Heavy

I write today from the gloom of heaviness. There is great sadness, loss and grief in our church family and in our faith community. The past year has marked many difficult and tragic deaths which have seemed to accelerate as this spring has blossomed. There is no death that does not affect someone in a deeply personal way. It is not uncommon that a person in their 70's will come see a pastor, mystified as to why the death of a parent in their 90's is so greatly impacting that person. "Why am I so sad?" they wonder. It is quite simple: no matter how natural a death may be, the person who has died was still your mother, still your father. Everyone is someone's family. Thus every death is a great loss and causes those who love to mourn. This is rightly so and as it should be.

There are some deaths, though, which cut broadly across a church community because the impact is greater due to the circumstances of the death, the life stage of the deceased, or the involvement of the person in our church community. Again, these deaths are no more personal or sad than the deaths of others, but they leave deeper wounds. Wounds that will heal, yes, but wounds that require spiritual therapies, prayerful interventions, loving acts of kindness and compassion. Perhaps you might remember some of these with me? Remember with me a young woman, Betsy, in her twenties, whose life ended too quickly while driving home from work. Remember with me Vance, our Sanctuary Choir president, who died suddenly at home. Remember Annette, who succumbed to an aggressive illness and left very young children for her family to raise. Remember L. H. and Rebecca, each with young adult families on the verge of launching into the broader world, who left us in May. Remember those whom I have inadvertently left out, and please forgive my omissions. As you read this, say these names out loud. It is good to name, good to remember, good to trust God through our loss and tears. Remember Simon with me, who at 30 died last week in a senseless accident that tests the faith of even the most stalwart among us. Simon's life touched nearly every area of our church: our youth, our young adults, our Middle-East Committee, and our sports teams. Yes, I'll confess it—it is Simon's loss, especially on the heels of these many others, that makes me feel heavy as I write.

Colleen and I have a dear friend in Charlotte, Sally. Two years ago Sally gave us a book called If There's Anything I Can Do. This book has one simple premise: instead of saying "let me know if there's anything I can do" when someone is sick, hurting or grieving, just get busy with caring. Start praying. Write a card. Bring flowers. Help in the yard. Fix a meal. Encourage a hurting soul to seek a pastor, find a counselor, speak with a Stephen minister. Do something. Take care of each other.

At White Memorial, we talk about Worship, Embrace, and Serve. There is something we can do. This is a season for embrace and embracing. Jesus says, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." I have always believed that this statement was partly a call to the comforters. It is a call to us to be agents of healing and care. I sense that our church family, very broadly speaking, is heavy. Today is a day to extend a hand and help one another stand up.