Beauty Not Often Seen (Death and Life)
Almost a year has past since our daughter, Quincy, has been able to join us on a Sunday morning at Mission Church. This past New Years Day death conspired with an icy road, and an oncoming truck to usher her into heaven. Every day I miss her, but Sundays the echoes seem to be the loudest. Quincy was as involved and interested in our church as much as a college kid could be. She served in the nursery, helped us setup and teardown, greeted people, ran the computer, and sang. In fact, the last time she was at Mission Church she led music with her family on Christmas Eve. She found importance in her faith community of which I’m grateful. Additionally she did not appear to resent the work of the faith community. As her father and pastor, I am grateful for this as well. Being the pastor’s child can introduce stress. But, Quincy seldom complained. She genuinely appeared to be proud of the family work.
These thoughts and more were in my heart recently, when at the conclusion of one our gatherings I invited everyone to participate in an exercise. Before the service, we had written with a dry erase marker, dozens of different sins, issues, and attitudes upon the auditorium windows. After communion, we pulled the curtains and challenged everyone to locate a “sin” they identified with and then erase. The exercise symbolized how God erases and our sins. I went first and then sat in the back and observed. It was moving. Beauty, like fragrance, seemed to ventilate the room. As I watched, I began to shake. Then weep. What was the reason I wept? I suppose it may have been nothing more than a release. Like a valve relieving pressure, from time to time the knob gets turned and emotions escape. This isn’t bad. I am not ashamed to weep. It’s a part of the grieving journey. But, I guess there were other things at play as well. True, Quincy’s absence even at that moment was breaking my heart but there was also a vast amount of love holding my heart. As the people leaned into the exercise, it appeared the love of Christ was holding all of us in that room, so many who were hurting just like me about Quincy, and others struggling deeply with their own issues. Watching it all, I longed for the moment to last in time.
Abraham Heschel, in his book The Sabbath, says, “All man’s endeavors are an expenditure of time to gain power in space.” The irony, of course, is the power we gain in the world of space is abruptly terminated when our time is over. It follows then; our endeavors should be spent on what will last in and beyond time. How might we find these endeavors? Surprisingly, (why am I still surprised by this) not by the neon-signed buzzing of the world’s obvious, but by a more simple and indirect light. Take my recent experience, for example, when I found myself with my young, startup church, in a glorified warehouse, in an out of the way location. It was an ordinary Sunday morning, but in volitional unity, life-giving worship, the breaking of the everlasting Word, and the celebration of unforced sacrifice I found the power of simplicity. To borrow Heschel’s language, each of the aforementioned are a type of endeavor. But, then again, “endeavor” is much too benign of a word for things so laden with power. For as the splitting of a single atom points toward atomic energy, so these endeavors point toward eternal energy. Maybe Heschel is only partially correct. Yes, all man’s endeavors concern themselves with power, but in the examples I found this morning, the endeavors concerned themselves not with power gained, but power deferred. Maybe wherever the deferment of power lives, so exists the essence of power. I think it was the beauty of “power deferment” that made such an impression on me. It surprised me (again, why am I still surprised) to consider, that although the sins we confess are actually sick and hideous; the act of confessing is undeniably healthy and beautiful.
Health and beauty are subject matters we talk a lot about in our world. We are, I believe, confused about their value, but we are not confused about the power they hold over us. Which is why we package them in the ephemeral skin of youth, money or position. And we constantly parade them about in our magazines, marketing, and movies. Yet, our biggest films, costing a quarter of a billion dollars to produce, cannot match the art I witnessed in the 87-year old husband and wife hobbling across the room searching for sins to erase. (Later, she would say it was hard to narrow it down to one!) The beauty spread out on the covers of our most famous magazines pale in comparison to the grace of a single mom I observed humbly and defiantly (yes, these are potentially synonymous) approaching the table of bread and wine.
These are endeavors that construct the beautiful.
These are the atomic building blocks of the unseen.
This is the DNA of heaven.
Which brings me back to thinking about my daughter. In a few days, we are leaving for Haiti… one of her absolute favorite places within this earthly dimension. But, I won’t find her physically there. I won’t find her there any more than I’ll find her in her bedroom, or on the soccer field, or in the mountains. She now participates completely in the unseen…. the beautiful… the timeless. But, we who hope in Jesus, the Christ… we, who expend our time deferring power in this space have one foot in the unseen as well. (Soon, it will be both.)
It’s true, if the death and resurrection of our Lord did not happen then, we should receive pity. But we know it happened. Look around; there is too much beauty! The death is a cold, constricting bitterness. But, the resurrection is a warm, expanding sweetness. This is what lasts in and beyond time. It is only now that I begin to realize… it is only now my eyes are opening…
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