The Parson Ponders: Subdued Light

 

As I began my morning rounds today, testing out how well my neuropathy compromised feet were going to cooperate today, I became transfixed by this old maple tree. Today, in the subdued light, it practically glows. Isn't it strange that, in the subdued light, you can see more of it, including the interior of the tree, better than when the sun shines brightly? In full sunlight, we can easily see the most prominent leaves, but they cast shadows that obscure the inside of the tree. But on this gray, rainy day, there are no shadows. All parts are equally illumined. As I turned around and walked to the mailbox to fetch the newspaper, I wondered: perhaps dark and gray times such as we are going through now help us to see our world more clearly, what is most important, what we truly cherish, who we have ignored, who and what has been hidden in the shadows. Gospel stories of loving one another and caring for the hurting make more sense. I still love the sunshine, but I can learn a lot from the overcast times and grow in its subdued light.

Good Friday Pansies

My friend, Jean, is using her home time to go through her "saved clippings" file. She just sent me this one, my Parson Ponders column from 1997. That was the year my mother died on Good Friday. It's Good Friday again, and it is a day that is still about death .. and life.

The Parson Ponders: Good Friday Pansies

Something very strange happens when someone we love dies. As soon as the death occurs, we begin counting up all the reasons why we should be thankful, in spite of the blackness of the moment. It's our way of holding back death, keeping it at bay, caging it in so that it can't go any farther than it has already gone.

We begin trying to chip away at it, bringing it down to a more manageable size. Like Paul, we're reluctant to concede that death has won: "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Cor15:55 NRSV)

I'm becoming more of an expert than I wanted to be on this count since my mother, Norma, died suddenly on Good Friday. She hadn't told us of any health problems, and in fact, she got the turkey out to thaw and was planning to spend Good Friday planting pansies in the planters around her patio pond to brighten the family's Easter celebration. She surely knew how to make a festive occasion.

As she sat on the couch after breakfast and planned out her day, a massive stroke ushered her out of this life and into the next.

Though the emergency squad arrived at the house in only minutes, and though the hospital kept the body alive with the aid of a respirator for a few hours until the family assembled, my mother actually died quickly there on the couch. As the breathing tube was removed and we watched the very quiet and peaceful closing of an earthly life, already an easter celebration was trying to erupt and break through the darkness. Already we were beginning to give thanks. Already we were beginning to chip away at the power of death.

There was -- there is -- so much to be thankful for: almost 80 years of a full, robust life with very little sickness and doctoring, almost no suffering, a quick and peaceful passing, 57 years of marriage with my father, 3 good kids who cherish family and God and make a contribution to the world around them, loving daughters-in-law and grandkids who this grammy couldn't stop talking about.

My mother was a generous caregiver for her parents and brothers and sister and their extended families. She had a strong faith and was a leader and organizer of several ministries in our home congregation. One of the most touching acts of kindness after her death was the pots of azaleas sent by 30 or so of the flock who had been part of the church youth group a number of years ago when my mother and father served as youth sponsors. And she had a way with flowers. People driving by my parents' home would often stop in to ask if they could look at the flowers growing in the yard.

Even though we put up a valiant front at chipping away at death, we're not very good at it. We feel a lot like the people of Grand Forks, North Dakota trying to build up our sandbags to hold the flood back, knowing that the flood is too big and powerful.

But in the end, we don't really have to be very good chippers. As Paul says: "But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1 Cor 15:57 What wonderful news to hear the victory cry again on Easter morning that "He is Risen" after the blackness of Good Friday.

We're still doing our part. We're still chipping away. On Holy Saturday, we planted my mother's pansies for her. And every day, we recall more things for which to give thanks. But mostly, we're just clinging to the good news of Easter that "He is risen" and that he has gone ahead to prepare a place for us.

Who's sitting in the corner?

I've been on a search for this picture, now found, for months. I enlisted daughter Amanda in the search too. And after several weeks, she found it!

I don't know why I became so fixated on it. It only serves to make me look foolish, but then, maybe it's good to have a reality check from time to time.

The picture was snapped in 2003 when our family was on our first-ever California vacation. We were in the Sonoma Valley, touring wineries and sampling their wines.

At Foppiano Vineyards, I let the rest of the gang go up to the sampling bar, and I hung around back. I was driving.

That's when I noticed this old codger, sitting alone in a chair in a corner in the back. I felt a little sorry for him. To me, he looked kind of lonely and out of place. So, jumping to conclusions, I thought I would do him a favor and strike up a conversation. We pastors usually know how to do that. I gave him my very best pastor chit-chat. Wasn't that nice of me to do that.

Eventually, I asked him what he did for a living before he retired. He said, "Did you ever hear of something called Continental Airlines?" "Sure, " I said. He came back, "Well, I helped found it." Whoa....What? ... Reality-check!!! I surely underestimated this man!

Since that moment, my research tells me that this man, Louis J Foppiano, was indeed best friends with the man usually credited with starting Continental Airlines. What he didn't mention that day was that, when he was 14 years old, his father died, and from that time on, he and his mother managed and grew the Foppiano Winery. He continued to oversee the winery into his nineties. He died in 2012 at age 101. He was afforded much acclaim at his passing.

We did wise up enough to ask if we could have a picture with him. He was very gracious. I haven't been that off base on someone since the time, early in my ministry, when I spent 15 minutes chatting with an "ordinary" man without realizing I was talking with the president of General Motors.

No, I take it back. I'm sure I have missed the mark most by missing the treasure of the truly ordinary people we meet every day who are really the greatest treasures in disguise, people like Jesus noted: the widow adding her 2 coins in the treasury box, or the children trying to make their way to Jesus. I am thankful whenever Jesus gives me new eyes! Treasures abound!