Reflections on My Friend Bruce

 A few weeks ago my friend, Bruce Harrison, went to be in the Presence of our Lord Jesus. His memorial service is going to be Saturday, January 14 in Winston - Salem. Sadly, Vickie and I cannot make the drive. I have written the following to be read during the service. 

As I reflect on what I've written, I'm reminded that just as the Book of Acts continues to be written, so does Hebrews Chapter 11. I'm also aware that I have been exceedingly blessed to know some remarkable people in my life, men and women who have been Christ to me, who have grown into Christ's Presence over the years. 

When our Father gives us friends to help us climb beyond base camp, do we really appreciate the treasures we've been given?

If it were not for my friends, I would still be in the dumpster - decaying, putrefying, and hopeless. The older I get, the more aware of this I am. 

Let me begin by quoting something I wrote to a friend a day or two after Bruce went to be in the Presence of Jesus:

 “It occurred to me yesterday that when I had coffee or a meal with Bruce in a place that he frequented, that he knew the people who worked in the establishments. He knew more than their names, he knew their families, their highs and lows, their challenges…he paid attention to them. Bruce was a former executive with a national telecommunications firm, had been with the firm for many years and knew what it was to function and communicate in the atmosphere of high leadership and management – but he washed the feet of those around him, no matter their station in life. [Certainly the “bread ministry” that he maintained in Winston – Salem was an expression of this, there was no one who Bruce Harrison considered untouchable or unlovable.]”

My friend Brucie was anchored in an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ and with Carolyn, and he loved and cared about people, he loved his family and his friends – with a love that far exceeded words by manifesting itself in myriad tangible ways.

Vickie and I have been blessed to not only know Bruce and Carolyn as friends, but we also had the blessing of working with Bruce in a fast-paced and pressurized environment. You can tell a lot about people who you work with, and Bruce was the same at work as he was when we gathered with the saints for worship and sharing God’s Word; he was the same at work as he was if we were having a nice dinner together.

Yes, yes, Bruce knew how to have fun, and…contrary to popular opinion, including my wife Vickie’s, Brucie could get me in trouble – in fact more than once he got both Mel and me in trouble…but as my Daddy would say, “It was all in fun.”

The following is something I wrote to Chris and Leah:

“While in one sense your Dad appeared to be easygoing, beneath the gentle exterior was granite when it came to Jesus Christ, his family and friends, and to faithfulness and service to those around him. He would not compromise the Gospel for man – centered religion or philosophy, nor would he consider anything that would be other than the truth, he was not a man to take the easy way out, nor was he looking for a quick fix. And may I say, that even when your Dad was disappointed in others, that I never heard a mean-spirited word come out of his mouth.

“When I think of the physical infirmities that your Dad dealt with, his patience with others and his thankful outlook on life is even more remarkable. But of course he would be the first to say that this all came from Jesus Christ; he lived and breathed Jesus. What better example of a man (and a marriage!) giving himself to Jesus Christ and others than my friend Bruce Harrison.”

When I ponder my friend Bruce, I am reminded of what missionary Jim Elliot wrote, “He is no fool, who gives what he cannot keep, to gain what he cannot lose.”

Bruce held onto people in love, while he learned to let go of things. He took others seriously, but not so much himself. Bruce knew that “the good life” is not to be found in material possessions – as much as we might enjoy them in the moment – but rather is to be found is knowing the God who loves us with all that He is and in loving and serving others.

My friend Bruce exemplified these words from 1 Corinthians Chapter 13:

“Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

When people disappointed Bruce, they ususaaly did not know it; and when others hurt Brucie, they usually didn’t know it.

With all of his heart, Bruce wanted his family and friends to know Jesus Christ.

Bruce loved Carolyn as Christ loves the Church, and he deeply loved both his immediate and extended family.

Yes, Bruce could be stubborn - no doubt about it; the best I can say about that is that the Bible teaches us that we have this treasure in jars of clay so that the beauty of Christ can be seen in us and through us – and for sure Bruce’s life pointed to Jesus Christ.

Bruce was my friend with whom I shared life, and with whom I could mutually work out thoughts and work through Biblical passages and pray. We were climbing together, tethered together, roped together – and even if we went a few weeks without speaking (which was rare), we could sense the tug of the rope in our days and nights. Sometimes he was strong for me, sometimes I was strong for him…all in Christ. Bruce was just enough older than me to be older for me…and then I was just enough younger than him to be younger for him.

I still feel the tug of our rope of friendship, the difference is that Bruce is beyond the clouds now.

It has been said that being a male is a matter of birth, and that being a man is a matter of choice – Bruce Harrison was a man, a man of courage in a world where we see little courage, a man of faithfulness in a faithless world.

A few weeks before Bruce left us I shared the chorus of a song I was working on with him, he loved it, he really loved it. I thought I was writing the song for me, as my testimony, but maybe I was writing it for him…what do you think? Here are the words:

“I’m one day closer to heaven, closer to seeing His Face.

One mile closer to the finish line, closer to His warm embrace.

My heart is beating for Jesus, forever to live with Him.

I’m one mile closer to the finish line, closer to His warm embrace.

One mile closer to the finish line, closer to His warm embrace.”

Bruce has crossed that finish line.

Will we cross it too, to be with Bruce, to be with Jesus?

What I have written is just the tip of the iceberg, the reality of what Bruce means to me is deep within my soul. I am a better man for knowing him and I hope that I will always be a good steward of what he poured into my life.

Gloria Jacobs

During the early hours of Monday, November 26, 2018, Gloria Jacobs, my dear friend, went to be with Jesus. This is a great loss to Vickie and me. While I have known Gloria since around 1989 or 1990, during the past seven years Gloria and I became exceptionally close as business colleagues and friends – as I reflect back on this, when I began working with her in 2011 we became instant friends – it was as if we had a shared history and already knew each other.

Gloria touched hundreds, if not thousands, of lives. The tears that were shed when news of her passing was relayed were many and they are still flowing.

Her relationship with Jesus Christ entered a new depth after her retirement; she read the Bible through and then said to me, “Why did I wait so long to do this?” Then she started to read it through again. While we worked together (we had adjacent offices) we had many times of prayer. These times continued during her retirement, and then mine, over the phone. I used to talk to her at least once a week; usually calling her after my Tuesday- morning men’s group. This past Tuesday felt different with no Gloria to call.

Gloria was always looking out for the disenfranchised, the people without a voice. She cared for her employees deeply, and while holding them accountable was kind and generous. If you worked for Gloria you were pretty much adopted into her family.

Gloria had the ability to interact with wealthy clients, and to politely but firmly ask drug dealers to move their business off her properties. She had properties in some of the most dangerous areas of Richmond; the good people were glad to see her and the bad people gave her room and moved away from her.

There is so much more I could say, some of which I’ll share at her memorial service this Saturday. She loved her husband Jake and daughter Susan, and was devoted to them. I am blessed that she also loved Vickie and me and that she adopted us into her family.

As you view the photo, Gloria is on my left, Deb Eure on my right. This was taken at my retirement luncheon about a year ago. Both of these women have had a powerful impact on my life - all three of us love Jesus. 

Safe

I read this today, it's by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik (1826 - 1887) - how many of us have had this experience? What does all the "stuff" in the world matter when compared to a safe relationship? A life without friendship is, I think, a life of poverty. "Stuff" cannot substitute for friendship. To have a safe friendship is to know  treasure in life; it is wealth, it is music, it it beauty - it is rare.

"Oh, the comfort— 

    the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person— 

    having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, 

    but pouring them all right out, 

    just as they are, 

    chaff and grain together; 

    certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, 

    keep what is worth keeping, 

    and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

No George

I finally made the call, I called George Will…but the number was not in service. It was the only number I had for him. Since it is not like George not to call me every few months the fact that the number is not in service may mean that he has gone to Narnia, in which case I’m sure Aslan has given him a warm reception and I have no doubt that George has put his arms around the Lion’s mane.

I tried to locate George’s son Arthur via the internet but so far with no success. I don’t know the married name of his daughter Debbie. I have been praying for Arthur and Debbie for decades; I’ve never met them or talked to them, but I’ve been praying for them. I also pray for their children and their children’s children. George would be around 80 years old right now, if he is in Narnia then I guess he probably doesn’t look 80.

I wonder if he died in the States or in Europe. He spent more time in Europe than the States. I doubt that George ever gave much thought to “cross-cultural communications,” he just used common sense and the love of Jesus to connect with people – no matter their color, no matter their language, no matter their education. We can get educated to the point we’re stupid, I really believe that. We can live so much in the head that we miss the heart, we can talk about theory so much that we forget to actually listen to people and understand them as human to human; everyone is a clinical specimen, everyone part of a demographic, this generation or that generation – what have we come to?

It bothered me that I couldn’t “connect” with George much over these past years and I am sorry that I didn’t see him but only spoke over the phone. I think it was around 1976 that I last saw him, that is 41 years, a long time. If George had changed much I couldn’t discern it, but I had changed and I think he may have always thought of me as the kid he met in 1966 or the young adult he last saw in 1976. There are times he’d say things that I would have agreed with 40 years ago but that I came to have a different perspective on and when I’d say something about those things…well… he didn’t understand – that made me feel bad, I didn’t want to cause him any angst. So I came to listen to him and not say too much if I thought what I’d say would bother him – after all, he was my elder and a significant influence on my life. I wanted to honor him whether or not we were always on the same page.

Sometimes you’re on stage with a fellow actor for a brief scene, sometimes through many acts of a play. Sometimes you reconnect on another stage and reprise your roles, sometimes you may assume new roles. Sometimes there can be a revival of a play you were in with each other years ago, but often you find you can’t go back and recapture the magic. Oh to be aware of the roles our Father has cast us in, to faithfully play our parts. To pay attention to those around us and not seek center stage for ourselves.

Well, if George has indeed left these shadowlands and gone to Narnia I’ll know where to find him when I get there, he’ll be as close to Aslan as he can possibly be; I know that for sure, for I know that George surely loved Jesus. 

A Harry Hanger Weekend

This was a Harry Hanger weekend. On Saturday afternoon we were at a graveside service in Fishersville, VA, and on Sunday afternoon at a memorial service at Third Church in Richmond, VA. My friend left a testimony and a legacy.

At the memorial service a childhood friend, whose family was instrumental in leading Harry into a relationship with Jesus, spoke. She was loving and moving. Harry’s son Hunter also spoke – his reflections on his Dad illustrated the lasting influence Harry and Elaine had on their children and grandchildren. Harry passed up more than one promotion so that he would have time with his family – that is just one element of Harry’s testimony and legacy.

It was the desire of Harry and Elaine that people hear the Gospel at both services, Buddy Childress presented Jesus at the memorial service and I did so at the graveside service. Even though Buddy and I did not talk to each other prior to the services, we both had the same tack, the only way to explain Harry’s life, and Harry and Elaine’s marriage, is Jesus Christ – they were seeing and responding to something that is invisible.

God was gracious to us in Fishersville with the weather in two ways, the first was that there was visibility going both ways over Afton Mountain – the early morning weather report indicated that there would be close to zero visibility. The second was that the rain was light – considering the storms and rain hitting the Mid-Atlantic we were most grateful for the light rain and minimal wind. It was cold, it was muddy, and the service was on a hillside – but our focus was on Harry, his family, and the Gospel and Vickie and I were grateful to be there.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned Ambrose in previous posts, if I have please forgive me. Ambrose was, of course, at both services with his wife Mary.

Twenty years ago, in Beverly, MA, I was in a morning men’s group. One of the men in the group was Ambrose. Ambrose was there (he told me Saturday in Fishersville) because Harry had been praying that he’d find a men’s group.

Shortly after meeting Harry a few years ago we were talking about Harry’s family; when he mentioned that his sister Mary lived in MA and that her husband’s name was Ambrose I said that I knew an Ambrose in MA. It was the same Ambrose – I had been in a small group with Harry’s brother-in-law years before I met Harry and Elaine. An accident? I don’t think so. 

Harry Hanger

Harry went to be with Jesus on Good Friday. His wife, Elaine, sent the following:

Our dear Harry went to be with the Lord in the early morning hours on this Good Friday. He no longer is bound by a body that was broken and a voice that could not speak. One of the last things that he was able to communicate was written last Sunday night using his finger to write on the IPad; he wrote "Great honor to be passing around Easter."

And so he did.

Of the many affinities I have with Harry are that we are of the same generation and that we came to know Jesus when we were young. For some of us, coming to know Jesus in the turbulent 1960s and early 1970s meant sorting through both societal upheaval and religious upheaval. Some of us were shaped by those times in ways that are with us today – we couldn’t help but be shaped and influenced by them.

Harry loved Jesus and the Gospel. He loved sharing the Gospel. He loved being with our Tuesday-morning small group. He had an “ear” for the Gospel; he knew when he was hearing or reading something centered on Christ, and he knew when something was not centered on Jesus Christ. His heart’s desire was that others would know the difference between God’s truth and the lies the world tells us, and in knowing the difference others would come to know Jesus Christ.

Harry had a sharp mind; quick, insightful, rapier. He also had a heart that loved and cared for others.

While Harry and I did not always share the same views on social policy, politics, and how to best view history – our love for Christ and the Gospel and for each other transcended these other things – we knew we could trust each other in “rightly dividing the Word of Truth” – in putting Jesus Christ at the center of life and teaching. Being in a small group with Harry and working through the Scriptures was like two basketball players who instinctively know what the other is thinking and is going to do. There were times when difficult subjects would arise, or someone would make a problematic statement, and Harry and I instinctively played off each other in helping others work through the question at hand. Sometimes he would take the lead, sometimes I would – with the other supporting. If things got especially interesting we’d call or email each other later in the day and replay the game video.

Working through the Bible with Harry has like having a great partner in the weight room.

Because the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is reality, and because Jesus Christ lives in His people – the eternal life of Harry Hanger is also reality, a reality that is with me – a reality that is palpable. The only explanation for the way that Harry lived is Jesus Christ – Harry lived seeing the invisible; Harry and Elaine were heirs together of the grace of life.

I am so deeply thankful for Harry…and for Elaine.

Where is George?

I haven’t heard from my friend George Will for quite a few months. Where is he? Is he dead? That’s not a thought I like to think, but I do think it. After all, he is about 80 years old now and he’s been travelling for around 51 years – pretty much ever since I met him in 1966 in Greenville, SC. When is the last time I saw him? Around 1977 in Gainesville, FL. For the past few years we’ve talked every 6 months or so, he’ll call me when he is back in the US from Europe. But I haven’t heard from him for a long time. Where is he? Is he dead?

I’m going to have to call the numbers I have for him and see if anyone answers. He has a son, Art; and a daughter, Debbie. I’ve been praying for them for years and years. They are younger than I am but I’m not sure how much younger, probably no more than 10 years.

Of course if George is dead he really isn’t dead, he is with Jesus. Now I don’t mean he is in one of those “better places” that people talk about when they don’t know what else to say. I mean come on…in a better place? That could mean a sunny beach or a river cruise on the Rhine or an ice cream store – what is this “better place” business? None of that for George – George has always been a Jesus man – a man following Jesus. You can bet that if George laid his body down, if he breathed his last breath, that he just kept on following Jesus right into heaven.

I might have disagreed with George on a lot of things, but I sure do/did agree with him that following Jesus either means everything or it means absolutely nothing – there just ain’t no logical in-between. Friends can put up with a lot of differences between them if they are sold on Jesus, sold on Him and sold-out for Him. I have met few others as sold-out for Jesus as George Will. Yes, the old boy is/was eccentric, no doubt about it – he had/has his ways – oh but how good old George loves Jesus.

I guess I’d better call those numbers this week.

Five Years – Patrick

Driving to work this morning I was thinking of Patrick Revere – today is the fifth anniversary of his death, or I could write the fifth anniversary of his entrance into heaven. Death is real for sure, but it is not lastingly real – I am reminded that Jesus Christ came to abolish death (2 Timothy) and to bring life and immortality to light through the Gospel.

Had Patrick not already been adopted I think Vickie and I would have asked him if we could adopt him. He was so good to us. He certainly loved Alice and their boys, Seth and Silas; and he certainly loved Davey and Sally. He loved others, and of course he loved animals – even snakes. I remember the time I called him because a black snake became entangled in some landscaping mesh; he came down to our house on the Zuck Homestead and carefully extricated the snake and set it free. Patrick said, “It was as if the snake knew I was trying to help it.”

The Washington Nationals have a ballplayer named Jason Werth; Vickie thinks he should cut his hair but I like his long hair the way it is because Mr. Werth reminds me of Patrick – though I will say that Patrick’s long hair was nicely kept, unlike Mr. Werth’s. Patrick loved baseball, so for now when I see Jason Werth playing I think of Patrick.

Speaking of sports, I enjoyed introducing Patrick to cricket, we watched some matches together; we shared a good laugh when in a game between Bangladesh and Sri Lanka a player dove for a ball and his pants came down beneath his underwear – that’s not something you see in baseball.

I loved reading the Bible with Patrick and talking about Jesus, I loved just being with Patrick, as did Vickie. He’d come visit just to talk, just to visit, just to be with us. Patrick was one of the most innocent and pristine people I’ve ever known, and one of the most the most thankful.

Vickie and I still feel his loss acutely and when I pray for Alice and the boys I still find myself beginning to pray for Patrick as well…after all…for years my prayer went “For Alice and Patrick and Seth and Silas.” Kind of hard to stop saying something you’ve said for so long – I’ll never really stop…because I’ll always remember and reflect…and then pray with a renewed and ever new awareness of our loss – and continuing thankfulness for the blessing of knowing Patrick and of being loved and cared for by Patrick.

When I got to the office this morning and opened my email I saw this from Sally to Vickie and me:

Hi, dear ones,

Could it be FIVE years ago today we lost Patrick? You both were such comforts during and after that time! I just can't express how much we value your sustaining arms as an expression of God. You were the first ones to know there was trouble. Then you came running when you heard our cries of grief. Vick stayed right by me when I had to make calls. Bob went with David to the hospital and upheld Alice. The funeral was the most honoring funeral I have ever experienced and poured peace into our hearts. (Did the funeral actually take place on what would have been Alice and Patrick's 16th wedding anniversary? And Vick, remember all the sewing and cooking and cleaning up?) This is going to be a hard couple of days.

This is a pilgrimage isn’t it? What a blessing and comfort to walk in this Way with those we love and who love us.

Brothers and Friends

As I reflected on this morning’s small group I thought; “In this army everyone is wounded, the good news is that we don’t all have the same wounds and so we can help each other.”

Sometimes we see our wounds, sometimes we don’t; sometimes we might even be in denial that we have wounds, sometimes we might resist treatment, sometimes we might recoil at the wounds we have been asked to treat…but since we’re all wounded… hopefully we’ll stick together and see life through together. I often remind folks that the letters of the New Testament, including the Apocalypse, were either written to groups of people (churches) or to individuals living within groups of people – life in Jesus Christ isn’t to be lived in isolation. Too bad we tend to read the Bible as if it was written to us as isolated individuals – we lose the rich texture of the words, we lose the fellowship and friendship of others, and…oh yes…we lose the accountability.

We are accustomed to practicing cubicle Christianity; show up on Sunday, sit and stand and pass the peace, maybe sit in a classroom, and leave without exposing ourselves – leave without knowing others and being known by others. Who am I? Really now…who am I? And if you don’t mind the question, really now, who are you? And perhaps more importantly, who are we? Are we friends and brothers?

Much of my past understanding of Christianity was behavioral. Act a certain way and you’ll be okay with God. The thing that I didn’t understand was that simply acting a certain way and reckoning that as Christianity was about the same as a deaf man watching someone dancing to music and then imitating the dance without hearing the music. I’ve done a lot of imitation in my life; and I’ve missed a lot of music. Even worse, much of my life I’ve expected others to dance the dance I was taught…whether or not they or I heard any music. That makes about as much sense as growing artificial plants.

Now don’t misunderstand, I deeply believe we are called to obedience to Jesus Christ and that we are called to lives of purity and self-denial – but as Jesus challenges us, purity begins within us – if we allow our Lord Jesus to work with us internally then we’ll see outward fruit.

When I was in basic training at Fort Bragg I was intrigued by the men who came from places I’d never been to, and this intrigue continued throughout my time in the Army. I always thought that Philadelphia was Philadelphia, but boy was I wrong. The guys from Philly let you know right away which side of Philly they were from, South Philly, North Philly…there was more to Philadelphia than I knew. There were Indians from the Upper Midwest and the West, Puerto Ricans from Puerto Rico and from New York City, and the list went on and on. They had different customs, different ways of speaking, different slang, even different profanities. Some were educated, some were functionally illiterate. Some drank. Some smoked. Some prayed. Some prayed and drank and smoked. Everyone prayed I imagine when crawling under live fire on the obstacle course – and we all prayed for sure when the drill sergeant was looking to make an example of one of us. It was a rich experience.

The New Testament is pretty clear that we are to be kind and longsuffering toward our brothers, and that we are to put our brothers first. The principle is clear – the execution isn’t so clear, at least not to me. I’m not sure that I’ll ever get it quite right before I leave this life on earth, and maybe that’s why I was thinking this morning that, “In this army everyone is wounded, the good news is that we don’t all have the same wounds and so we can help each other.”

Sometimes it’s hard to talk about things, and I guess that’s okay as long as we work through it and not ignore it. You never really know what you have in a relationship unless the relationship has been tested – hopefully we love each other enough to work through one another’s wounds – as putrid as they might be. Your wounds probably don’t stink…that’s nice…mine are pretty nasty – would you really love me if you got a good whiff of them? Don’t answer too quickly. I can’t stand the smell myself and I can’t imagine others could work through it – I am one stinky polecat. Just hang one of those automobile air fresheners around my neck and see if that helps.

I know we like to pretty things up – why we even try to pretty the Bible up – we pretty the English of the Bible up so we don’t offend sensibilities. A friend of mine likes to argue that we are afraid to quote what Paul really meant Philippians 3:8 (I don’t know that I agree with him, but he makes a good point). And take a look at Ezekiel Chapter 23 and ask yourself what the raw picture is that God is painting – talk about God offending our sensibilities. If we have to pretty the Bible up so as not to be offended then it makes sense that we think we have to present ourselves in a certain way so as not to offend others – thereby hiding our wounds. Hearts come first, then behavior…maybe one day I’ll actually understand that.

I love being with men who are men, who will take the risk of exposing themselves, who will take the risk of working past the wounds of others, who will take the point when needed and who will protect the flanks and rear when that is called for. Accountability is what saves a squad or a platoon, in a less dramatic fashion it is also what wins football games. A baseball player in a batting slump is a fool to turn down the observation of a coach or fellow player that the slump started when he changed his batting stance.

But even more than accountability, what saves a platoon, a squad, or a group of Christian friends and brothers is love. Psalm 133; John 13:34 – 35.

Did I mention that this morning I thought, “In this army everyone is wounded, the good news is that we don’t all have the same wounds and so we can help each other”? 

The Buffet

Two friends met for lunch at a buffet. They both got in line with their plates. When they met back at their table one friend noticed that he got ham and his friend got roast beef, then he noticed that he got mashed potatoes and his friend got sweet potatoes, then he saw that he got peas and his friend got corn; he was relieved when he saw that they both chose spaghetti, that is he was relieved until he saw that he got red sauce and his friend got white sauce.

After thinking about it briefly the friend who was making these critical observations asked why his friend didn’t choose ham or mashed potatoes or peas; and he especially wanted to know why his friend chose white sauce since everyone knows that red sauce is better. His friend responded that he really just wanted roast beef and not ham, sweet potatoes and not mashed potatoes, corn and not peas; he also shared that while there are many days that he enjoys red sauce that he had a taste for white sauce on this particular day.

The first friend insisted that his friend at least try the red sauce. When the friend refused, saying he really wasn’t in the mood for red sauce, the first friend got angry.

Now it would have been one thing if the first friend had seen someone put rat poison in the white sauce, but that wasn’t the case – there was no poison in the white sauce.

Funny how we can think and act when people don’t do what we want them to do or think the way we want them to think, as I recall it was Paul who wrote that we are not to judge another man’s servant for to his own master he stands or falls; some like red sauce, some white sauce – as long as there is no rat poison in the sauce (whatever its color) we can afford to be charitable, we need not insist that all our plates look the same. An element of friendship, it seems to me, is to appreciate our different appetites and not to elevate appetite to dogma, I think it was also Paul who somewhere wrote about the Body of Christ having many members, and needing many members…yes, I think it was Paul.

Well, maybe we’re better off just blending the sauces the next time we go through the buffet line, but is that really a solution?  

Transcendent Friendships – III

When our sister-in-law Janet was visiting us a few weeks ago and we were talking about her husband Rod (Vickie’s brother) going to be with Jesus she shared a facet of Rod’s homecoming we weren’t aware of, Rod raised his arms when he shouldn’t have been able to raise them.

We knew Rod raised his arms, but we didn’t know he shouldn’t have able to raise them. Vickie and I knew that as he was lying unconscious in his bed at home, blankets wrapped around him, friends and family at his side, that he suddenly opened his eyes, pushed the covers back, looked upward with his eyes fixed on someone or something, lifted his arms in the air…and passed from this life into the next.

What we didn’t know is that Rod had not been able to lift and stretch his arms for his entire adult life due to multiple breaks sustained as a child. Rod and Janet had consulted physicians for a remedy but the surgical options were so radical that Rod chose to live within his physical limitations rather than undergo extensive surgeries.

The people in Rod’s bedroom that morning saw Rod’s eyes open, his face light up, his eyes gaze on the unseen, and his hands and arms push back the covers; they saw him raise his arms and hands in the direction of his fixed gaze, and they saw him lay his body down and go to be with Jesus. The doctors told Rod and Janet that Rod’s death would be painful – it was not. Rod should not have awaken from his coma, he should not have opened his eyes, and he most certainly should not have raised arms which had not been raised in decades…but he did.

I hope I’ll never take for granted my ability to raise my hands and arms in praise and worship, and I hope I’ll never miss an opportunity to do so – after all, worship here is but a foretaste of worship in eternity, it is heaven invading earth, beginning with my clay vessel.

I wonder if Rod is known in heaven as “The guy who never puts his arms down.”

Transcendent Friendships – II

We’ve had a feast of friendship the past few weeks. Vickie’s stepmom, stepsister, and sister-in-law visited us for a week (Vickie had not seen them for three years and I hadn’t seen them for seven years); then we few to Cincinnati to see friends whom we had not seen in fourteen years; then a friend from Massachusetts whom we had not seen for four or five years came to see us for a long weekend – it was a kaleidoscope of joy and beauty.

Each of these friends brought joy as they refracted the light of our mutual friendship with Jesus Christ, each brought memories, each brought trust, each brought things both old and new. For me it was as if I had seen each one only yesterday – even the son of our Cincinnati friends who had been born since we last saw them seemed familiar…perhaps because from his birth he has been in our prayers?

Our Cincinnati friends remarked that they wondered how seeing us after all these years would be…and for them it was as if we just picked up a conversation from last week. Perhaps we can also attribute a measure of this to the fact that we have been mutually praying for one another through the years.

Seeing our Iowa family was sweet; Vickie’s Dad died in 2006 and her brother Rod died some fourteen years ago. I imagine that often step relations lose track of each other after the unifying family member dies, but this hasn’t been the case with Bonnie (Vickie’s stepmom) and Marsha (Vickie’s stepsister); we’ve kept in touch and looked forward to seeing them – we really had a great time! Their visit was made even nicer by Janet (Rod’s wife) coming with them – it’s great being with people who like each other.

During their visit Janet shared something about Rod that we didn’t know…it made the events surrounding his going to be with Jesus even more poignant…

 

Transcendent Friendships - I

There are annuals and then there are perennials – they both have their joy, their beauty, their glory. Unlike flora which can be readily identified as either perennial or annual, it usually takes time to know the nature of a relationship, and even then we may have a surprise or two as the years unfold.

I have a t-shirt from a business trip to San Francisco in the early 1980s; I associate the t-shirt with a man whom I met at the educational course I attended that week, I don’t remember his name but I do joyfully remember his hospitality; he was a native of San Francisco and he took me to places I would not have experienced without his hospitality. There was a favorite restaurant of his in Chinatown in which he ordered for me and another course participant dishes which were not on the menu; then there was Lefty O’Doul’s, a restaurant and bar where he purchased the green t-shirt for me as a memento. While we also saw the Golden Gate Bridge and the crooked street and rode a cable car and ate at a famous hotel, I appreciated my acquaintance’s hospitality more than anything.

I don’t wear the t-shirt for a couple of reasons; the first is that it is a memento evoking memories of a gracious and thoughtful host, the second is that the t-shirt says, “We cheat drunks and tourists”, kind of edgy and not representative of a message I care to send to the readers of attire I wear; but the main reason I have only worn it once or twice during the past 30 years is that it is a memento to me and not a piece of clothing. (I just checked Lefty’s on the web and while they still sell t-shirts they no longer appear to sell shirts advertising that they cheat drunks and tourists – I think I prefer the old and bold rather than the new and mundane).

My San Francisco host was an annual flower, annuals have their place of beauty in life and even though he bloomed for only a week in 1984 it was a bloom that gives me joy to this day.

To be continued…