March 8, 2007

• Rest and See

  
  

  Death,
  

  that
  elusive enemy,
  

  that greedy grabber,
  

  has taken a dear old friend. 

  
  

  Saturday I
  received an email from Dick Matthews (so I thought).  The title of the email was
  

  I fought the
  fight, I finished the race!
  

  The message
  written by his son Jim
  told the story of the journey to his final breath. 
  

  “In a room filled with love for him,
  with
  singing and prayers,
  he finished the race with dignity and peace.” 

  
  

  
  

  Let me tell you about the man whom I called Dad. He was a father to the fatherless, a comforter
  to the wounded, a giant who gave of himself to help others.  He and his wife have touched the lives of many, many people.
  

  My encounter with him began in 1975.  I was attending a small Bible College
  and he was on the faculty.  I had bottled-up
  grief from the death of my mom, was headed toward estrangement with my father
  and step-mother; I assumed with an unacknowledged arrogance that I was “just
  fine”.  One day he called me into his
  office and began to gently probe, asking honest questions.  The howling pain in response to a few simple
  questions made it apparent to both of us that Things Were Not Okay.

  So began
  the work of opening scabbed-over wounds, clearing through the debris of myths
  and the pus of wrong-thinking.  Gently, so
  gently he ministered to my spirit. With great care he inflicted pain, working
  slowly to remove the infected parts and clean up the areas surrounding them. He
  prayed, he ranted, he explained, he cried – in short, he was both a surgeon
  wielding the knife and a chaplain holding my hand.

  Dick and
  Mary (Dad and Mom) invited me to live in their home after my year of studies
  was completed.  Only God knows what I was
  protected from by having a Dad and Mom to come home to, instead of being a 19
  year old girl on my own in LA.  That year
  living with the Matthews was like a super-vitamin D treatment for the soul.  The daily drizzle of their love, the solid
  comfort of living in a tension-free home, the sore stomach muscles from deep
  belly laughter around the dinner table – all of this gave me a security and
  stability which helped to shape the course of my life.  I grew and flourished in the rich nourishing
  culture of family life.

  I had the
  perfect opportunity to witness those snarky interactions that take place in the
  privacy of the home; except that Dad and Mom were extremely deficient in
  snarkiness.  My antennae were up for
  signs of disingenuousness, especially in their interactions with their own children.  Their son and three daughters love them and
  to this day are loyal and devoted.  One
  tradition I’ve always admired is their annual vacation together with their
  grown kids.  In the midst of Christian
  ministry they worked at keeping their family priorities.      

  At some
  undefined point our relationship developed to dear, old friends.  With the advent of email, we took up the loose
  ends of friendship and began knitting, so to speak.  He would send his son’s powerful writing; I
  responded.  I sent one of my son’s essays;
  he responded.  He mailed me his
  autobiography; I sent him weekly emails.  We shared photos.  He encouraged me, sent me quotes, and asked me
  questions.  I have a folder full of these
  lovely traces of our friendship, pieces of the quilt we were knitting.  Dad had a phrase that he loved to repeat: “Lord,
  have mercy.”  Kyrie
  eleison.  God’s mercy has indeed been manifest throughout his life.
  

  Christ’s resurrection
  heralded
  an eternal rest
  both for the spirit
  and for the body.
  On that day we shall
  rest and see,
  see and love,
  love and praise—
  for this is to be
  the end without the
  end
  of all our living,
  that Kingdom without
  end,
  the real goal of our
  present life.

  ~  Augustine

  I will praise my dear Redeemer,
  His triumphant pow’r I’ll tell,
  How the victory He giveth
  Over sin, and death, and hell.

  ~ James McGranahan
  

  
  

  • 7:46 pm
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