Today’s Word from Pastor Jim…
It was 7:52 am on Sunday, December 8th. The sanctuary was filling for the 8 o’clock service. I had run to my office to grab a scripture reference for a waiting parishioner, paper in hand, one step back toward the door when my phone pinged. I don’t keep my phone with me on Sunday morning, it resides in its assigned seat plugged in to a charger next to my desk. The waiting text stirred my heart; “Just to let you know that John died last night. He took a rapid downhill turn and never recovered.” 36 hours earlier I had been talking to John. His last words to me were, “I love you brother.”
Though we shared no blood, John was like a distant brother to me. 35 years ago, when my family arrived on Whidbey Island his mother took us under her wing and under her roof for a period of time. She became my “island mom.” That adoption added four siblings to my family. I would see John often through the years; birthday celebrations, funerals, fourth of July parties and family gatherings. Every interaction was positive, heartfelt, playful, joyful. We always greeted each other with a bear hug, and we said our goodbyes in a similar fashion. He called me “his island brother.”
My heart raced, the candles needed to be lit, there were hands to be touched. “Be upbeat, thank them for coming, this is the day that the Lord has made.” Scripture was read, hymns of faith washed over me, Pastor Chris preached about hope. My body was present, all went according to plan, but John was on my mind. When the service ended, I returned to my office to a missed phone call. The missed call was from my wife. Felicia rarely calls me on Sunday morning, so I knew something was up.
Her voice cracked; in Boston her Uncle Mike had taken a turn for the worse. Uncle Mike has been a constant in Felicia’s life, loving and influential, a father figure, a role model, a mentor, the North Star of her life. He was a calm, wise and faithful presence in our lives. Dr. Michael Freed spent his professional career as a Pediatric Cardiologist at Boston Children’s Hospital while also teaching at Harvard Medical School. Suddenly his life was hanging in the balance, resting peacefully somewhere between the world and the next. My heart ached for the love of my life whose heart was broken with grief. 3000 miles separated them, should she fly today or wait it out?
It was 10:24 am on Sunday, December 8th. The sanctuary was filling for the 10:30 service. The candles needed to be lit, there were hands to hold, ushers to thank, smarties to give the children, the prelude was nearly over. “Be upbeat, thank them for coming, this is the day that the Lord has made.” Everything went as planned, my body was present, yet my mind was far from TLC. The warmth of the community gave me comfort, hymns of faith washed over me.
It occurred to me in that moment that behind me were two hundred people with 200 distracted broken hearts, praying for prodigal children, grieving death, lonely today, afraid of tomorrow. They were right there over my shoulder, they had no idea what was going on in my life, and I had no idea what was going on in theirs. We were just there together, frail humans sharing an hour, positioned in the pathway of Jesus, beggars looking for a word of grace or a glimmer of hope.
It was 11:35 am on Sunday, December 8th. The people were eating cinnamon rolls and sharing stories, smiling faces hiding broken hearts and deep-seated insecurities. I was anxious to get home, to be close to Felicia, that we might together face a certain, uncertain future. Tomorrow at 8:00 and 10:30 they will return. The candles will need to be lit. On December 15th our lives will once again merge for an hour, there will be bread and wine, hugs and handshakes, smiles and tears, the people of God in the pathway of Jesus. One day further from our birth, one day closer to our death, but together sharing the commonalities of our humanity.
Everyone is carrying burdens. What lies behind the smiles and the outward appearance of another’s life is mostly hidden from us. So be kind, be patient, be slow to judge and hold on. Hold on knowing that the seasons will turn as they always do, the darkness will not overcome the light, the tears will dry, hope will be rekindled, and grieving will give way to dancing again.
Thanks Brother John, thanks Uncle Mike; it was a profound privilege to share the journey with you both.
One beggar, telling another beggar where to find bread, I am your,
Pastor Jim
PS: Dr. Michael Freed died on December 11, 2024
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