Rector's Blog: Rest in Peace

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Yesterday I held my friend David’s hand. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him. We talked about what had been, and what was coming. He told me he was ready. He told me he loved me again. I told him I loved him again. Shortly thereafter, he fell asleep. After a while, I stood up, and prayed the prayers we call Last Rites, and left. He never woke back up. A few hours later David died. The text I got told me that he was not in any pain – something that had not been true for him for a long, long time. I love my job.

Outside of the four people who live in the same house as me, I haven’t held anyone’s hand in almost a year. I was nervous to do it, but David was not contagious anymore, and he wasn’t worried about me giving him anything. The good news is it’s like riding a bike: You don’t forget how to do it, and after the first few seconds, it feels as wonderful as you remember. I’m going to tell you a little about David, because I know he’s ok with it, and I know he’d like me talking about him in one of my writings.

David had advanced COPD and was awaiting a lung transplant when he caught COVID-19. He’s one of those people who’s described as having comorbidities. Because of the state of his chronic illness, he’s someone for whom COVID-19 is seen as a death sentence. One could almost forget that if our country had taken this virus seriously it might not have been so widespread last month when David caught it. Maybe he’d still be on that transplant list instead of on our prayer list for the recently deceased.

That’s something for us to think about. But David didn’t mention that yesterday. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t bitter. David was a very politically oriented, very passionate man who literally spent his life advocating for the powerless of our society. But when his body was rendered powerless, he never succumbed to the irony of it. He fought for his own life just as strongly as he fought for others. He loved himself the way he loved others. Please read that last sentence again, because it’s really important. Loving yourself is beautiful. It is a recognition that, as another David once wrote, you were fearfully and wonderfully made. David loved himself. He loved his family. He loved God. He loved Redeemer. He loved me. If he ever met you, odds are he loved you too, and if you ever spent any time with him, the chances are you knew it.

I remember when I was preparing the eulogy for my Dad. My mom (his ex-wife) reminded me not to idealize him when I talked about him. “Don’t forget,” she said, “your dad was as human as anyone else. Maybe even more so.” She wasn’t wrong: He wasn’t a superhero. And neither was David. As human as anyone else: Maybe even more so. But this Christianity thing, this Jesus reality keeps opening my eyes to just how beautiful humans are even when we’re busy being humans. Every time I see someone turn towards others instead of away from them, I see God at work. Especially this year. Especially now. More than 300,000 American lives lost. Even if 2020 had not brought us the ugliest election of our lifetime, mass acceptance of baseless conspiracy theories, or the public murder of George Floyd, it would still go down in history as a year never to be forgotten because of the hundreds of thousands of humans who have died due to the coronavirus.

And that’s on your mind right now. How could it not be? It’s on mine too. Every day. While holding David’s hand, I thought about my Uncle Pete. He died 10 days ago from COVID, and honestly, I’m not really ready to talk about that yet. I don’t know how yet. So, I don’t need David to be a superhero. And I don’t need to be one either. I’m grateful for the love he gave and I’m grateful for the very human ways he gave it. I’m grateful for the fight he had in him, and I’m grateful that he got to put all that down and is at rest.

In the Church we say Rest in Peace and Rise in Glory, as we turn our attention towards the time when we will experience, unfiltered, the Love for which we all were made. And while I believe that in death we will know eternal life, and we will be able to rest from the pain and (often self-inflicted) strife we find on Earth, I do not believe that we have to die before we ever know what it means to rest, to let go, to say I love you and talk about what has been and what’s coming – to hold hands and remember our belonging.

Yes, we all die. But we all live too. And there is so much Love to be had here and now. It is not scarce. It is not hidden. It’s right here.

I know you’re tired. You are loved. I know you are fragile. You are loved. Christmas always feels busy. In fact, Christmas usually feels so busy that, even this year when most of us literally cannot make plans to do anything, we are still finding ways to feel busy. It’s like muscle memory or something. Your busyness is not the thing that makes Jesus show up. It’s your humanness. You don’t need to be a superhero. Jesus shows up because you’re human, not despite the fact. Jesus shows up because he loves your humanity. Jesus shows up to honor the love relationship that God forged with humanity in creation. This year Jesus shows up to bless the 300,000. This year he shows up to bless you too. You do not need to die for this to be true for you. Rest in peace. Rise in Glory.