Jennifer and I just returned from a visit to Nigeria were we attended the burial ceremony of my father Cyril. It was indeed a glorious celebration of life. At 90, my father lived a full life (if there is anything like that). And so his funeral was occasion for a joyful Anglican Church service, attended by a congregation of more than 700, followed by a post burial fanfare of cultural dances.
Gone is this great man who gave me life. Watching his shinny-golden casket brought a flash of memories and images of the wonderful father he was to me. Gosh! Could I but be a fraction of what he was to me to my sons! Like I could hear him celebrating in the words of Paul to his 'son' Timothy-"...the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fit. I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me a crown of righteousness..." (2 Tim. 4:7-8).
That is my message here. The sweet paradox of death in the Christian faith is that it opens the doors of new beginnings. For my father, your loved ones and all the faithful s who die in The Lord, the door of endless life in eternity with Christ is opened. Survivors on their part are faced with new realities- gaps to be filled, new responsibilities, readjustments in family dynamics, and so on.
We realize that we deny ourselves the benefits of the opportunities presented by these new beginnings when we hang unto and fail to let go of what is passing. The season of advent not only marks the beginning of the church year, it's message of Hope, Joy, Love and Peace remind us of the promise of a new Messianic order.
As a generation, we live in an era of massive institutional and corporate failings and disappointment. Though painful, our challenges are fresh opportunities of grace. They underscore the beauty of our faith. Christ incorporated us heirs of His kingdom through His atoning death and glorious resurrection. Through His death, we have hope of new and everlasting life with Him-hope of a new beginning. Lo,He Comes
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Molly’s Arthritis
Last Sunday at the church, we were all moved by the beautiful sermon Suzanne preached. I'm sure I was. So, without diminishing the overall effect of the words broken from the pulpit, I’d love here to speak about a part of it which brought the whole sermon together for me. I was touched by the simple but deeply rich parable she shared about Molly(?). Remember Molly’s Arthritis? Amazing how some of these simple stories of live drive home the whole message. Here’s the story:
Molly (a little old lady) was making her usual visit to her local post office one afternoon. Unfortunately, there was a long queue of customers waiting to do business that day. Wanting to be helpful, someone pointed Molly’s attention to the stamp machine, since her reason for waiting in that long line was presumably just in order to get some stamps. “Thank you, but no,” said Molly, and as if she wanted to pass a polite joke Molly added what is actually a profound reality: “the machine will not ask me about my arthritis.”
What a powerful story this is! Got me thinking about my first ‘encounter’ with arthritis. Growing up, I remember my mother’s swollen knees and ankles, the pain in her face as she laboured to walk in slowed steps and often with a limp. Though my young mind couldn’t quite grasp it all, I felt her pain. Somehow, I also foolishly felt a different kind of pain-disappointment if you like from living through the arthritis experience with my mother.
My grouse came from times when my mother would ask that I massaged her swollen knees and ankles with a local ointment meant to sooth pains. Of course, my young limbs were never idle. For me, such requests always meant a disrupted soccer game, or times away from my favorite television shows and so on.
How like a child I was! Is it not true that mama could have applied the ointment herself if she so wanted? Could there have been more reasons as to why she asked her many children-ten of us in all- to take turns at different times massaging her arthritic knees and ankles? Indeed it may have been more about the joy of human touch and relationship. “Sigh.” What a beautiful community we’ll make together when/where we recognize that the most effective of stamp machines will never ask Molly about her arthritis?
Whose “ARTHRITIS"” might you need to ask about or give a loving touch today?
Molly (a little old lady) was making her usual visit to her local post office one afternoon. Unfortunately, there was a long queue of customers waiting to do business that day. Wanting to be helpful, someone pointed Molly’s attention to the stamp machine, since her reason for waiting in that long line was presumably just in order to get some stamps. “Thank you, but no,” said Molly, and as if she wanted to pass a polite joke Molly added what is actually a profound reality: “the machine will not ask me about my arthritis.”
What a powerful story this is! Got me thinking about my first ‘encounter’ with arthritis. Growing up, I remember my mother’s swollen knees and ankles, the pain in her face as she laboured to walk in slowed steps and often with a limp. Though my young mind couldn’t quite grasp it all, I felt her pain. Somehow, I also foolishly felt a different kind of pain-disappointment if you like from living through the arthritis experience with my mother.
My grouse came from times when my mother would ask that I massaged her swollen knees and ankles with a local ointment meant to sooth pains. Of course, my young limbs were never idle. For me, such requests always meant a disrupted soccer game, or times away from my favorite television shows and so on.
How like a child I was! Is it not true that mama could have applied the ointment herself if she so wanted? Could there have been more reasons as to why she asked her many children-ten of us in all- to take turns at different times massaging her arthritic knees and ankles? Indeed it may have been more about the joy of human touch and relationship. “Sigh.” What a beautiful community we’ll make together when/where we recognize that the most effective of stamp machines will never ask Molly about her arthritis?
Whose “ARTHRITIS"” might you need to ask about or give a loving touch today?
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