Yesterday afternoon I attended the funeral of my friend Mike (context here and here). It was quite a nice funeral, as these things go, and was more a celebration of his life than a time of mourning for his death. There were hundreds of people in attendance, enough that my friend and I, and many other people, were forced to stand throughout. It was also ridiculously hot for an late-September funeral in Canada. As always, the funeral gave me opportunity to reflect on a few things and I thought I’d share some of those today.

Grief turns the toughest into poets. Mike’s brothers, one of whom is older than him and the other younger, did a speech of sorts. They recounted memories from their childhood, described the evolution of the patented “banana slice” that plagued Mike’s golf game, laughed at his “anal retentiveness” (as they described it) and remembered his ability to make their mother laugh when she was supposed to be angry. The speech culminated in a poem the older brother had written following Mike’s death. While I do not remember the poem, it struck me how poetry seems fitting during the emotional highs and lows of life. Mike’s brother did not look like the type who would usually sit down to pen a poem, yet here he was, reading it unashamedly (or nearly unashamedly) in front of hundreds of people. I have often seen the same at weddings or following the birth of children. Somehow poetry expresses what prose cannot seem to. I guess that is why David and the other Psalmists decided to use poetry to express such depths of joy, pain, sorrow and penitence. I have not written poetry for many years, and I think those who read my early efforts would agree that this is a good thing.

I miss liturgy. It’s breaking news and you heard it here first. I miss litury. I don’t miss candles and bowing to crosses, but I do miss some of the formality of a more structured service. The funeral was held in an Anglican church that I do not believe was “high” Anglican. But I appreciated several elements of the service. I enjoyed praying the Lord’s Prayer together. Granted most of the people in the audience were probably unbelievers (and many were probably Catholic as there was a whole lot of “crossing” going on), but I do enjoy praying together. I also enjoyed reciting the Twenty-third Psalm in unison. And finally, I enjoyed the written liturgy the priest read to commend Mike’s soul to God. I have often expressed my belief that simply because words are written down and are not my own, they are no less pleasing to God, and I feel that proved true at the funeral.

I miss the “set apartness” of the clergy. I grew up in Presbyterian and Reformed churches. While neither of these traditions had any sort of a priesthood, they did believe in a “set apartness” of the pastor that is not present in most evangelical churches. Evangelical pastors often seem to feel that they need to be the most casual and the most irreverent if they are to model informality and authenticity to their congregations (and in saying this I do not mean to indict my own pastors). While I have no desire to create a priestly caste, I do appreciate the dignity of clergy that are set apart. Somehow this just seems to be an external indicator that the pastor takes his roles and responsibilities seriously and a reminder to the people that he has been called to fill a special role.

I do not know Anglican etiquette. The priest would finish reading the Bible or praying and would say some words of conclusion and just about everyone else in the service knew what to say back to him. I did not. It occurs to me that the last time I sat through an Anglican service was many, many years ago - probably following the death of my great uncle who was an Anglican priest (and, according to all the evidence, a life-long unbeliever). So I have never had opportunity to learn the proper conduct in that denomination. Can someone fill me in?

My life will be a failure if at my funeral people only remember how nice I was. I’m guessing that when the disciples gathered after Jesus’ death they did not sit and recount all the nice things He did. And when the early church remembered Paul, I doubt they remembered the times he had said nice things and played with their children. Of course there is nothing wrong with being nice. But that is not how I want to be remembered. Nor do I want to be remembered primarily as a good husband or good father. Mike was a nice guy. He was friendly, usually happy and was generally willing to help others. He was a good husband and a good father. But conspicuously absent from memories of Mike was any mention of his love for God. If my life does not display a deep, abiding love for God, a love so integral to my life that all who know me can’t help but notice it, I’ll consider my life a great failure. I don’t want to be remembered as a nice guy. I want to be remembered as a godly guy.

And finally, cremation is a difficult concept to explain to a five-year old. My son wanted to know what they did with the body. I told him the body had been cremated. He asked what “cremated” meant and I decided I would give the default parental response of, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I’m not so sure that it would be useful for a child of his age to think about a body being burned to ashes. That is probably beyond what a five-year old mind can deal with.

So that is it. Mike has been laid to rest. I continue to pray that God would not allow me any rest as long as there are other Mikes around me.

Last week I shared an article about my friend Mike. I though I would update the situation. This morning I received the following, long-awaited email. I have modified it very slightly to protect the family’s privacy.

“…it is with a heavy heart that I inform you all that Mike passed away peacefully on Saturday morning September 17th at 6:15 am at Princess Margaret Hospital. Mike’s mom and I were with him when he went and held his hand and told him how much we loved him and that he would be missed, and that he was incredibly brave for all that he has been through this past year…

…I told the girls today about their daddy, and [Older Daughter, age 5] was just devastated and [Younger Daughter] who is only 3 took care of [Older Daughter] and I by giving us Kleenex and water and told us we would be ok - typical of my nurturing 3 year old, she is wise beyond her years but also does not understand I am sure what I have told her at such a young age. I told them we are girls and girls are strong, therefore we will be ok and they liked that.

Thank you again for your love and support.”

The funeral will be held this Sunday afternoon. I would ask for your prayers for Mike’s wife and daughters, that somehow God would bring some some sense of peace and meaning through this. Pray that he would use this to pull them to His arms. It is a bit ironic, I suppose, that Mike’s wife is a counsellor who has no-doubt counselled hundreds or thousands of grieving people. I can’t help but wonder how all her training and experience are holding up now that she is the one looking for answers and trying to fill a great void in her life.

And pray that I would have opportunities to speak with her and to other people effected by Mike’s death. The funeral will be held at an Anglican church and I pray the the pastor, whom I do not know, challenges those in attendance to examine their own lives in the light of eternity.

And finally, pray that we, you and I, would never, ever get over the death of an unsaved loved one.

The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy, Third Edition (2002) defines the proverb “every dog has his day” as meaning, “Even the lowest of us enjoys a moment of glory.” In our culture we often hear about people enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame. What few people realize is that it was none other than Andy Warhol who coined this phrase (or the basis for this phrase) when he said in 1968, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes.” Later, in 1979 he declared that his prediction had come true: “…my prediction from the sixties finally came true: ‘In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.’”

Wikipedia defines “fifteen minutes of fame” as follows: “In popular culture, 15 minutes of fame refers to a sudden state of celebrity that is believed unlikely to continue long enough to affect the new celebrity’s life for the better.” Reality television provides bountiful opportunities for fifteen minutes of fame. People are raised to the status of instant celebrity, but after they show wraps up, and after their brief appearance on Letterman, they go back to stock shelves in the local grocery store. Fame is fleeting.

“Get to the point!” I can already hear you screaming. I’ll do that. My fifteen minutes of fame have arrived. I harbor no illusions that this will effect my life for the better. However, I do consider this a great honor. The following is taken from the introduction to the upcoming Total Truth: Study Guide Edition, the second edition of Nancy Pearcey’s book Total Truth.

I’d just like to take this opportunity to thank the little people…

But seriously, I have had the manuscript sitting on my shelf for several weeks now and noticed that introduction when someone pointed it out to me. It is amusing to note that in the version I have, which I believe is older than the one I posted here, my name is listed before Al Mohler. But placing Mohler first is definitely the more natural order of things!

They say bad news comes in three’s. I don’t quite know who the “they” are that keep spreading such words of “wisdom,” but I’ve often heard people express this type of superstition. I don’t believe it. Yet it seems to me that good news often arrives in bunches. Today I am going to share with you two pieces of good great news. For your reading pleasure I present this news in a handy, tabular format.

Uh oh

Uh oh? Hey, I’m not complaining! Trust me, I’m thrilled. But do you notice a potential conflict here? There are a mere two weeks between the conference (which will be held about 8 hours due south of my home) and the expected due date. Now experience shows that Aileen tends to deliver late. In fact, both of our children were born more than a week late. There is another complication in that Aileen’s blood pressure tends to climb a little bit towards the very end (though last time this did not happen until after the due date).

Clearly I do not want to miss the birth of my child or be absent if my wife encounters medical complications. And clearly I know where my priorities lie. So this is going to require some thought and potentially some planning!

I am tentatively planning on attending and live-blogging the conference, but we are going to have to wait to give final confirmation until a little bit later, once we know how this pregnancy is shaping up.

In the meantime, we’re rejoicing in God’s goodness and looking forward to the end of morning sickness, and eventually, to the day we get to meet the child God has seen fit to lend to us.

This was a particularly busy week for me. I had several hard deadlines I had to meet and only just managed to get the work done. I find that the busier the week, the more I appreciate my day of rest. As I reflected on this, I remembered a hymn written by John Newton. So as I rest, I leave you to ponder “Safely Through Another Week.” It is a song of thanks for another week of safety and a song of petition, that we may feel God’s presence near to us during the upcoming week.

Safely through another week God has brought us on our way;
Let us now a blessing seek, on thapproaching Sabbath day;
Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest,
Day of all the week the best, emblem of eternal rest.

Mercies multiplied each hour through the week our praise demand;
Guarded by almighty power, fed and guided by His hand;
Though ungrateful we have been, only made returns of sin,
Though ungrateful we have been, only made returns of sin.

While we pray for pardoning grace, through the dear Redeemers Name,
Show Thy reconciled face, shine away our sin and shame;
From our worldly cares set free, may we rest this night with Thee,
From our worldly cares set free, may we rest this night with Thee.

Here we come Thy Name to praise, let us feel Thy presence near,
May Thy glory meet our eyes, while we in Thy house appear:
Here afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast,
Here afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast.

When the morn shall bid us rise, may we feel Thy presence near:
May Thy glory meet our eyes, when we in Thy house appear:
There afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast,
There afford us, Lord, a taste of our everlasting feast.

May Thy Gospels joyful sound conquer sinners, comfort saints;
May the fruits of grace abound, bring relief for all complaints;
Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above,
Thus may all our Sabbaths prove till we join the church above!

How does a man say goodbye to his little girls, knowing that he will never see them again? And how does he do so without letting them know that this is the last time they will see their daddy? Does he look them straight in the eyes and affirm his undying love for them, or do words fail him so that he can do little more than hug and kiss them for the last time and then send them on their way? Does he still hold out hope that he will see them again? Or does he know in his heart of hearts that this is the end? Maybe he is so worn down from his long fight with cancer that he can barely feel or express emotion anymore. Maybe he just wants to be gone.

Yesterday I heard from the wife of my friend Mike that he has been accepted into the Palliative ward of a local hospital. It was almost exactly one year ago that he was diagnosed with leukemia and since that time all treatments have failed. At this point all they can do is attempt to relieve his suffering as he succumbs to the disease. His body will probably not hold out for another week. Soon he will leave his wife and his little girls on their own.

Those little girls are five and three - the same as my children. Mike has been married as long as I’ve been married and is around the same age. A couple of years older, I guess. But he isn’t all that much different than me. I guess that’s why his approaching death is so real; so vivid.

I wonder if the girls knew. Sometimes we do not give children enough credit. Maybe their intuition told them that something was happening. Probably not. Hopefully not. I hope all they know is that daddy is going back to the hospital and that they are going to spend a week with grandma. How are they supposed to guess, after the hundreds of times daddy has gone to the hospital, that this is his last time? How can they know that they have given daddy their final kiss? Will they even remember him when they are all grown up? Or will daddy be only a face in photographs who brings a lump to the throat, even after so many years?

As far as I know, Mike does not know the Lord. We had plenty of opportunities to talk about spiritual matters when we worked for the same company and I don’t think Mike ever understood the value of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. If anything I’d say Mike was more a follower of Dr. Phil than of Jesus. There is not much I wouldn’t give at this point to be able to go and and ask him exactly what he believes. The imminence of death would surely give me the boldness I lacked even a couple of months ago when I last sat with him.

So now I sit here at the time when it is too late, wondering why I did not do more. Sure I told the family that I was praying for them and asked if I could pray with them. And sure I tried to get Mike to think about preparing for eternity. But I did so in such a pathetic way. Such a half-hearted way. I burn with shame as I write these words thinking of all I didn’t do and didn’t say. I feel burdened with guilt that Mike is days or maybe even hours away from standing before God, and that I did not make one clear, strong presentation of the gospel. I failed him. And I failed God.

Do you know what may be even worse? The likelihood that I’ll get over it. Two days from now I probably won’t even think of Mike. I’ll get busy with my life and the guilt will ease away. In a week or two I guess I’ll attend his funeral and feel this guilt again, but a few days after that I’ll conveniently put Mike out of my mind and go back to life. But you know what? I don’t want to get over it!

Truly I don’t.

This burden I feel right now - why can’t I feel this same burden for the lost all the time? Why is it a burden birthed from guilt rather than from a desire to see the lost be saved? I’ve asked God to tell me why. The only answer I find is the hardness of my own heart.

Still, with hope in my heart I pray for Mike, that maybe, just maybe, there will be someone in that hospital who can reach out to him with the message I failed to bring. Maybe God will bring to Mike’s mind some fragment of Scripture he heard as a child, or some words I shared with him years ago. Maybe. Hopefully.

With hopeful sadness I pray for Mike’s family, that somehow God would use this awful situation to draw them to Himself. That somehow God would make His presence felt and provide meaning through the pain.

And then with tears I pray for myself, that God would not allow this burden to disappear, but that he would use my shortcomings to teach me how I can do better next time, not simply to avoid this crushing, burning guilt, but to use the opportunities He provides.

Because I just don’t want to get over it. Oh God, please don’t let me get over it!

Note: - This is probably the most personal bit of writing I’ve ever shared on this site. Truth be told, I’m more than a little embarrassed to post this. I apologize if it is just far too personal for public consumption. I really wrote it as a personal reflection, but decided to share it not so I can receive absolution from others, but since I am sure there are others who have struggled with similar feelings of guilt. Perhaps we can learn from each other.

Steve Muse, whom you may know from his web site at Eastern Regional Watch, woke up this morning to find his wife unconscious. She is currently in critical condition in hospital. Please pray for Steve and his wife Katherine during this time. Steve is a friend and one of the few “Internet” friends with whom I’ve spent significant amounts of time talking on the phone. He has often shared his wisdom with me. So please pray! If you like you can send him an email to tell him that you are holding him up before the throne. His email is smuse@erwm.com.

Over the past few days I have been giving some thought to my faith: the things of God in which I have great faith, and those in which I have little faith or even no faith at all. This time of reflection has been both a delight and a sorrow; a joy and an embarrassment.

I have seen that my faith can be understood as something like a graph. Certain points along the Y-axis are very high and quite unshakeable. I believe that God exists. This is a faith that God has placed in my heart and I do not believe that it can be shaken, or at least surely not destroyed. Beside that are other high points in my faith: the Bible is God’s Word to us and is inerrant; God has saved me and adopted me into His family; God loves me; there is a heaven; Jesus Christ died to take the penalty of my sin. These are all areas in which I have great faith.

As we travel down the X-axis, we come to areas where my faith is not so strong. Here we will find my belief that God truly does desire to bring me the best through adversity. Here we will find my belief that God does hear and answer prayer. These are things I believe, but without the strength of conviction of those I listed earlier.

A couple of days ago I posted an article over at World’s Blog to introduce myself to that group of readers. For those who didn’t catch the news earlier and have no idea what I am going on about, I was asked to head up the Ex Libris section of World’s blog. I included in my article a list of what I consider some of the best books of 2005. If you’re interested you can read it here.

I never had a chance to be a bachelor. I started dating Aileen when I was still a teenager, got engaged at twenty and married at twenty-one. We both lived with our parents until the day we married. We had both lived at home through our college years. Over the past years of our marriage I have only rarely spent a night apart from her. I believe we were apart for almost a week about six years ago, but since then we haven’t been apart for more than two nights, and even when she has been away, I’ve always had to keep the kids. So this week of solitude has been, well, different.

For example, I didn’t eat very much. Cooking for just myself seemed like a waste of time. I found, though, that if I timed things just right, it was possible to make do on exactly one meal per day. A large meal at about 2 PM could be made to last through the evening. If I got to work early in the morning I would forget all about breakfast. I tended to get hungry late in the morning, but I could suppress my desire to eat for a couple of hours. Saved time, saved money. I’m sure all the ladies out there will scold me, but I am impenitent.

I also found that working from the crack of dawn until 11 PM is not conducive to a good night’s sleep. My body has grown quite dependent on some evening downtime, usually spent with my nose stuck in a book. Forfeiting this time guarantees at least two or three hours of tossing and turning before I finally shut down enough to sleep.

Yesterday I picked up the family and brought them home. Aileen made a remark about being the only family who leaves the cottage on a Friday to spend a weekend in the city. She raises a good point. Anyways, having the family back with me gave me an opportunity to think about the single life versus family life. Here are a few discoveries I made. If I were single I would:

Eat less. I would eat one meal a day with a couple of snacks when I got bored.

Work more. A lot more. I’d probably work myself nearly to death. I found that beyond my family and work I do not have enough activities to keep me busy outside of work hours. This is something I may wish to further examine.

Read less (see above). I would spend more time working which would leave less time for reading. Then I’d probably lose my position over at World blog. That would be disappointing.

Be deaf. I listen to music all day long, but am sensitive to the fact that my family is right upstairs and does not want to hear bass thumping through the floor all day long. When I am home alone the music gets loud. In fact, it gets loud enough that it cannot be good for my hearing. So I’d be deaf as a post in no time.

Have more money. After all, if I work all the time and cut out most of the food bill I’d have more money than I do now.

Have no one to spend it on. That would be disappointing and probably not too fulfilling.

Be depressed. And here’s the crux of the matter. I just wasn’t cut out for this single life. Not even for a week. There are lots of people who do not need and crave family like I do. I have rarely lived a week of my life without close contact with family members. The single life just wouldn’t work for me. So this weekend I am especially thankful for the family God has seen fit to grant me. They make me who I am.