Remembering Walt

I spent most of the last two days working on a booklet and planning guide for members of our congregation to use when talking about end-of-life decisions and funerals/memorial services. I will post it when it is available as it is a conversation that we all need to have with our families.  People always ask if our focus on death is depressing.  For me, its not.  Helping people die well is one of the church’s greatest ministries.  In our culture many die alone and in sterile environments.  Deemed useless by the world years ago, these precious children are reminded as the church approaches death alongside them that they are vauled and truly the beloved of God. 

We recently lost an older gentleman in our congregation.  Lung cancer had been ravaging his body for months.  He struggled with the diagnosis and the idea of life coming to an end, and despite the best medical efforts he died. 

The week before Walt died, we had a healing service at Christ the King. This is the part of the service where we allow people to come and have their requests communally lifted up to God at prayer stations.  Others opt to simply share their prayer concerns through a card and the staff spends time praying for them over the next few weeks.  As the music was coming to a close, this gentleman walked over to me—frail and accompanied by oxygen—he came and looked at me.  He didn’t ask for a specific request. He simply laid his tired head on my shoulder, and wrapped his weaken arms around me.  We both cried as we asked that God would allow him to die with dignity, the God would provided even more meaningful time with his family.  We asked that healing would come according to God’s will—making space for healing to be in the next life to come.  We asked that God would give assurance of life everlasting and peace that passes all understanding to those who will grieve. 

A few days later, Walt was taken to the hospital.  I stopped into see him because it was his birthday.  I told him that Pastor Ray sent me to sing. I spared him the singing.  He talked about gardening and I saw him with three generations of his family gathered round with a balloon, magazines and a slice of cheesecake.  Just before leaving, he looked at me.  Something in my spirit knew it would be the last time.  He held my hand, pulled me close and kissed me gently on my cheek. He smiled and said, “Even though you didn’t. I’ll tell Pastor Ray you sang.” 

Henri Nouwen often writes that to die well is the greatest gift we can leave our loved ones.  In our culture that conditions us to choose isolation in our darkest moments, the church reminds us that we are not alone. We are gathered together in the Holy Spirit and with one another.  Let us allow the fear of death be unseated by the peace of God’s promises—forgiveness, shalom and everlasting life. 

danielle kathryn