning in those words in recent years. Each  morning I brush my hair with my dad’s hairbrush and I think of him, a year now since he passed on. Every time I fire up our grill to cook some hamburgers I can smell the sizzling aroma of the burgers he would cook. They were the best hamburgers I’ve ever tasted! Mine are tasteless in comparison, and I’m okay with that! Dad was the grill master. I’m simply a guy who stands by a grill.

My mom has been gone for five years now, but every time I see the crossword puzzle in the daily newspaper I think about her. My dad, brother, and I could be having an in-depth discussion about present-day terrorism and the role of a democracy in fighting it and my mom would suddenly break into the conversation with…”Laurence, what’s a three letter word for fish-and-chips fish?” 

Both of my parents are gone, but they’re still alive each day.

Each of us lives and each of us dies. The sweetness of this world is the relationship we still experience with the one who has passed away. Death ends a life, not a relationship. 

At Jim’s reception following the service a 10 minute video was showed of his portrayal of The Lone Ranger, an act he did for various groups and gatherings for 19 years. Suddenly, he was back with us, back when he had more hair, but still it was him! Each time I see The Lone Ranger I think of him.

We often see death as the final brushstroke, finishing the work. It’s suspicious looking, mysterious, and characterized as cold and somber. And yet it’s communicated as gloriously better, awe-inspiring, and pain-free. 

The memories of the departed stay with us. They continue to live and bless us. 

And the person of faith lives on even if he dies. The last words I spoke to Jim were, “If I don’t see you again, Jim, I’ll see you on the other side!” 

And he looked at me, gave me half a wink, and said, “Plan on it!”

Categories: Bible, Community, Death, Faith, Humor, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized
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Remembering Ashes

May 28, 2017

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                          May 28, 2017

                               

Yesterday the ashes of a dear friend of mine were scattered from the top of a hill and wind-blown down into the valley of his grandfather’s land…a place that he loved to be in his growing up years and even when he decided he was finally an adult. His wife posted pictures from the family gathering on Facebook and my eyes watered from their effect.

It was appropriate that the family has chosen Memorial Day weekend, a time of remembering and cherishing, mourning and blessing. I’m sure that as they stood on the top of the ridge they shared stories  and Greg’s brothers recalled brother exploits of the past that have taken their places as family legends.

My soul rumbled with quivering peace to know that they had paused to remember their son, husband, dad, and brother. Remembering is underrated these days! Speeding into the unconquered future and new experiences is the lane of life most traveled.

Where we’re going, however, can not clearly be understood without a grip on the past. One school day this past year when I was teaching seventh grade social studies at the same school that Greg taught for fifteen years, I wore a pink shirt that our area basketball officials were wearing before basketball games to emphasize, and remember, that the fight against cancer is ongoing. Greg had dealt with a cancerous brain tumor for six years before his death last October. On that school day I retold his story to each class. I brought them with me on his journey that was punctuated by devastating medical reports and MRI’s of good news. We remembered together even though most of them had never known him.

Remembering is a gift. It has meaning and substance. Greg’s nine year old daughter will remember yesterday’s gathering on a ridge for the rest of her life…the scene, the smells, the words of her grandparents, uncles, and mom…and there will be a sweet humming in her soul. Losing your dad at such a young age is something that many kids never recover from. The road of healing is always shaded by the stories of remembrance.

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Community, Death, Faith, love, Nation, Parenting, Pastor, Story, Uncategorized, Youth
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Telling Stories and Telling The Story

April 10, 2015

WORDS FROM W.W.                                                              April 10, 2015

                                   

Yesterday my dad, my sister, and I went to the cemetery where my mom is buried. As we drove the hour and a half our conversation was story-filled. Dad told stories about my Uncle Milliard that had us laughing our heads off. Stories about my grandfather, Papaw Helton, were leg-slappers!

I could hear my aunts and uncles voices, saying things with their eastern Kentucky accents that are hard to imitate, although we continue to try.

Telling the stories…of my Papaw going to the chiropractor…of the very short time period my Uncle Milliard owned a Dairy Queen and knowing he was at the end of his rope when one evening he hollered out at the long line of people waiting “Doesn’t anybody eat at home any more?”…of my Uncle junior pinching my leg as we sat on the front porch swing…of my Mamaw Helton going out and just as natural as honey on a biscuit wringing the neck of a chicken, the first step in dinner preparation.

Telling the stories. We told stories to the cemetery and from the cemetery, and even at the cemetery as we paused at each grave marker of family members buried there. I was amazed to realize that my Mamaw Helton has been gone to glory for 37 years now. I was reminded of my Great Aunt Lizzie who lived to be 99 and took art classes at the local community college when she was 96. I gazed upon the military marker of my Uncle Dean and discovered that Dean was his middle name and Silas was his first name. My parents almost named me Silas, but they went for the “Dean” instead, inserted in between “William” and “Wolfe.”

Story-telling in the days of social media is a forgotten art.

It made me think about telling the story, the story of God, the story of people’s faith journeys. I hate to say it, but so often the story of God gets robbed of its impact. As I sit here and think about the stories of the Bible I’m awed.

Think of it! Jonah getting swallowed by a big fish…Paul having a viper wrapped around his arm, but charming it like a Barnum and Bailey Circus performer…the big fish stories of Jesus…Moses bringing a plague of frogs on the Egyptians.

The story of God is a totally amazing journey of faith that never gets old. My dad tells us some stories over and over again, but they never get old.

Same with the story in the Word. I read them over and over again and they never get old. Elijah’s foot speed…the Israelites walking around Jericho and blowing trumpets…Doubting Thomas…Fleecing Judas…Compulsive Peter.

As I look at my preaching on Sunday mornings I will try to keep the sacredness of the Story in mind, the specialness of the Story in my telling, and the source of the Story in my spirit.

Categories: Bible, children, Christianity, Death, Faith, Humor, Jesus, Pastor, Story, The Church, Uncategorized
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