Father Husband Best Friend

It doesn't seem quite fair that when one part of the body fails, and the rest is still as pink as a newborn, that death should stumble by. But we lost him. We all lost him. Not just those of us who knew him, but those of us who will never know him. It's a loss that goes deep, and a grief that is not lessened by faith, though we do hope to see him again. I should imagine that reunion will be full of cross-fence neighbor's, horse traders, musicians, legionnaires, along with the full complement of those who have called him sweetheart, dad, and grandpa.

We, however are left with the grieving, and in trying to answer the "why" question, talk about the "hope of glory" and the "death that has no sting" and still feel the deep loss and pain. I've often wondered why, if we have such a great hope, is the pain still so great? It just doesn't make sense to me. In fact, the only that that makes sense to me are the words of a preacher I heard once who said that we were not created for this. This is not plan A. This is plan B. That's why we do not do it well, he said. Plan B. Christ's defeat of death. The counter-attack. Perhaps victorious, but not painless.

I grew up in a pentecostal type church. It was unwritten, but understood nonetheless, that although we must grieve, that too much grieving was an indication of a weakness of faith. Many times I saw people struggle with loss while proclaiming the triumph of glory, and I wondered who really was being fooled here. But it was so entrenched that for me, it was nearly 15 years after my father's death that I really gave myself permission to let it out and grieve my losses. All those years, I just didn't know how to finish it off. It reminded me a bit of an old bird-dog that was part of the farm on which my mother grew up. Being retired from birding, and needing something to do, it began chasing rabbits. When the rabbits would go to ground, the dog did what it was trained to do ... sat down and searched the sky for them. Good beginning, just not the right conclusion.

When I was a young man, I followed a rather beautiful young lady into the Anglican Church, and found a group of people who seemed to have a better grasp of conclusions. I learned what a benediction was. I learned that there was a necessity and peace in ending. There are many loose ends to every day. Many things unattempted and others unattained, and still others accomplished at least in part. The benediction was a chance to recognize these and to put them aside to perhaps be picked up or left as the next day might dictate. And so it is, in a sense, with death. It needs to be recognized as a time to tie up the loose ends, and a chance to place a seal of approval on the deeds of that life and prepare to move ahead to the next task.

I remember one particular benediction at Camp Columbia. Instead of using a small implement and bowl, the priest used a cedar branch and a large bowl to splash us liberally with water as a sign of the spirit of God with us. He did this while praying his benediction on us. We were instructed to go to our lodgings without conversation. I can remember lying on my back looking at the clear night sky, my grateful tears wetting the pillow behind me ... and feeling at peace.

So here is my prayer for each of you that grieve. That you would take the time to seek benediction, that you would feel your Great High Priest as he liberally splashes your bowed heads, and that you would hear once again, the benediction of Jude.

"Now unto him who is able to keep you from falling, and present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding great joy. To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power  henceforth and for always ... Amen"

Roderick Beaton

Dec 30 1999