What Just Happened?

Today, I was part of something that I never dreamed I would be a part of, in fact, my dreams would most likely never hold something quite like this.  Dreams are usually things we wish for and I would have never wished for this, for myself, and especially not for my friends and their family.  I officiated a funeral that I wish I had never had to officiate.  I'm not sure anyone would have been happy to officiate the funeral of a 6 month old whose first symptoms of sickness started on Thanksgiving Day, who received a diagnosis a few weeks later, and passed away exactly three weeks from the date of diagnosis.

But that's what today held.  How does one walk into a room to see a precious little angel, dressed in his comfy pajamas, looking as if he is asleep within a casket that should never have been made, should never have been needed?  How does one face over two hundred people while continually glancing down to see the face of this precious angel?  How does one find hope in the midst of tragedy that is seemingly devastating?

For someone like me who speaks in public regularly, is it possible that something could be a privilege and a nightmare at once?  Anyone who knows me knows that what you see is what you get, and I know that those who consider me a friend appreciate this as one of my finer qualities.  Those who don't consider me a friend are most likely offended by it, and that's fine, they can continue to hang around with people who placate them and tell them all the things that they want to hear. 

For some reason, even knowing me as he does, my friend, Henry, asked me to officiate the funeral for his precious baby boy today.  Friends are there for each other, through thick and thin, in good times and in bad (don't worry, I'm not trying to summon my innermost Stevie Wonder with a stirring rendition of "That's What Friends Are For"), they run towards you when everyone else is running in the opposite direction.  That's the kind of friend that Henry has been to me, so how could I refuse a friend?

As I watched the events of the day unfold before my eyes, I saw hundreds of people file into the chapel of a funeral home to show their love and support for a couple whose experience was atrocious.  In spite of my own desire to numbly walk through the day, to avoid all emotions and simply get through, I knew that I could not let myself do it.  I had to be engaged, I had to be a part of it, I had to be present within every moment possible.  I needed to be there for my friend.  And that's just what I did.

What I saw was astounding.  I saw hundreds of people come together under crummy circumstances and experience love.  I saw a little boy with an infectious smile, taken away much too early, be the driving force that brought people together to hear the story of a family, a family whose world had been shattered, a family that despite their shattering circumstances, was held together by love.  I heard the story about people who had shared and experienced that love, in a place and during a time where it never would be suspected that it could exist.

I heard stories of neighbors reaching out, of doctors giving up 1, 2, and 3 of their free days to be with a family in need, of fellow workers and friends who offered themselves for anything that was needed, of nurses exhibiting the kind of love and sensitivity that was necessary for such a delicate moment.  I heard stories of pain, watched countless tears be shed, and managed to shed more than my own fair share as well.

And at the end of the day, I was still standing.  Somehow, God had given me words.  Somehow, I was able to speak.  Somehow, a broken vessel like me was able to share a little bit of God's grace with others.  Somehow, in the midst of tragedy and questions, it was still evident that God was there, that He had not left, that He did indeed care, and that we were not alone.  It was still evident that part of what He gives us is each other.

The journey has just begun for my friend and his family.  It will be long and winding, it will be dark and stormy, but I know that they are not alone.  They are surrounded by good people, and despite popular belief, they are being held by a good God.

As I walked through this day, hesitant to feel the emotions that it held, I began to see glimpses of God everywhere I looked.  Instead of destroying faith, somehow this situation had restored faith in little pockets in the places where I looked.  I certainly wish that restored faith could have come under better circumstances, but somehow tragedy brought us to a place where faith seemed to be the only thing that was left.

Today is a day that I will never forget.  That my friend allowed me to share my thoughts in the midst of his grief was a privilege that I would rather not have been afforded simply because I wish the grief had never happened.  But it did, and we can't change that now.  As I said to Henry and his family, the legacy of Connor is being passed on to others, already they have begun to raise money to support research in order that a horrible disease might be eradicated.  You can find out more about that if you follow this link: http://www.jackandabby.org/

What just happened?  I experienced something that was beautifully tragic or tragically beautiful, not sure which one.  I experienced a life cut short after six months make more of an impact than some lives lived over the course of many years.  Today and every day moving forward, I will hug my children a little longer, I will linger on that kiss with my wife, I will savor the mess if it means an extra minute with my baby girl, I will soak in the moments that are before me, not rushing past them because I never know when they might be gone.  I guess what happened is nothing short of a miracle.

(Here's a picture of the balloons that were released in honor and memory of Connor.  I like the butterfly one on the far left)

Big Faith?

As I continue to wrestle through my friend's loss of their 6 month old baby, I was struck by a comment that I saw on Facebook.  It had to do with faith being restored and it really made me think.  How do we restore our faith when it seems that we've lost it?  How do regain something that we know that we once had yet has seemed to wane?

Over the last few days, I've been drawn to Matthew 17, 18, and 19.  Jesus has many interactions in these chapters with children.  In chapter 17, Jesus heals a boy who is demon-possessed.  In chapter 18, Jesus invites a little child to stand before him and explains that the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who become like little children.  In chapter 19, Jesus' disciples get a little testy when little children are brought before him.  But Jesus says to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

I have always been struck by the parallel passage of the demon-possessed boy of Matthew 17 in Mark 9 because of the difference in what Mark records there.  When the father brings his son and Jesus begins to ask him questions, the father says, "But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us."  Jesus' answer comes across a little brash as he reiterates the man's words and repeats, "'If you can'?"  He goes on to say that everything is possible for him who believes.  The father's answer, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief."

I can't even begin to recount how many times over the last few years that I have had to go back to this passage.  I've said or prayed the phrase, "I believe but help my unbelief" so many times that it's hard to count.  But Matthew's account of this story is an encouragement to me and should be to all whose faith seems insignificant and small.  Jesus says, "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move.  Nothing will be impossible for you."

Once upon a time, I preached a sermon on this passage and I remember handing out mustard seeds to the congregation.  If you've never seen one before, you can see them in the picture here.  They are fairly small and insignificant, but elsewhere in Scripture, Jesus talks about how small they are and yet they grow to be fairly large trees (Matthew 13).

The thing is, that's all that we need, just a small amount of faith.  There are times that people might look at me and think that my faith is so large, and yet I feel that it's equivalent to the size of a mustard seed.  And Jesus says that's all that we need, because faith grows.  It might start small and insignificant, but over time, it grows and flourishes if it's fed and nurtured.

It's hard to muster up faith in the midst of trial and tragedy, but all that we need is a mustard seed's worth.  God can take that small seed and grow it into something magnificent.  We might believe and still feel overwhelmed with unbelief, but God can handle that, He can meet us there and handle those doubts, those questions, and that unbelief.

Where's your faith?  How big does it seem to you?  You don't need much, only a mustard seed's worth, and it can grow.  Mine has felt insignificant and small many times in my life, but it can always be restored, somehow, some way.

Faith Without Answers?

A good friend of mine lost his six month old son last night.  A few weeks back, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  They did surgery but were unable to get the entire tumor as part of it was in the brain stem.  After a spinal tap on Friday, they determined that the cancer had spread throughout the brain and the spinal cord.  They lost him a little more than 24 hours later.

Back in July, I had the privilege to visit my friends and their newborn in the NICU up in Reston where they live.  Little Connor was struggling and I had the privilege of baptizing him while we were there in the NICU.  I won't soon forget that experience which seems that much more poignant now considering the circumstances.

When my friend called me with the news of the diagnosis on Saturday, I had just finished a morning together with the staff with whom I work.  It was an encouraging time of growth and sharing for us and I was feeling pretty good as I headed to my car.  Funny how life can change on a dime, in an instant.  I told my friend that while I might be pretty good with words in other circumstances, I couldn't find the right words nor did I feel that any would be appropriate.  I just told him that I loved him and his family and that I was here.

This friend made the trip to Williamsburg a year and a half ago when my mom died.  He is a true friend who has always been there and has such a gentle spirit.  Part of what hurts me the most about this is the fact that he and his family are hurting.

We live in a society of instant answers.  We can hop on the internet on our smartphones and have access to all kinds of information.  We are not a society that likes to wait for much of anything.  But at times like this, answers certainly don't flood in, and if they do, they feel too forced and trite, too robotic and insensitive.

When my mom died, I found great comfort in Romans 8.  Paul's words regarding the impact of sin on creation helped me to realize that all that my mom had experienced was not really part of God's original intention.  Sin and pain were not originally intended by God for His creation.  My mom was nearly 73 when she died, but theology falters when you move to the opposite side of the spectrum.

How many times I have heard someone say that a parent should never have to bury their child.  It's a phrase that rings in my head and yet all of us have seen it happen.  Just last month we saw 20 families who had to say good bye to their children.  And in the midst of it all, we ask ourselves, "Why?"  Why did it happen?  Where was God?  Couldn't He have intervened?

My struggles continue as I think back to those first few days and weeks in the NICU for Connor.  Why did the family have to go through all of that only to experience this 6 months later?

Like I said, answers escape me.  I don't have answers that seem adequate to me.  I know that Connor was loved so much by an incredible family in his 6 months on earth.  I know that his brothers adored him and that all of his aunts, uncles, cousins, and other relatives were enamored with him.  I know his mom and dad accepted him as an incredible gift, even if it was for 6 short months.  Tennyson's words for his friend ring in my ears when I think this through:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;

I feel it when I sorrow most;

'Tis better to have loved and lost

Than never to have loved at all.

It's been going on 2 years since I lost my mom, and while the situation is very different, there are days when it still feels so fresh.  But that's the impact of love, it lasts long after we think it does, if we truly give ourselves fully to another in love.  Even though it's been nearly 2 years since I lost my mom, I still put reminders of her all around.  In fact, my wife just gave me a framed collage for Christmas with pictures of her from all different moments in her life.

While some might label this prolonged grief, I call it remembering.  My mom made an incredible impact in my life and I want that to become a legacy.  Connor made an incredible impact in his life, albeit a short life, and I know that his family will want nothing more than to pass on that love and legacy to others.

Even through this, I still hold onto faith in God.  Many may criticize me for it, many may call it a crutch, but I have seen too much in my life, good and bad, to believe in coincidence.  I don't have answers, but I trust that God does and I believe that He's much bigger than me.  The words of Psalm 131 resonate:

My heart is not proud, O Lord,
    my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
    or things too wonderful for me.
But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
    like a weaned child with its mother,
    like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, put your hope in the Lord
    both now and forevermore.

So, wherever you are, whoever you are, whatever you are experiencing, I still believe that there is hope out there.  There might not be adequate answers, but I believe in hope and I believe in a God of hope and peace. 

Romans 15:13

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Room For Doubt

Reading through the Bible, there are books within my own that get a lot of wear and tear.  The Psalms are a constant source of comfort to me.  I find myself in Paul's letters a lot for encouragement and teaching as well.  There are some books within the Bible that, while I don't avoid them, they just don't get a lot of airtime.

A few months ago, I remembered a verse in the book of Jude, a very short 25 verse long book.  A friend had brought one of the verses in Jude to my attention years ago in a conversation.  Jude 3 says, "Dear friends, although I was very eager to write to you about the salvation we share, I felt compelled to write and urge you to contend for the faith that was once for all entrusted to God’s holy people."  After constantly stumbling upon this verse and remembering our conversation, I was led back to Jude to see what other insights that it might hold.

Over the past few months, I have read through Jude a number of times, at least once a month if not more frequently.  The beauty of Scripture, to me, is that there is new insight to be gleaned every time that I read it.  I am constantly amazed at how I can read something hundreds of time and one day, I read it and notice something that I had never noticed before.

That very thing happened to be this morning as I found myself again reading through Jude.  Jude 22 says, "Be merciful to those who doubt."  I really stopped on that verse and began to think about it.  There is an ancient practice of Scripture reading called Lectio Divina in which the Word of God is read, meditated upon, prayed upon, and then contemplated.  As I read through Jude this morning, I felt like I hit the brakes when I read this verse.  It was a moment for meditation, reflection, and contemplation.

I have wrestled with doubt in my life.  It was far greater when I was younger, but every once in a while, I still find myself having questions and doubts.  They are more to do with what I am doing and where I am going, though the occasional "existence of God" doubts can sometimes take center stage.

This morning as I read through Jude and stumbled upon this verse, I began to think about so many people who had decried doubt as if it were a sin.  As we read through the overall narrative of Scripture, we encounter many people who have had their fair share of doubt.  I recall the man whose son was possessed by a spirit who said to Jesus, "I believe, help my unbelief."  I recall the disciple, Thomas, who needed to put his hands onto the wounds of Jesus after he rose from the dead in order to fully believe.  Those are just two cases, but there were others who doubted, who struggled to hold onto faith.

It is a myth to say that the Christian life is all rainbows and roses.  While some may criticize me for having a "doom and gloom" approach towards life with a statement like that, I'm only basing it on what Jesus said to his followers.  He specifically told them that in this world they would have trouble.  He told them that he had been persecuted and they should expect to be persecuted just as he was.  But he never left it there.  When he told them that they would have trouble in this world, he told them that he had overcome the world (John 16:33).

Doubt isn't a bad thing, it's what we do with that doubt.  Do we let it plague us, pull us down, overtake us?  Or do we wrestle with it and seek answers in the midst of it?  Job went through a crisis of faith, rightfully so, who wouldn't experience the depths of loss that he experienced and not go through a crisis of faith?  He eventually heard from God who set him straight and restored what he had lost.

We will doubt.  When we do, be careful not to listen to the voices of those who would cry against it.  Amidst our doubt, we serve and know a God who can hold that doubt, who is big enough to handle when His children struggle with their faith and questions along life's journey.  There is room for doubt in this life, it's just a question of what we do with it.

We will also encounter others who doubt, and despite the journey that we have been through that has brought us to our current place, others have not necessarily had similar circumstances and experiences.  What may seem logical to one may seem impossible to another.  As we encounter those who wrestle with doubt, we aren't called to beat them over the head with our experiences or what we have come to believe and know as truth, we are called to love and to be merciful to them.  If we have doubts, wouldn't we hope to have others be merciful to us?

There is room for dialogue and conversation in doubt, if we would only stop and find the time to engage in these things.  As we talk and converse, wrestling with our doubt, the ministry of presence from others as well as the mercy that they are called to can help us through these doubts.  Remember Job and his friends, while they ministered to him with their presence, some of their advice was less than sound.  A conversation requires both sides to be engaged in order to be fully successful.

The doubts that I have experienced are not behind me, one day they will rear their heads again, but how I handle them is my choice.  If I handle them honestly, they can be used for strengthening, rather than weakening my faith.  May we allow our times of doubt the opportunity to strengthen our faith.  God is big enough to handle our doubt, don't let anyone tell you differently.