Good grief

“Where, O death, is your victory?
    Where, O death, is your sting?”

Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 15:55 quoting Hosea 13:14

When my maternal grandfather, Roman Edward Janecky, died in 1995, my aunt asked if I would speak at his funeral. While his pastor would preside and officiate, I would give the message. I was happy to do it not just because I had loved my grandpa but I was a pastor after all and it's what we do. I had been in the ministry only four short years then and if truth be told I was a little eager to show-off my preaching prowess to the relatives.

Grandpa used to serve me up a scoop of vanilla
in a cake cone

The visitation was going to be held an hour before the service at the same church that Janeckys in Racine, Wisconsin had attended time out of mind. When we arrived, his pastor wanted to go over details of the service so I dutifully followed him into his office while the rest of the family visited and greeted the well-wishers who had come to pay their respects. Meanwhile Grandpa's pastor and I talked away in his study – the same study where my parents had signed their marriage license in 1958 and, no doubt, where other Janeckys had signed theirs in years past as well – about the ministry, about our families and other such pleasantries. He then took me step by step through the order of service explaining not just what would happen but the why behind it. I gathered he was something of a liturgist in that he wanted to revel a bit in the richness of his denomination's tradition with the young nondenominational hick from upstate sitting across from him. Time was passing. Soon they would be closing the casket in the narthex and I had to yet to have my own viewing of Grandpa. As it turned out, I had time enough to get a quick glimpse of him just as they were lowering the lid.

Emmanuel - as it looks today except the church has now closed

I don't recall how I did. Everybody said I did a good job but you know, at a funeral people usually aren't there to critique the sermon especially if you're a grandson trying to honor your granddad. But for me, I was mad. I was mad at myself for allowing my vanity to rob me of an hour I should have spent as a grandson instead of as a professional readying myself to perform my duty. I was mad at myself that I didn't have the gumption to politely tell my grandfather's pastor that as much as he enjoyed talking about his preference for “intincture” in ministering communion, I really needed to be with my mom at that moment. All he really had to do was give me the nod when he needed me to get up and preach. I was angry for weeks after that and I recall making something akin to a vow that from that time onward I would be less eager to officiate at a family member's funeral.

I think I miss Jim more today than
when we first lost him

That being said, I've been called upon frequently over the years to minister on behalf of the family. I spoke at Grandma Janecky's funeral in 1998, Grandma Martin's funeral the following year in 1999, and at both my godparents' funerals, my Aunt Nancy (2001) and Uncle Norm (2007). But in each of those settings, I deliberately approached those gatherings with the mindset of a relative rather than a reverend. It seemed to help me grieve better. When my brother died suddenly in 2001, the most I was willing to do was share a greeting on behalf of our family for those who had come to honor Jim. Otherwise, I let his pastor – Pastor Dick – guide our family through that service of committal. In fact, it was from Pastor Dick that I learned something valuable about grief that I have since come to pass on to others.

Jim would have been thrilled that
the Cubbies are now World Champs

A couple nights before the service, Dick came to my parents' house and visited with them, my sister and I. He had been my parents' and Jim's pastor for over two decades and had known him well. Before he left he gently admonished us that each of us processes grief a different way so that no one has the right to say to another: “Get over it.” You're 'over it' when you are, whenever that might be. In retrospect, I'm really glad he shared that with all of us because the next week, while at my office back in Chetek, I had something of a meltdown. I didn't really cry a lot at Jim's funeral but that afternoon I began blubbering like a baby at the loss of my brother. It was just grief working its way through my soul. By contrast, my parents had far more frequent laments and bouts of grief than I did for that first year after his passing.

My ministry as a pastor these past twenty-five years has confirmed Pastor Dick's wise counsel to us that evening back in 2001. When people experience loss – the loss of a loved one or divorce or bankruptcy or some other kind of trauma – while they are going through it at the same time they are going through it differently. And because that's so, it's important to extend grace to each other when grief comes out as anger or curtness or inconsolable mourning. Back in 1994, one of my best friends lost his arm in a farming accident. It turned his world upside down. But after a few weeks of feeling down about the matter, he put it in his rear-view mirror and went to work on the rest of his life. No sense crying over spilt milk, right? But his wife – his ex-wife – had a far more difficult time in processing what had nearly happened to her. “I came within a millisecond of being a widow at 24 and having to raise two small boys on my own,” is how she put it to me a few years later. It created something of a 'faith-quake' within her and it exasperated the already latent issues that existed between them before the accident. They had both experienced trauma that day on the farm but how they processed that loss was entirely different and unique to the people they were at the time and eventually became a wedge that drove them inseparably apart.

The man loved - and prayed -
for his grandchildren

My father-in-law, Darrell D. Redders (or DDR), died a few weeks ago. This past July, a month before his 80^th birthday, they found a tumor the size of a fist on his liver. In mid-August, his doctor explained to my mother-in-law and him that it was inoperable. Not too long afterward, the cancer had metastasized and moved into his lungs. On Friday night, October 21, he climbed into bed after listening on the radio to the high school football team that his son coaches win their first play-off game. A hour or so later, he breathed his last with his wife, his other son and daughter-in-law at his bedside.

I coach our high school's cross country team and one afternoon in late September while at practice my phone rang. It was Dad Redders and so I told my kids I had to take this call. His voice was low and his breathing labored but carefully he asked me if I would do his funeral. Of course, I said I would. Our history together over thirty years of being married to his daughter has been mostly good. We didn't choose each other but love for the same woman had brought us together. And our mutual love for the Lord Jesus and Linda and our four children had kept us together. I would have been just fine for his pastor to preside and sit by my wife's side and hold her hand while we were comforted by Scripture, prayer and the words of others. But since he asked me how could I say no to such an honor?

I think I did okay. I did wear a suit and tie (for an occasion like this Darrell would have expected no less). I did share Jesus and the hope and consolation he brings to those who trust in him for their salvation. And while I presided at the gathering I kept myself unscripted to underscore the fact that I stood before the 200+ congregants who were present not as the officiant but as the son-in-law who is a pastor and was trying to comfort his family.

Sorry, Dad, but your military honors
were real special

Right now the only regret I have is where we had to leave him. The night before Madison had received 2” of rain resulting in the vault trucking getting stuck persuading the cemetery folks to inform us that under the weather conditions no graveside committal service could be held. So we had to leave him in their chapel beneath a large depiction of Catholic monks waving incense above him. It's about as opposite him as can be but hopefully the full military honors he received at the church prior to driving out to the cemetery more than made up for it.

Two weeks later, we are in processing mode. It helps that Linda and I have each other to talk to when talk is needed. I didn't lose my father. Linda did and so understandably tears come at odd and random moments. Like the night before Halloween when Linda, Charlie and I were carving pumpkins at the kitchen table when suddenly Charlie turned to his mom and said very gently, “I'm sorry that Grandpa Redders died.” Me too, Charlie. Me too.

So we mourn now. We don't mourn as if he is gone for good or that we will never see his likes again. Our mutually held Christian faith tells us differently. As DDR would put it:

“First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus.”

“And then this: We can tell you with complete confidence—we have the Master’s word on it—that when the Master comes again to get us, those of us who are still alive will not get a jump on the dead and leave them behind. In actual fact, they’ll be ahead of us. The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God’s trumpet blast! He’ll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise—they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we’ll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.” 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, The Message

I know Paul is right but for my part what I will miss most of him not being with us any longer is knowing with certainty that my name is lifted up before the Father daily. Death comes to all of us in time. We know it is the requirement of heaven that we die. Every time we stand at a graveside or gather for a funeral we are reminded that the wages of sin is death but – thank God – the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord (Romans 6:23). So, in that our grief, in time, is turned into something good.