I came to visit you today, Sam. Visiting a loved one who has passed away is always a solemn occasion. The very act of showing our respect for the dead invariably also serves to remind us of our own mortality. It calls us to re-evaluate our lives and our priorities in light of that fact we only live a short time on this earth and that every moment is sacred and precious. A memorial serves to honor the life of the one who has passed on and at the same time bring us face to face with the sobering reality of our own death.
But I wanted to let you know, Sam, that your memorial is broken. It just flat doesn't work. When I came to visit you today at the plot of land in Kenya that bears your name, I completely missed any confrontation with my own mortality. Rather, your memorial teems with life and joy and love and hope. I saw no cut flowers on your grave today, only the spilled finger paints of giggling children. And I thought I might try respectfully humming a few bars of "Abide with Me" but it was all drowned out by the din of several dozen little Kenyan voices singing "Father Abraham". And any attempt to maintain an atmosphere of quiet reverence kind of went out the window with that crazy kick ball game. Search as I might there just isn't any death in this place, only laughing, singing, dancing, playing, joyful, beautiful teeming life.
And not only did I miss any confrontation with my own mortality today, but I missed yours as well. Death is always supposed to get the last word in, at least until our Lord returns to call us home, but I saw you today reaching up from the grave to continue your ministry of love and compassion. The Prince of this World has the children of Kenya beneath his boot, lavishing pain and suffering and hopelessness upon them. I remember you, Sam, as a gentle and quiet spirit, but as I saw the joy on the faces of those children today, I could swear I caught a glimpse of a strong arm swinging hard from the grave to catch that Cosmic Loser square in the jaw.
I saw Isaac Newton's memorial at Westminster Abbey once. He's got nothing on you, Sam. Your memorial is a beautiful, living monument to life and joy and hope. I like to think that your gentle and kind spirit will somehow be watching over the children at Sam's Place as they live and learn and grow in wisdom and discipleship, and I hope that you will be blessed by them as much as they will continually be blessed by you.
Lord, may your precious child, Sam McReynolds, rest in peace and rise in glory. Amen.
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Jeff,
ReplyDeleteI've loved reading your thoughts about Sam's Place and the people of Kenya. I've thought that you and Josh Bush (my son) should pull your talents together and write something amazing. You're both such insightful beings who can put your thoughts into magical words.
Mary Helen Bush
My sweet Jeff,
ReplyDeleteWhen you were in the 4th grade and already a good writer, I had no idea about the great things your writing would do. You bring the work in Kenya alive for those of us unable to experience it ourselves. And your musings about mortality and love for people touch me so deeply. Every morning I get out of bed and rush to the computer to see if you have written more. But it's not just your writing ability -- it's your spirit, it's your love for the Lord and his people, it's your joy and insight. Thank you for sharing. I do love you-- Mom