Turbulence

It took me five years to realize the fact that I did not recognize Benita from her facial features, but from the black and white dress, her Sunday dress, which she always wore when she came to my office. She worked at a Cherry Hospital, a mental hospital, as did her husband, both low paid attendants. She had told me that they had one precious son, who was in college, studying to be a preacher. In fact, he had already graduated from college and was in seminary (United, Trotwood, Ohio), she brought him by at least twice to meet me. A very fine young man, a very fine Methodist minister. He wanted to be ordained in their home church, a small Methodist church called Fellowship. Several of the relatives called, insisting I attend the ordination service and the meal that followed.

The ordination took place at noon on Sunday, the little church filled with excited people. The new seminary graduate, wearing proudly the handle of “Dr.” was an enthusiastic speaker, a tribute to his community, his church, his family. Like so many women, his mother only had one Sunday dress, his father one Sunday suit, because it had taken everything they could rake and scrape for his education, the blessing of this day. It was even more obvious at the home, there was not enough flatware to set the table. They had enough food, but a very humble home. The joy of the occasion was marked by their humility.

Dr. Styron preached that day on death, clinical death, the ticket to a better life. He spoke of the rewards of heaven, the resurrection of Christ and everything that makes Christian redemption possible.

Every time you pass a cemetery, every time you pass a funeral home, as much as you do not want to think about it, you know that death, your death, is inevitable. Many physically plan for it ahead of time, my grandmother kept her burial shroud in her cedar chest. I heard one woman say she wanted to wear a dress in the casket that would not make her look fat. I still do not like open casket visitations or funerals, I believe there should be as much privacy in death as in life...people gazing at you at the worst time of your existence.

I remember my sister's mother in law, and the closed casket funeral, one of the deceased's relatives went to her and said she would like to see her aunt. My sister said to her, “she would have liked to see you the ten years she laid in a nursing home before she died.”

I don't remember the reason, but I was in the hospital one night, and a family I knew asked me to be in the room to be with them, since her mother was dying. The patient, although almost dead, was still aware. We all know that the limbs are the first to get cold, I noticed that the daughter would keep running her hand under the cover to her mother's feet, finally her mother kicked at her. Death for most is a very lonely experience, I can think of nothing any lonelier than death in a traffic disaster, or a home disaster, unable to get help. I still believe the worst death is the long death faced by victims of Alzheimers...dead while still alive. A long, exasperating and expensive experience for the patient as well as the family.

Just as we know death is real, so we know God is real, we make the choice. Before the Jewish slaves left Israel, the blood of the passover lamb was put on the doorpost of every Jewish home. They made a choice, the death angel passed over when he saw the blood.

At the dedication of Solomon's temple (1 Kings 8), Solomon brought the entire history of the Jewish people amid the sacrifice of 22,000 oxen and 120,000 sheep. When the Ark of the Covenant was moved into the temple, the cloud of glory was so great that the scribes could not speak, nor the trumpeters blow their horns. This was the dedication of the world's greatest building, and until this day, considered the world's most expensive building. Books have been written on the building of the temple, the cedar wood from Lebanon, the number of men required not only to cut the wood, but to bring it down the Mediterranean sea, transport it to Jerusalem, where the temple was built without the sound of saw or hammer, cedar wood, gold, brass. The children of Israel knew the prophecies and promises of God, they have experienced the glory, nothing has changed. Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever (Hebrews 13:8).

700 years before the birth of Christ, the prophecy of Christ (Isaiah 53). The penalty, the promises, you must take him at His Word, God values His Word more than anything else. (Psalm 138:2) We know the penalty and the promise, we know that by His stripes we are healed, we know we escape death through His blood. If not healed, the ultimate, quickest healing, heaven.

All disciples were martyrs except for John, it took too long for the message to sink in, the eclismic experience of His death and Resurrection changed them totally. They were never the same again, knew they would never see one another again (no method of communication at that time), but each had a mission. Bartholomew skinned alive in Armenia, Thomas killed by a heretic in India, Luke hung in Greece, Mark dragged through the streets of Alexandria, Peter crucified in Rome, Paul beheaded in Rome. All could face death because they knew that Christ was real, they knew Him, the power of His Resurrection, the fellowship of suffering (Philippians 3:10).

You cannot conjure up comfort on your own, trying to understand the actions of God. When a person kills oneself, it is unnatural, it natural to fear death. God in life is a mystery, surrender to mystery. Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints. (Psalm 116:15)