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.
