Sunday, February 4, 2007

My dearest God,

The four of us were together again, not at the old church. It was gone, torn down. An assisted living facility now rests on the ground that once was holy, wholly dedicated to God. The church had been moved.

Dr. Bill Martz had died. A loving cardiologist, a well-known, respected physician with a long list of accomplishments, Bill had created an annuity for the church. He had given $50,000 for a shelter on the 37.5 acre plot, the first building to be erected. It was only right that Bill's memorial service take place in the new facility.

My husband planned the service. He wrote the obituary. He invited the boy scouts, the masons, and the veterans to take part in the service. He called Larry (I always called him Lawrence when we hugged and kissed on the cheek every Sunday morning) and Caroline his wife (we did the same). We had served together for eight years, Larry as organist (Professor of Organ at IU) Caroline as Music Director (Distinguished Professor of Voice at DePauw) Harold as senior pastor and me.

Bill was Harold's mentor. Whenever life got rough, Harold made a pathway to Bill's house. He took Harold's blood pressure and Geri, his wife and RN, calmed him down. They would listen to his plight, offer words of affirmation and encouragement, feed him a delectable meal that Geri prepared, then sent him on his way. Bill served as Harold's surrogate father since both men had lost their fathers before they were 12 years old. Bill was a wise man, full of insight, hope, and knowledge. Harold and Bill were deep abiding friends.

This occasion brought the four of us together again. Geri wanted us to be with her, to share in her grief and loss, but also to celebrate Bill's life.

When Larry sat down at the musical instrument, a Ruggles pipe organ, perched high at the front of the sanctuary and Caroline stood at the newly stained wooden rail wrapping the organ, my heart began to flutter and my eyes teared. "Our father, which art in heaven..." Caroline sang like the angel she is. I looked at Harold, eyes closed, his mind flooded with memories. Tears unashamedly dripped down my cheeks as I sat on the front row with Geri and her daughter and family. Later when Harold gave the message, Larry and Caroline smiled the whole time. Memories filled them too. When Harold called me up at the end of his message, I put my arm around his waist and we sang accappella Bill's favorite song written by Kris Kristofferson, "One day at a time, Sweet Jesus, that's all I'm asking from you. Just give me the strength to do every day what I have to do. Yesterday's gone, Sweet Jesus, and tomorrow may never be mine. Lord, help me today, show me the way, one day at a time."

As we stood to sing the final hymn my eyes gazed upon the brilliant colors of the altar cloth I had asked a seamstress to make for a festival. On a backdrop of bright green, the golden word spoke volumes...HOPE.

The four of us once stood together in ministry. We shared a love for each other, for God, and for Calvary United Methodist Church. We listened to each other's woes and celebrated God's hand in our lives, in our children and family. We truly love one another and our gifts are woven into a tapestry of faith, joy, and unity. The bright colors of our lives register frequently at odd times when we remember offering our gifts to God together every week.

Around a brand new table in the newly finished fellowship hall, Caroline and I hugged and kissed once again, our voices going a mile a minute as we shared the latest happenings in our families. I told her how good it felt to be together again. She nodded. She and Larry had felt the same way. Our smiles had given us away, a holy smile, a gesture of thanks to the God who had brought us together in ministry, friendship, and love.

Holy Father,
you gather us at your knee,
calling our names,
bringing us together.
You whisper words of love,
of faith, and joy.
You show us the majesty
of divine relationships
that take hold
when people surrender
their lives to you.
The blood that flows through our veins
is the same as your own
because we have given our hearts to you.
Our joy is complete,
our hearts are full,
as we experience once again
the fullness of your loving grace.
We are filled with gratitude
for moments together,
recalling your generosity
of spirit.
Your presence fills the air
and our souls
are glad.

Loving you forever, Andrea