David
I wrote this column in April, 2009, following the funeral of a friend. I add it to this blog because, well, I want to keep it around.
I would tell the truth here if I knew what it was.
This is what I do know: An old friend is dead. Kathy, Stephen, Matt and I went to his memorial service Saturday and sat among a church full of people, all of whom, I suspect, were as confused and anguished as we were.
And I know this: David was exceptionally talented, a gifted preacher, a funny and delightful friend for 20 years, a caring husband, a loving father, a trusted and beloved pastor. Every one of us in that church Saturday loved him.
And I know this: David betrayed his wife, ultimately failed his children, lied to his friends, and violated the trust of the church. And every one of us in that church Saturday loved him.
We sat in the historic sanctuary of Mulberry Street UMC in Macon—preachers, lay people, family, friends—looking toward the elegant altar and impressive pulpit, embraced in our shared solitude by magnificent stained glass windows. Through the years, I wonder, how many saints have been celebrated in that place? And how many times has the truth been this elusive?
The eulogists were eloquent, speaking from the heart, sharing memories, proclaiming the gospel. They expressed their faith and their grief and sought to comfort the rest of us and themselves. But all the words in the world couldn’t have lifted into the light the awful and the ineffable filling that room. It was as though someone had shattered one of those great windows, and the pieces, now just jagged jumbled colors, were scattered among us. The speakers did what they could. They picked through the shards of possibilities and spoke of a life that once had been so beautiful.
All of us there brought into that holy place wonderful memories of David, as well as our personal lists of questions no one there could answer. We sat grasping at straws, splitting hairs, looking for loopholes, stifling doubts, hoping for hope, and swallowing tears of anger and tears of grief (they taste the same).
And all the while, surrounding us, silent, was the great story, frozen in glass.
I looked around at those windows. There was Mary with the angel Gabriel; the shepherds and magi in awe; Jesus with the children; Jesus with Mary and Martha; Jesus alone in prayer. The one kneeling in Gethsemane, he understands what we cannot, doesn’t he? And, there, the one raised in glory, can he bring new life out of this death? I hope and trust that he can.
But while faith and hope await their answers, I’ll settle for what I know. Tucked away in Paul’s glorious hymn of 1 Corinthians 13 is a simple, magnificent statement: “Love never ends.” On Saturday, it was the one truth all of us in that sanctuary could affirm and the divine promise to which we clung.
This was great to read. I was wondering if you have ever read Ender’s Game. There is a sequel book called The Speaker of the Dead. In it the main character is entrusted to tell the truth–the whole truth of those that have passed away. It was very interesting because so often we want to glamorize what is not glamorous and glaze over what seems most pungent. Really, it makes me wonder how Jesus would give a eulogy.
This is a great article. I remember when you first told us about David. Carson talks about The Speaker of the Dead (the whole series is great!), but Carson wrote a song that is one of my favorites that I think fits such love and mystery. The song is called All We Can Say. You should get him to let you hear it!
Itoo feel that I have lost a helpful friend. I had prayed for him many times. Often especially ministers have great problems and we do not suround them with the prayer we could. They seem so strong. Then there comes a time when it is to late.Who is the Pastor’s Pastor? The Bishop is his boss and who would go to him with a weakness and need? It is the opportunity of the people he serves to keep him in their prayers. Hopefully we will do this.