A Lenten Devotion by Willie Sordillo
If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor.
Deuteronomy 15:7
Though losing friends to death comes with the territory of age, it’s been a season of unusually high losses. From mid-December through the first days of March, I count seven deaths which have touched my life. Though some are more distant than others, among those are a friend of more than 40 years, a man who sang in a choir I accompany on a regular basis, and four members of Edwards Church. I played in three memorial services in December and January and attended three other memorial services. These losses came on the heels of my 50th high school reunion, where the thing which impacted me most profoundly was a display listing the over 60 members of my class who have died.
As much as I know that death is a natural part of life; as much as I know that ageing means surviving an increasing number of one’s peers; as much as I want to believe in a heavenly afterlife where my family, friends and all the good musicians anticipate my arrival; as much as I love the poetry of phrases like “Death, where is thy sting,” I can tell you exactly where the sting is.
But here’s the thing. When death comes, attending to the living is one of the things we as Church do best. At the time my choir member friend died, his wife was not pleased with all of the time her husband spent singing with the choir, acting as the church historian, and serving on a number of committees. She resented his absences to the point where she had stopped coming to church. When he died unexpectedly and she first thought about what the funeral would look like, she did not want to include much music, and she did not want the choir to sing. But it was the choir who organized meals for the family for the next month, and as planning progressed, the amount of music and the number of musicians participating increased until it was one of the more musical funerals I’ve ever attended. The choir sounded glorious as they sang through their tears. And the following week, his wife started coming to church again.
My 40-year friend had two memorial services: one in the temple which she belonged to and another in a United Church of Christ church which she knew well from her lifetime as a social justice activist. Her partner, also a member of the temple, requested that the congregation end the service by singing Amazing Grace.
Debbie has told us how the old growth trees provide shelter and nutrients for the saplings, until one day they fall, letting in the light that allows the new growth to flourish, eventually taking the place of the elders in a repeating cycle. When one of those big trees falls, somebody in a church somewhere is singing Amazing Grace. Somebody’s bringing dinner to the family of the fallen one. Somebody’s looking at what that life accomplished and meant to others and thinking, ”That’s how I want to be.” Somebody’s feeling gratitude for the shade, and for the light that allows them to grow strong.
Healing God, thank you for the tall trees among us, and for the communities which surround us in love when one of those trees falls. May we nurture the saplings and fall gracefully when our time comes.