Only Good-byes
I’ve been watching because I knew that the time was
close. Yesterday I spent enough time out
in the yard to be pretty certain. This
morning, I sipped my coffee looking out at the bird feeders. The activity was high, with redwing
blackbirds, red polls, chickadees and gold finches. The cowbirds and kinglets that have appeared
in the last week, week and a half were well-represented. And of course, the cardinals and blue jays
that are year-round residents were mixed in.
But, clearly the juncos have finally pulled up stakes and returned to
the spruce forests of Canada.
They always show up in the fall just after the last of
the migrating songbirds have headed south for the winter. There were many frigid days when the juncos
were about the only sign of life in the yard.
Even though they appear at the feeders well-ahead of the first
snowflakes, they are never in too much of a hurry to head back north. Even here, the snow has long-since melted and
there have been enough sunny and warming days to convince most of our summer residents
to return, the juncos have remained. However,
without a sighting in at least the last three days, it looks like they have
finally been convinced that the risk is worth taking and they have taken it.
Yesterday I met a family at the cemetery to help lay
to rest one of their own. I have a
number of friends who shake their heads and comment, “I don’t know how you can
do funerals and stuff like that. Isn’t
that depressing?” I can’t say that it
was something that I was looking forward to during diaconate formation, but I
have found that it usually brings me inner peace. Actually, there is one particular phrase in
the committal service that always reassures me. “In sure and certain hope of
the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
We do not hope as in the concept of wishing that something
may be so. That kind of hope is merely
an emotion. Paragraph 1817 of the Catechism
states: “Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of
heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ's
promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of
the Holy Spirit.” This kind of hope
does not come from a mere internal desire.
It is rooted in the proven love and power of God. It is sure and certain.
The timing of yesterday’s committal service was good
timing for me. Thirty-two years ago
today, actually almost to the moments as I write this, my telephone rang. It was my brother telling me that I needed to
come to my father’s house as soon as possible because something bad happened. I remember clearly how my heart sank to see the
hearse pulled into the driveway.
My brother-in-law Ron came out to me as I got out of
my car. He had stopped by with a dinner
that my sister Sandy had made, and he had the misfortune to find my father
lying on the kitchen floor. The coroner
shook my hand and introduced himself. He
pointed to the full glass of cranberry juice on the kitchen counter. He surmised that my father had a sudden and
massive heart attack because he poured the juice and set the bottle down, but
never drank any of it.
It is difficult when a relationship reaches the point
that it is only good-byes. It is
difficult to know that they all will reach that same point. But our consolation is not merely a human
emotion, based only on something we wish would be so. No, our consolation is in Jesus the Christ. We have His life and death and resurrection. Our hope is sure and certain.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Tony Rodriguez on Unsplash
Comments
Post a Comment