Death

The Hardest Day…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 3 Comments

I’m nigh onto 62 years-old. It is not hyperbole when I say that Wednesday, September 3, 2025, was the hardest day of my life.

I will not go into detail (details only matter to criminal investigators and gossips), but September 3rd was the hardest day of my life because we had the funeral for my 22 year-old grandson, Kobyn Adam (read his full obituary here). He died under tragic circumstances on Saturday, August 30, 2025.

I suppose my writing this blog is a way of processing my own grief. Pastors aren’t the greatest at grieving. We often have the mindset that we’re supposed to be strong for those who are grieving, so we put on our game face and go to work (or at least that’s what this pastor has done in the past). I really shouldn’t be so flippant to say that pastors have a “game face.” Rather, it is the power of the Holy Spirit that gives us strength to do the hard work of ministry in difficult times.

I will say that the power of the Holy Spirit gave me the strength to get through the hardest day of my life. I chose to preach the message for Kobyn’s funeral. My friend and colleague, Rev. Lamar Oliver, was gracious enough to make the drive to Morgan City to assist with the service. Rev. Oliver served as pastor of Pharr Chapel Church after I was appointed elsewhere and my son and his family continued to attend there. I don’t know that I could have made it through the entire service alone, so I’m grateful for Rev. Oliver’s help and friendship.

So many people asked me, “Why are you preaching the funeral?” or, “How are you able to do that?” The answer to the first question is because I wouldn’t trust the task to anyone else. That’s probably a result of my own insecurities but I simply didn’t believe there was anyone else who would do the job adequately.

The answer to the second question is because when people don’t know what to do they do what they know. I simply didn’t know what else to do, so I did what I know–I preached. Actually, the real answer to the second question is by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit.

I know I should have taken a step back. I know in my mind that I should have had a few days to just be “Poppy,” and gone through the grieving process with my wife, my son and the rest of the family. I know that in my mind. I just couldn’t convince my heart. In my heart, I had to preach…because, well…when you don’t know what to do…you do what you know…

Unfortunately, I’m feeling a little guilty now because I wasn’t more attentive to my family and I didn’t ask what THEY needed during this time. Should I have taken that step back and just been Poppy to them? Is that what they needed? I suppose even for pastors the default is for self-preservation. I needed to preach for me. I NEEDED to do that for Kobyn.

My bad! It’s not about me and what I need. In my grief, I lost sight of that fact and perhaps I was not as helpful to my family as I should have been. I can only repent and pray the Lord gives me clarity and strength should anything like this ever happen again (God forbid!), to help me focus on the right things and not my own personal need, but on the needs of others (especially those closest to me).

Oh well! What’s done is done and it can’t be undone. My prayer is that I was adequate to the task.

One thing I know for sure: It was providential (no, I’m not Calvinist) that our church (Haughton Methodist Church) was reading through the book of Job during this time. Reading through Job gave me the foundation for the message I preached during the service.

I include the message I preached for Kobyn below for one reason: a person who attended the service reached out to me after the service. She said she had lost her daughter tragically 24 years prior and that my words were the healing she needed after 24 years. I was humbled, honored and blessed by her sentiment, and I took it as affirmation that preaching Kobyn’s service was the correct choice.

No, actually, I’m still not sure it was the correct choice. It could just be that the Good Lord took the lemons I gave Him and made lemonade out of them. He does seem to do that so often. Either way, the words were healing for someone. I include them here so that they might be healing to others who are grieving.

Kobyn’s Funeral Message

I remember the day Kobyn was born. We were standing in the hospital hallway. We could hear all the rustling in the labor and delivery room. Vanessa was so giddy. We heard the first cries of a newborn baby and Vanessa started jumping up and down. She couldn’t wait to see this little guy and to put her arms around him. The smile on her face when they finally brought him out—well, it is indescribable. It was sheer joy! All I saw was a round head—just like mine! That was the first day this guy brought joy to our lives. He’s been bringing joy to us ever since.

The older Kobyn got, the more he looked like me. It wasn’t long until I started calling him “Mini-me” because as an infant and a toddler it was a little uncanny how much he favored my baby pictures. I thought, “Well, he’s going to be a fine- looking young man!” As he grew into adulthood, the similarities faded a bit, but I was still correct—he is a fine-looking young man! Even though he was a young man, I still sometimes referred to him as “Mini-me.”   

I remember Vanessa and me driving, literally all the way across the state of Louisiana to watch his first football game. He was so little. I thought to myself, “He’s gonna’ get killed out there.” Well, he survived, but it didn’t take him too many seasons of football and soccer to realize he wasn’t going to be an athlete. Music became his passion, and just like everything else he ever tried, he excelled at that, too.

I remember the day I baptized this kid. Talk about bringing a Poppy joy. And confirmation, too. I watched as this kiddo gave His musical talents to his local youth group as a member of the praise band. I’d go to youth group on Sunday evenings just to hear he and Kade lead in worship. Oh, the insufferable youth group games one had to endure just to get to worship, but it is one of the ways this guy continued to bring joy into our lives.

I could stand here all day and recount memories I have of Kobyn. You don’t want to be here that long. Besides, you have your own memories that are special. I encourage you to hold those memories close. Those memories are one way the Lord gives us to grieve the loss we feel today and there is great grace and not a little therapy that comes in remembering. 

I will especially remember one very special connection Kobyn and I shared. During a very difficult time in both of our lives, when we were separated by distance and didn’t get to see a lot of each other, we stayed connected through the game of chess. He loved to play chess. He was teaching his cousin Skyler to play chess and checkers…but anyway…he had me download a chess game on my phone, created me an account, and we played chess together online. Games would take weeks at a time. He almost always prevailed—he relished in beating Poppy at chess. It brought me great joy to lose to him over and over again.

For all the joy this kiddo brought me through the years, like you, I’m struggling to find any joy today. I am asking the same question you are asking—“Why?” Honestly, I’m not finding any answers.

I can’t think of the question “Why?’ without thinking of the man named Job in the Old Testament. I’m not going to read a lot of scripture from that Old Testament book because it’s just too long but let me give you the Lynn paraphrase: The Bible says Job was a good and righteous man. He lived with integrity and had a deep reverence for God.

I won’t go deeply into the details—I’ll trust you will read it for yourself—suffice it to say that even though Job was a good, just and upright person, tragedy came his way. Through absolutely no fault of his own he lost every one of his children through tragic circumstances. He was a rich man, too, but tragedy stole his riches, as well. Job’s tragic loss—which he couldn’t understand—caused him to ask the question “Why?”

As I’ve read the book of Job over the last week, I counted at least 20 times that Job asked God the “Why?” question. And, each time he asked the question (some would argue it was 25 times—but those were more implied questions than direct questions) he didn’t get an answer. All he got were platitudes from friends. What he got from God? Silence.

That’s how we feel, too. We’ve asked a thousand times over the last five days, “Why?” and we’ve not heard the Lord answer the question once. It makes us angry, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be angry with God. He can handle it. He’s not going to get mad at us for anger in our grief, but He’s still not likely to answer our questions.

What I realized as I read through Job again is that the story of Job in the Bible is not a story about Job’s suffering through the tragic losses in his life, but rather it is a story about Job’s faith through the tragic losses of his life. Even though Job had a lot of questions for God, he never lost his faith IN God. Just as with Job, the story of our lives are meant to be stories of faith. Will our faith bring us through this tragedy? That’s the question for this hour on this day.

No, I haven’t heard any answers to my questions. Job suffered, and for 35 chapters he poured his heart out to God as he listened to the platitudes of family and friends. Finally, all God does is ask Job some very pointed questions: “Where were you when I laid out the foundations of the universe? Can you make it rain?” Like Job, we ask God the hard questions of why, and like Job, God doesn’t answer us in any way that seems reasonable to us.

Why doesn’t He answer? Two reasons I can think of. First, knowing the answer would not make the burden any less hard to bear. Explanations are intellectual, passive and touch only our minds. Suffering is physical, active and God acted by suffering in His Son, Jesus, to deal with the issue of sin, evil and suffering in the world.

Second, God doesn’t answer because we are incapable of comprehending the answer. We simply cannot see how God uses the ordinary (or extraordinary) circumstances of our daily lives to effect redemption, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t doing it. We can’t see the grand sweep of eternity, nor can we see God’s plan for creation or even for our own lives—as long or short as they may be.

Receiving no answer leads us to believe that God is absent. Job certainly thought so (Job 23: 8-9)– “But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. 9 When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.”

Trust me when I tell you this: God is not absent. He is at work through this. If He seems absent, perhaps He is, as an old Catholic nun told me, so close that we can’t see Him. I believe with all my heart that He was present with Kobyn Saturday morning, holding him and loving him with a love deeper than the deepest sea. And I believe that He is present with us now loving us in the same way—even though in this moment He seems so silent and so distant.

I agree with the Apostle Paul who reminds us in Romans 8 that there is nothing in life or in death that will ever separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ, His Son. Nothing can separate us. If I believed it before Saturday I have to believe it now—that’s what faith is—and our stories, like Job’s, are meant to be stories of faith.

Our stories are meant to be stories of faith because God has chosen us to be participants with Him in the redemption of His creation. Literally, from cover to cover, the Bible is about God restoring His creation, and God chose us to be participants in that restoration. We participate by faith.

God sent His son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross. God entered the world, limiting Himself to time and space, and when He did, He played by the same rules we play by. He suffered and died. A man as Jesus was, full of grace and compassion, so willing to give Himself in service to the world, it made no sense for the world to kill him. It was in his suffering and death that the world finds its redemption, and it is in his suffering and death that we are called to be participants by faith in God’s eternal plan.

Yes, I know, that doesn’t answer the questions we’re still asking but it’s all I’ve got.

So, what next? Let me offer three brief responses that will hopefully enable us to take another step in redeeming our circumstances. First, grieve—deeply. It’s okay. Grief is as human an emotion as joy. I recall King David in 2 Samuel 18 who lost a son through quite tragic circumstances. In his grief, he wished he could have traded his life for his son’s. We can’t, even though in our grief, we sure would like to. Grieve with deep grief. It’s natural. Don’t wallow in it, but go through it with faith.

That’s the second thing we must do—trust. If I believed God was a good, loving, kind and just God before Saturday, then I have to believe that He is still just as good, loving, kind and just today. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. He didn’t change because our circumstances did. Kobyn is in the hands of the God who loves him and who loves us. By faith, I’m trusting in Him to get us through this.

Finally, we need to serve. Remember, the Lord is calling us to participate with Him in the redemption of all creation. There are others who have walked this same journey. There are others who will soon walk this journey. Statistics tell the tale of a rising mental health crisis, especially among young men. If we would find any redemption in this tragedy, let us become advocates for all those who struggle with mental health issues. Let us walk with others through their grief so that they might find hope in Jesus Christ.

God has redeemed and is redeeming the world through suffering—first His Son’s, and now through ours. Will we participate with Him by our faith?

Many friends have reached out to me over the last several days. One word that has been used several times is “remarkable.” They said, “Kobyn was a remarkable young man.” I corrected them, “Kobyn IS a remarkable young man.” Let us never refer to those we love who die in the Lord in the past tense. He is alive, maybe more alive than he’s ever been. I believe that!

So, I’ll miss you, buddy, but I know where you are. I know I’ll see you soon. Fly high, Mini Me, and rest well until that day. Poppy loves you now and always! Amen!

Conclusion

Perhaps someone else will find the words healing. They have helped me along in my own grief as I’ve read over them at least four times in the past week. The answers to the “Why?” question is still not clear and may never be, but I’m trusting the Lord to get us through…perhaps one blog post at a time.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Reflections, Course-Corrections and Deep Gratitude…

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

It is early Sunday morning. I love the early morning hours. They are the best time for me to pray, reflect, read and give thanks. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I don’t. Trust me. Coffee is better at 4:00 a.m., than at 8:00 a.m.

This morning is different than most mornings. It is different, first, because I’m breathing different air than usual. Vanessa and I were able to slip away to Hot Springs, AR for a little R & R over the holiday weekend.

I’m drinking coffee in a rented house. I tell you, this Vrbo thing is nice. You can actually rent someone’s home when you’re on vacation! As nice as it is, I’m not sure I could rent my home to perfect strangers. Seriously, someone you don’t know poking around in your personal space? A bit frightening to me, but here I am doing it in someone else’s home. Go figure?

As I reflect this Sunday morning, I am reflecting again on how fleeting life is. Even these moments of reflection seem to be fleeting, too.

It is different, secondly, because I am holding a tension between sorrow and joy this morning. Not that there isn’t always some sorrow and some joy resident in our lives, but this morning the contrast is particularly striking.

The Paradox of Life and Death

The news is filled with reports from the hill country of Texas and the flash flooding from the Guadalupe River. The sudden loss of life. The tragedy of families searching for loved ones. The tales of heroism. The heart-break to hear of little girls missing in the midst of it all. My heart is broken for those little girls and their families, and also for the Camp Mystic staff who was responsible for their safety. These past two mornings have beef filled with prayer for all of them. Those prayers continue this morning.

In the midst of the deep sorrow, I am also experiencing deep joy at having a few hours to connect (re-connect) with our daughters. Kelsey and her husband, Matt, spent a couple of nights with us here in Hot Springs, and Brittney and our grandson, Lincoln spent yesterday and last night with us. They are our little girls, and I am grateful (eternally so) that we’ve not experienced the horror of losing one of them. While my heart sinks at what I sense those families in Texas are experiencing, I give thanks to the good Lord for our children and the blessings He has poured out on our family.

The devil wants to make me feel guilty for being so grateful, but I refuse to succumb to his tactics. We hold life and death in tension constantly, and this morning is no different. As the Book of Common Prayer (and the Methodist funeral liturgy) reminds us:

In the midst of life, we are in death; From whom can we seek our help?

The answer, of course, is that we find our help in the name of the Lord. As challenging as it sometimes is to do, I hold the tension between life and death by grace and with gratitude, trusting that the Lord will give us strength to face whatever life brings our way.

Missing Annual Conference

I’m also reflecting this morning on Annual Conference. Yeah, I know right? But I must be missing Annual Conference. I’ve had two dreams this week that I was Annual Conference. It’s probably because my Facebook newsfeed has been filled with former colleagues who were attending Annual Conference, and who have been sharing their “new appointments” on their Facebook pages. That reality has brought both good and bad memories. Again, with the paradox (irony?) that is life.

I must say that I haven’t missed Annual Conference very much since I surrendered my credentials in the United Methodist Church. I’ll admit that first June in 2020 was different, but it would have been different anyway because of a little thing called Covid. Beginning in 2021, though, I connected with the Evangelical Methodist Church, and have attended their iteration of Annual Conference since then…until this year.

Due to circumstances beyond my control (that whole life and death thing again), I was unable to attend this year’s “Journey” session. I missed Annual Conference, literally. I suppose, through my subconscious, I’m missing it figuratively, too.

What do I miss? I miss the collegiality. I miss the friendships. I miss the fellowship. I miss the laughter over meals shared. I miss the worship. I miss the singing. I miss the work of Annual Conference. I miss the slipping away to the book store (or to the mall, or the coffee shop, or the golf course, or wherever) when there was a boring report session. Yes, there is much I miss about Annual Conference. The quiet mornings of this weekend have been moments of reflection on that loss.

The quiet mornings of this weekend have also brought me joy as I’ve reflected on the goodness of God since I left the United Methodist Church in 2019. It was a pain-staking decision to surrender my credentials that year, but let’s just say there are many actions the denomination has taken since that time that have affirmed our decision.

There were other options open to me in 2019, one of which was the path of “retirement.” Honestly, if I’m asked by someone now about my situation, and I don’t want to get involved in a whole conversation, I will simply say, “I retired.” It’s easier than having to go through a long explanation about “surrendering orders,” and all that.

Choosing to Quit

Yup! I quit! Call me a quitter if you want, but the reality is I didn’t quit ministry. I simply quit the United Methodist Church. (If we’re being honest, the UMC left me long before I left it.) I had no idea if it was the right decision then, but time has proven that it was a course-correction in my faith journey, and for that course-correction, I give thanks.

Had I chosen to “retire” in the UMC, I would now be limited by the same Annual Conference (that I loved so dearly) as to where I could preach the Gospel, or even attend as a worshipper. If a family member passed away, and that person’s funeral was in a congregation that disaffiliated from the UMC, I couldn’t (with integrity) participate in their funeral without fear of punishment (financially held hostage would be a better characterization). I’m not always sure what Jesus would do, but in that case, I’m pretty sure.

Yeah, I know…sour grapes and all that. I shouldn’t be chewing gum that I’ve chewed before, but the reflections of this weekend have been a reminder of the tensions in life. I’ve been both filled with sorrow and filled with joy…filled with grief and filled with anticipation…filled with heartache and filled with gratitude. In the midst of it all, there is grace–God’s grace. It is only by His grace that the tension is bearable.

So, I’m just going to hold on to Him. Won’t you join me?

Until next time, keep looking up…

Still Some Dying to Do…

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

The past week has had me contemplating death…yes, even my own! What a morbid way to begin a blog, right? Hear me out, though!

Certainly, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve thought about my own demise. My dad died at age 63, so I’m a mere three years younger than he was when he passed away. I’ve thought about that often since October.

Honestly, that’s not really the death I have been contemplating recently. It may have been the ice storm left me with too much time on my hands, or the fact that I preached on Jesus’s baptism last week, but the death I’ve been contemplating is death to self. In that regard, I know I have a little more dying to do.

I am reminded of the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who said in The Cost of Discipleship, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” We die to pride, we die to selfishness, we die to our own will, our own desires, and we are raised to be like Christ.

As much as baptism is a symbol of the forgiveness of sins, it is also a symbol of our dying. The Apostle Paul said as much to the Roman church:

3 Or have you forgotten that when we were joined with Christ Jesus in baptism, we joined him in his death? 4 For we died and were buried with Christ by baptism. And just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glorious power of the Father, now we also may live new lives.5 Since we have been united with him in his death, we will also be raised to life as he was. 6 We know that our old sinful selves were crucified with Christ so that sin might lose its power in our lives. We are no longer slaves to sin. 7 For when we died with Christ we were set free from the power of sin. 8 And since we died with Christ, we know we will also live with him.

Romans 6: 3 – 8

Baptism is our acknowledgment that we have heard God’s call to come and die. Baptism is our acknowledgment that we are not sent to work “for” God, but are sent to be “used” by God for His purpose. We acknowledge that we are His vessel so that His grace can be poured out through us. For that to happen, I must die.

My pride must die. Pride has no place in God’s presence. Pride cannot be sustained in God’s presence. If I’m still struggling with pride (and I am), I still have some dying to do.

Death is a frightening thing, though. We avoid it like the plague. Yes, even dying to self, especially when we live in a culture that tells us life is about self-realization, self-actualization and self-fulfillment. No, I’m sorry! That is not what the Bible says and that is not God’s call upon our lives. God’s call is to self-surrender. God’s call is to selflessness. God’s call is to self-denial. In that regard, I still have some dying to do.

Paul says we are dead to sin. Oh, really? It sure doesn’t feel that way some days! It’s probably because I still have some dying to do. God’s call is to holiness…to sanctification (that $3 theological word we Wesleyans like to throw around). We Wesleyans believe that baptism is an acknowledgment that God’s sanctifying grace begins its work in us so that God might do His work through us. We believe that a life of holiness is real and attainable, but it will only come through death–death to self. We must die to live. An oxymoron, I know, but according to Paul, it is imperative.

Then why is it that many (most) days, I feel like I actually regressed in the pursuit of holiness? Honestly, some days I get tired of trying! Death is hard! Faithfulness is hard! Pursuing a life of holiness is exhausting! Well, duh!

The last week of reflection has shown me that it is so hard because I’m the one doing all the work. I’m the one doing all the work because I still have some dying to do. The “old self” hasn’t died enough to realize that forgiveness is a gift…salvation is a gift…the Holy Spirit is a gift. I heard the call of God and then “I” went to work instead of receiving the gift and allowing the Holy Spirit to do His work in me.

I work so dad-gum hard to become a better me that I never realized that the Lord wants to make me a different me. He’ll do all the work if I just get out of the way and let him. The only way I can get out of the way is through death–death to self.

How? How can I die to self? I can’t! I’ve figured that one out. This death is not within my ability to accomplish. I have to quit trying. I have to surrender even my desire for self-denial to the power of the Holy Spirit. I cannot overcome the temptations and pride of life in myself. It is only through a power outside myself. My only prayer…my only hope is “Let the Holy Spirit fall on me!”

I still have a little dying to do. Come Holy Spirit! I’ll not die without You!

Until next time, keep looking up…

Just Trying to Make a Point…

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Last Sunday was Easter Sunday. I thought I had a pretty good sermon. I had three points (which some folks argue is two too many!), and I thought I was well prepared to make all three points. I was wrong. I did a terrible job making my third point (judge for yourself by clicking here), so I figured I’d use this space to make the point I wanted to make Sunday.

I should have known it was not going to be a good day for preaching when I mysteriously turned a six foot white rabbit into a six foot white monkey in my opening illustration. It was pretty much down hill from there. Oh, the rabbit that mysteriously became a monkey was the pooka from the movie Harvey, starring Jimmy Stewart as Elwood P. Dowd. The premise of the sermon was a play off one line in the film–“the evening wore on” (See the clip here). Mark in his gospel uses a turn of phrase that is (to me) equally compelling–“just at sunrise” (Mark 16: 1-8).

The point? The sunrise (the resurrection) overcomes the darkness…of sin with the promise of forgiveness, of death with the promise of our resurrection, and of fear with the promise of eternal life. It was the last point where I failed to make my point (not counting the whole rabbit/monkey affair).

Here is what I said:

As the evening wore on, the darkness of death would also shadow the promise of eternal life, but just at sunrise the joy comes. The 24-hour news cycle is killing us. We hear the news, see the Facebook feeds and watch in amazement as the culture continues its steep decline. The evening appears to go on endlessly. We long for the sunrise. We wonder when will the night be over.

Are you looking for a sunrise? Turn off CNN and Fox News. Take a break from scrolling your Facebook feed, and pick up a bible. Open its pages and pray. There you’ll meet the risen Jesus, and you’ll experience the sunrise, and you’ll know a hope that never disappoints.

James Moore tells the story when The Saturday Evening Post ran a cartoon showing a man about to be rescued after he had spent a long time ship-wrecked on a tiny deserted island. The sailor in charge of the rescue team stepped onto the beach and handed the man a stack of newspapers.

“Compliments of the Captain,” the sailor said. “He would like you to glance at the headlines to see if you’d still like to be rescued!”     

Sometimes the headlines do scare us. There are times we feel evil is winning, but then along comes Easter, to remind us that there is no grave deep enough, no seal imposing enough, no stone heavy enough, no evil strong enough to keep Christ in the grave. God keeps his promises. We can’t always see it until the sunrise.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad point, but the point I really wanted to make is that the darkness of fear has overshadowed our deep theology surrounding death itself. If nothing else, the past year has shown that the church’s theology of death doesn’t extend much past the point of dying. I do have to be careful how I say this. It could too easily be politicized, and that is not my intention, at all.

It’s just that I’ve watched with some amazement over the past year as many “followers of Christ” acted as though death was absolutely the worst thing that could happen. Death, for a believer, is not the end. This life…this earthly life…isn’t all there is. The resurrection (Easter) is our reminder of the promise of eternal life.

We say in the Apostle’s Creed that we believe “…in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.” The doctrine of eternal life is historic, orthodox Christian theology. Because of Easter we do not face death with fear, but with peace and with an assurance that Christ waits for us just beyond the veil that separates this life from the next one. Or, so the Apostle Paul taught the Corinthian church that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8).

It was also the Apostle Paul who shared his own inner conflict with the church at Philippi:

20 For I fully expect and hope that I will never be ashamed, but that I will continue to be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past. And I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die. 21 For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better. 22 But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don’t know which is better. 23 I’m torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me. 24 But for your sakes, it is better that I continue to live.

25 Knowing this, I am convinced that I will remain alive so I can continue to help all of you grow and experience the joy of your faith. 

Philippians 1: 20 – 25

Yes, I know that “eternal life” is more quality of life than quantity of life. I know eternal life is living a Christ-centered life now, but even acknowledging that fact should never diminish our understanding of the glory we shall one day share with Jesus Christ, Himself.

Embracing a broader theology of death doesn’t compel us to seek to become martyrs, nor does it cause us to take foolish chances with the gift that is this life, but it should free us from cowering in fear of death’s approach. The reality is that the death rate is 100%. If we live long enough everyone of us will die. And, we all know there are times when death does, in fact, come as a friend. The question becomes will we face death with confidence, hope and faith, or will we do so in the darkness of fear?

If we live long enough everyone of us will die.

Me? I’m going to chose to live in the confident expectation of eternal life because “just at sunrise,” hope dawned. Yes, I’m going to live today for Jesus. I’m going to love Him, and I’m going to love my neighbor, and by God’s grace, I’m going to love my enemy. I’m not going to hasten death (at least not intentionally), but I’m not going to live in fear of it, either.

It was April Fool’s Day 2007 and Vanessa and I had just dropped our daughters off for youth group at the church. We decided we needed our favorite indulgence, so we headed to the local Dairy Queen for a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard. We had made our turn onto the Main Street of our town and as we slowed to turn into the parking lot of the Dairy Queen, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a car quickly approaching. I shouted to Vanessa, “Hold on, they’re going to hit us!”

Hit us, they did. I’m told by folks who witnessed the event that my truck flipped four times into the parking lot of the Dairy Queen. Thankfully, Vanessa and I escaped relatively unscathed with the exception of a few scrapes and bruises, but I told Vanessa later that as we were making those flips the only thought I had was, “Death ain’t no big deal.” I’ve since thought, “That’s the most expensive ice cream I never had!”

I share that story not arrogantly, but confidently…confident in the power of the resurrection of Jesus Christ in whom I believe. That’s the point I was trying to make. I’ll not say it’s the whole point of Easter, but it is certainly one of the main points of it. And, it’s not to say that death is not a big deal. It is a big deal, but for the believer, it’s not the only deal, nor is it necessarily the worst deal.

I’m still not sure why I didn’t make the point better on Sunday. Maybe it was the rabbit that threw me off my game…or the monkey. Hopefully, I’ve made the point better here, but if not, there’s always next Easter.

Until next time, keep looking up…