Monday, August 8, 2011


Sunday morning, as Beth and I drove out to church, we passed through the intersection where two people, a young couple in their late twenties, lost their life Friday afternoon in a collision, no error on their part, just in the wrong spot at the wrong time. Now, with the sun not quite yet risen enough over the hills to claim our neck of the words, there was a car parked, just around the corner and to the side, an older man leaning against the guard rail, his arms folded across his chest, the flowers and memorials gathered there no doubt providing some sort of last desperate attempt to hold on to what so quickly was taken from him. In his eyes was a grief that came up out of his belly, an immovable knife in his gut, a realization that there was no going back, no way to change anything, no tomorrow that made sense…. I sat Sunday evening in a worship service, one that ministered to me, personally, with not much more “feeling” than what was gained earlier. It is not a mental attitude, at least not at this stage of the journey. There’s an understanding in me that time, itself, accounts for a natural sort of evolution, the generational shift giving birth to different tastes, different views; and it makes me happy to see my daughters and my grandchildren not just attending, but also involved in ministries. Still, what I seek to know in the midst of any interaction with fellow believers is much akin to what I saw there in the countenance of that father described above, not just an emotional state of mind, but an internal connection with reality. It may sound a bit strange, but sorrow, real sorrow, and joy, peace, praise and prayer – all come up out of that well deep within us, an oasis we fall into, rather than a flow we, ourselves, try to produce. You learn that along the way. Communion was special for me last night……

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