Bud: See you on the other side

I have been putting this off. Perhaps for me, blogging about Bud's service of death and resurrection is an act of finality, of reluctantly acknowledging that he has really gone on. (You may remember my post about Bud that I wrote shortly after he was diagnosed with cancer. To read it, click here.)

I say this because leading this service is much different from attending such a service. Crying profusely was not really one of my choices on Monday. I was deeply honored to be a leader in the worship service, and I would not have wanted it any other way. Yet, in order to do so, I had to be somewhat detached emotionally.

So, it's Saturday... and I have not blogged in quite some time. I have had other thoughts of things to blog about, but somehow, it doesn't feel right to write about anything else until I have written about Bud.

He had become like family to me. Over the past five years, Bud was my confidant, my mentor, and my friend. Bud thought of me like a daughter and I cannot imagine any higher compliment; the feeling was mutual. Over the years, he would hint that he hoped I would be the pastor here when he crossed from this life to the next. And each time, I would pray that Bud would live to be at least 95. Bud was 83 when he died.

Bud was one of the greatest visionaries I have had the privilege of knowing. Jack Shitama, who also led the service, aptly called Bud "president of everything." He was also one of the most faithful, righteous, fruitful disciples Jesus had. Bud knew what it was to love, to forgive, and to dream God's dreams.

I can hear his voice saying so many treasured pieces of wisdom. Whenever someone would upset me, he would say "now Amy, you just have to brush it off and move on. You cannot dwell on such things. It's not worth it." He knew how to walk that talk. As someone said at his funeral, very few people got mad at Bud, but if they did, he just kept loving them until they got over it.

I was overwhelmed by the thought of writing the sermon for that day. As usual, God sorted it out for me, and it just flowed out of my fingers in onto my screen. Bud's final witness was a powerful one: Bud had a good death. Through Bud, God showed us what it is like to face death unafraid. Bud kept hearing the Lord say "just trust me." That is what Bud did. He had no regrets, no fears...he trusted. (He did appeal to the Lord for several months for more energy, but even in the face of that unanswered prayer, he received it with grace.)

Bud did not even have any pain. The cancer that started in his esophagus and spread to his liver before it was diagnosed as end stage cancer did not wrack him with pain. He and Marilyn attributed that to the power of prayer.

One of the key concepts of Christian faith in the Wesleyan tradition is the understanding of sanctifying grace. This is the grace that we receive after coming to faith; it is the grace that allows us to become more like Christ, to become more holy. We believe that it as at least possible for a person to be entirely sanctified. That is to say, it is possible to be made perfect in love, to love as Christ loves.

It is not mine to judge whether Bud was entirely sanctified. Bud I can certainly say that if I were asked to name one person who I thought might fit the bill, Bud would be the one. He knew how to love, he knew how to forgive, and he followed Christ with complete devotion.

Bud passed peacefully from this side of the Jordan to the other. Even as I grieve the loss of his presence here, I am trying to hold onto the comfort of knowing that in Christ, Bud lives on.

See you on the other side.

Pain

I recently saw an acquaintance whom I have met perhaps three times in the past ten years. He and I share something of a common bond, in that he was once an ordained member of my denomination. He now works in a different field, after being called in an entirely different direction. As you would expect, pastoral ministry comes up in our conversations whenever we cross paths.

This time, he said a few things that have stayed with me. First, he commented that the work he does now (which I would not consider low stress) is nothing compared to the stress of pastoral ministry. His words were "I have never done anything harder in my life." The second was that he said "it's amazing how nobody has any problems once you stop being a pastor....everybody is doing just fine." Then he commented that he misses the sense of connection that he shared with church folks when he was a pastor. (I did wonder later what his current church community life is like; I didn't ask.)

His words have stayed with me for a few weeks. The underlying premise of them is this: the bonds between people in a community of faith are rooted in soil that is heavily fertilized by shared pain. As much as I rail against this truth, as much as I really don't like this truth because pain is just so painful, the premise rings true.

These past few weeks have been especially pain filled. Some who are reading this blog will think immediately of a painful situation we are facing in our community. That is a big part of what is on my heart, but that is not the only pain to which I am referring.

Part of what it means to be an active part of a community of faith, is sharing life together... the joys, celebrations, love, peace, hope, and shared purpose....and the pain, grief, sorrow, anger, doubt, and fear. There is a seldom a week that goes by that my heart does not break with someone as they share something that is happening or has happened in their lives. I think the most difficult pain is the old pain that has been nursed and nurtured for years, even decades, for this means that God's healing grace and forgiveness has not penetrated the pain, and it has been allowed to have transforming effects on the person's whole life.

Of all of the people whose lives I have been given the privilege of sharing in large or small ways, I have yet to find someone who has not experienced emotional pain. It is a part of being alive.

I have to say that right now, today, I am feeling worn out by it. I wish with every fiber of my being I could be free from experiencing my own pain, and free from feeling the pain of others. Sometimes I think that the spiritual gift of compassion is just exhausting. Yet I know that God uses it.

I am thinking of two passages of Scripture. The first is from the beatitudes in Matthew, which Jesus preached during the sermon on the mount. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." (Matthew 5:3-4). Also my favorite verse from 2Cor.12:9: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

I know that God is working through the pain to bring redemption. I keep reminding myself there is no resurrection without a crucifixion; that Christ is most powerful when I am weak and depending upon him.

So I am holding onto hope, onto God's promises, and God's presence. I am grateful for God's care for me in the form of my family, and my church family. I have no idea how people survive without a community of faith....yet I can understand the urge to try to lead a less painful, less complicated life by steering clear of such relationships. I suppose that is the irony; although more relationships in the form of a community of faith certainly bring more opportunities for pain, they are also the only source I know of the path toward healing and wholeness. That seems to be a part of the mystery of God.

As I was preparing for my sermon last week, I came across a Wendell Barry poem that ends with the line "practice resurrection."

One of the lines says "expect the end of the world." I read today a line in a magazine that said "look at life as a terminal illness and live it to the fullest." Grim as those words may sound, they are also ringing true to me. I am going to enjoy myself as much as humanly possible today.

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head.
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Journey

I had an interesting conversation about "journey" language. Two clergy colleagues were talking about why they dislike this language. One simply because he abhors buzz words, a trait he inherited from his mother. She ranted one day that everywhere she goes, she is told she on a journey... in her faith, in her job, at Weight Watchers, everywhere. "I have a life, not a journey!"

I have always thought of journey language as a great way to describe the spiritual life because it puts emphasis on the present moment, and the process, rather than upon arriving somewhere. When I say the life of faith is a journey, I mean that I expect it will always be a journey with Christ.

The other person in the conversation interprets journey language in the opposite way- since a journey implies a destination, she hears it as implying that right now is not so important and arriving somewhere else is what life is all about....which is of course not what the life of faith is all about. And I agree.

Interesting how we both largely agree that emphasizing arriving somewhere else devalues the spiritual life... and yet use different language to emphasize this. Language is such tricky and important stuff.

We also realized that part of our difference does stem from our different faith traditions. Her Lutheran tradition emphasizes justifying grace- the grace that brings us to faith in Christ. My Wesleyan/Methodist heritage emphasizes sanctifying grace as much or more than justifying grace.

In fact, the emphasis on sanctifying grace, also known as Christian Perfection, is one of the significant contributions of Methodism to the Christian conversation. This is the doctrine that teaches that it as least possible for God to so sanctify a disciple so that the disciple becomes able to love as Christ loves...to be made perfect in love.

One of the questions asked of me when I was ordained was "do you believe that you are going onto perfection?" and my reply was "by the grace of God, I do so believe."

So even though I am loathe to devalue the present moment, for that is the only moment in which God is present to me right now, I do have a sense of growing and changing along the way. I do earnestly look forward to being more like Christ, and try to match my will to God's through spiritual practices.

I would never want to devalue the present for a "grass is always greener" mentality that is so much a part of the consumerist culture.

Yet for me, journey language accomplishes both the task of communicating that life is a daily experience to cherish and a process of growing and changing along the way.