Tag Archives: Death

Pastor Keith

Events, People, Rave, , , ,
Pastor Keith Fry
Pastor Keith Fry of Christ the Lord Lutheran Church, Elgin, IL

Most of you know by now that my father died in October. I’m not ready to talk about that here, if ever. What I want to talk about, instead, is an incredible man I met in September, but got to know much better in October.

Pastor Keith Fry is the pastor of my mom’s church, Christ the Lord Lutheran Church in Elgin, Illinois. Mom only recently started going to this church, finally giving into her friends’ invitations to attend. I think she’s gone to this church just over a year.

I liked Pastor Keith as soon as I met him in September at my mom’s book group where they discussed Take this Bread by Sara Miles. I met him again the following Sunday when I attended church with my mom. His sermon mentioned someone he’d discussed at the book group — a friend he’d made in Washington DC who had nothing, yet gave him a gift. That tipped me off that this man was a man to whom connections were important.

When, three weeks ago, my mom’s church friends alerted Pastor Keith that my dad was on life support and in critical condition at St. Joesph hospital, he made a trip to the hospital that night. By then my mom and brother had left — knowing that there was little they could do for Dad and they both needed a good night’s sleep in order to have a clear mind to make whatever decisions needed to be made in the coming days. I’m sure Pastor Keith prayed over/for/about my father and for my mom for strength. He probably also got information from the nursing staff on Dad’s condition.

He showed up on Tuesday morning as well, this time offering support by way of prayer and information. He asked a few questions about our family — he really didn’t know Mom that well — so wanted to know if we had other siblings, what we did for a living, how many kids we had, where we lived, etc. None of what we told him was of any use, really, but, as I mentioned earlier, Pastor Keith is a man to whom connections are important. He wanted to know us in order to connect. At least, that’s what I think he was doing.

On Wednesday and Thursday he was always a phone call away and on Thursday evening my brother called him to tell him that we’d need his support on Friday morning.

I’m not sure what we would have done without Pastor Keith’s support on Friday morning. He was a calm presence the room. He was knowledgeable about the process. He was there when we needed him, but it was not as if there was a stranger in the room with us — more like a dear friend. Most of all, he assured us we were doing the right thing.

All the while we were together, Pastor Keith must have been taking mental notes. He was storing our words, actions, and stories in a file in his head. I know this because he gave the most touching funeral sermon I’ve ever heard — taking what he’d observed the past week, what he’d heard from us the past week, and what he’d seen in a slideshow I posted on Facebook (yes, Pastor Keith is on Facebook). If there is a prize for funeral sermons, this one is a sure winner. It is posted after the break if you want to read it.

One of the memories I shared with Pastor Keith that morning was my vision of Heaven: When my Uncle Don died when I was 6 years old I couldn’t really process it until President Kennedy was assassinated. Then I wondered if they’d meet in Heaven. I pictured Uncle Don and President Kennedy sitting at a table drinking beer. As more and more people that I knew or admired died, they joined the table. If you read the sermon, you’ll see that Pastor Keith really listened.

Unfortunately I don’t have the gift of listening that Pastor Keith possesses. I’d like to tell you more about him, but all I know for sure is that he grew up in Texas, the son of a Baptist minister. He has siblings — maybe 3 or 4? He used to be in publishing, but about 5 years ago decided to go to Seminary. My mom’s church is his first congregation. They love him (I know, I read it on Facebook). I think I love him too.

Sermon: Elvin Patrick Funeral
Texts: Isaiah 25 and John 11
Preached: October 26, 2010 at CTL

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from Christ Jesus, who is resurrection and life.  AMEN

I’m one of those strange people who has always been fascinated by other people’s family photos.  As I watched the slide show of the pictures of Elvin that Dona put together and posted on Facebook, and then again at the funeral home last evening, I saw glimpses of a life.  A young man in a Navy uniform embracing an even younger Patricia whom he had recently met at the Moose Lodge as they stand in front of a car that was old even then, with Patricia looking adoringly at him.  A middle-aged man building a fence around the backyard… perhaps to shield from the neighbors’ view the orphaned washing machines he had brought home to work on.  A young father holding his children Dona and Kevin, and then a grandfather gently holding sleeping grandchildren, or playing with them on walkie-talkies, or playing Santa.  A tall man posing with his shorter brother-in-law Don in their Doberman t-shirts, just having a good time for the camera.  A man in a somewhat grubby bathrobe tinkering in the garage, clearly a guy who could fix just about anything.  A Depression-era boy standing in stiff pose with the farm folk not so very far from here.  A middle-aged man loading up a rusted-out van—the same van, I learned last evening, that was used to carry Christmas gifts for the Moose Lodge to be given to needy children.  A 12- or 13-year old boy standing proudly in a suit and tie with his confirmation class in the Covenant church in Lily Lake, having just affirmed the promise of his baptism, that I believe took place in that same church.

Now, more linear folks, or those with more time available, might have sequenced those pictures in chronological order, starting with the little boy on the dangerous-looking tricycle, and ending with the older man sitting in his easy chair.  But you know, I loved the fact that the pictures were in totally random order, because that’s the way our memories really work, isn’t it?  Past and present get all mixed together and blended.  Things that happened 50 years ago can seem as though they were moments ago, and yet we can’t remember whether we had breakfast this morning.  In later years, Elvin’s memories had become more confused, and often blurry.  82 years can really pack in a lot of memories.  The older memories sometimes are the ones that come most easily, though…and often they are the sweetest.

In looking at those pictures, I was struck by how many of them were taken at banquets and parties.  Wedding banquets, with Elvin dancing with his wife, or his daughter, or daughter-in-law.  A 25th-anniversary banquet with a beautiful cake on the table waiting to be sliced.  Backyard barbeques with grills smoking and Old Style flowing.  Moose picnics with gingham tablecloths fluttering and an Oscar-Meyer Weiner mobile standing at the ready.  Family holiday gatherings with rich food and bottles of wine and a peppermint pig about to be hammered to bits.  And some sort of gathering where everybody is wearing slightly goofy—OK, totally goofy—paper crowns.  You can explain that one to me later.  But feasting and partying and enjoying life and relationships…those things jumped out at me as I looked at Elvin’s memories, at the memories that you share with him.

The reading from Isaiah that we heard Andrew read a few moments ago tells us that God is all about banqueting.  In that beautiful passage, we hear that the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples on his holy mountain a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.  That banquet is the vision that God gives to us of our future.  That feast is God’s plan for us, God’s desire for us.  God delights in throwing us a party.  It’s a feast where all the hurts of this life that have caused us pain, all those things that bring tears to our eyes, will be wiped away.  All those things that we’ve been ashamed of will be taken away, removed from our sight, wiped from our memory and from God’s.  It actually says that God himself will wipe those tears away from our cheeks.  And at that banquet, it says that the shroud that covers us, the sheet that blocks our vision and clouds our minds, that mortality that causes our bodies and minds to age and weaken, will be ripped away.  Death itself will be destroyed.  And we will feast, feasting beyond our imagining.

Elvin is already enjoying that feast.  His mind is clear once more, any pains of this life removed, any tears that might have flowed dried by God’s own hand as gently as Kevin wiped a tear from his father’s face as he breathed his last breath.  And no paper crown for Elvin, because he has now been crowned with God’s faithful love and mercy.  That’s just how God is.  You see, God’s memory is long, and God’s memory is sure and certain.  God remembers the child that God claimed in baptism all those years ago, God remembers that adolescent boy who was confirmed and sealed with God’s own Spirit, and as we lay Elvin to rest this morning in the cemetery just yards away from the church where those things happened, we have the assurance that God has welcomed Elvin to the feast that does not end, and that God will welcome us, as well.

In a few moments, we will gather at this table to taste and see the goodness of God.  As we gather, we come for a foretaste of the great banquet that Elvin already enjoys.  At this table, we join in that rich feast, surrounded by that great cloud of witnesses who already see God face to face.  We come remembering the good things that God has done throughout history, but we come also remembering the good gifts that God has given to each of us.  We come giving thanks that God remembers God’s promises.  We come with gratitude that God’s memory of our failings is wiped out.  We come in our sorrow to allow God to wipe away our tears.  We come with thankfulness for our brother Elvin’s life.  We come with joy, remembering God’s promises that death itself has been destroyed and that we can enjoy life that has no end.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN

Mr Tuttle’s Orbit

Death, Memories, , , ,

Once a year when I was in elementary school our class would take a field trip to the local planetarium. We’d get to the planetarium on a school bus — a novelty for me since I was a “walker”. The bus would drop us off in front of the planetarium and we’d file into the domed white building. Inside the planetarium, it was cool and dimly lit, almost church-like. We were instructed to find a seat on one of the pew-like benches that encircled the large star projector. The backs of the benches were tilted to make it easy to lean back and look at the dome over our heads on which the projector would project the stars and planets.

Once seated, the planetarium teacher, Mr. Tuttle, would step up to the podium and welcome us to the planetarium. He’d slowly dim the lights and take us on an amazing journey that involved sunset, moonrise, constellations, planets, and an uncountable number of stars. For several years all I saw was a blur because I was nearsighted but had not gotten glasses yet. Once I got glasses, I was awed by the number of stars on the screen. The huge star projector seemed to move (perhaps it did) and sometimes I’d pretend it was a monster.

I don’t know that I ever talked to Mr. Tuttle when I was in grade school, but I vividly remember him and his lessons.  I did have the opportunity to talk to him when I was in high school. I’d signed up to walk for the “Hike for Hunger” in the early 1970’s with my best friend, Cindy. Her father was a teacher and a friend of Mr. Tuttle. Because of that connection, Mr. Tuttle walked with Cindy and me for most of the 25 miles that day. I felt honored beyond words that of all the other students in the crowd, he chose us to walk with.

I never really got “into” astronomy and although I can name all the planets and a handful of constellations, I don’t know where they will be in the sky on any given evening. However, I love looking at the night sky. I get updates from Spaceweather.com telling me when something cool is going to happen in the sky and sometimes I remember to watch for it and when I stand outside looking up to the heavens I always think of Mr. Tuttle — even though I’ve known other planetarium directors, having taught elementary school.

A few days before I set off on my trip to Illinois I read on Facebook that Mr. Tuttle had died the previous Sunday and that a memorial service would be held for him the following Saturday. I wanted to go to the memorial service because it was for a man who I thought about several times a month.

I did go to the service and am glad I did. I discovered that he was more than a planetarium director. He was a loving father and husband, a musician, a maker of quilts and an active church member (of the church in which I was baptized).

I did not know, as a child, that Mr. Tuttle was religious. It never occurred to me to think about it. If I had thought about it — years later — I would probably have thought that since he was a scientist, he probably was not very involved in a church. Sitting in the church on Saturday during Mr. Tuttle’s memorial service, I was struck by how similar being in the planetarium was to being in a church. The benches were wooden pews. The atmosphere was serene. If I recall correctly, there was even a “pulpit” of sorts where Mr. Tuttle would stand and tell us about the stars.

Courier News Article

Daily Herald Article

Crime and Punisment

Death, , , ,

One of the she scariest months in my life has to have been October 2002 when two very disturbed individuals went on a 3-week-long shooting  spree in an area that included most of the DC metro area — and many the places I regularly frequented.  All together they killed at least 10 people, targeting random people for what seemed to be no reason.

My son’s elementary school canceled recess during that time. My son’s soccer team canceled all games and practices. Buying gas terrified me. Getting from my car to a public building suddenly became something that resembled a obstacle course — we walked quickly in a zig-zag pattern until we were safely inside. Playgrounds were silent. No one was on the streets in our neighborhood. Trick-or-treating for Halloween was scheduled to be canceled. Every day I worried that one of my kids or husband (who refused to let the sniper attacks make him give up riding his bike to work) would be killed during the day.

Then suddenly it was over. The snipers had been caught and the streets were safe again. The DC metro area breathed a collective sigh of relief. My son and husband among them.

One of those men is scheduled to die this evening and despite the fear he and his accomplice put me through 7 years ago, I cannot be glad about that. I don’t like it that our country puts people to death. Of course people will counter my argument with — what if it was one of your kids. Or your parents. Or your husband. I cannot possibly know what my thoughts would be in that case. I only know now that despite our country’s long history of having the death penalty, people still kill each other. I don’t think the death penalty is working.