When I was a child and would hear about someone dying, a family member or a friend of my parents, my first question was always: How old was he? How old was she? It’s not necessarily my first question these days but it’s still one of the first.

Somewhere in that question is my belief that young people aren’t supposed to die. It’s an injustice that cuts short a life yet to be fully lived. It’s a thief of time for one more conversation, another adventure, a second chance, a different relationship, something to be learned or shared, future plans and hopes. That’s true with any death but with a young death the loss feels larger. It feels like the natural order of life has been disrupted and that’s not fair.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you also are feeling those kind of things today. How could you not? It’s a part of your grief and love for Lance. 

I still feel and believe those things but I’ve also come to see that the fullness of life is not necessarily determined by its length. It’s less about when one dies and more about how one lives. And from what I knew of Lance and from what I’ve heard about him he lived a full life. 

A few days ago I asked Trevor to tell me about his dad. He asked if I knew the Robert Frost poem about the two roads and taking the one less travelled. I said, “Yes, I do.” “That’s not the one my dad took,” he said. “He carved his own way. He lived life on his own terms.” 

I read similar sentiments in the obituary Trevor wrote. He said, “Lance did not always follow the rules of life. This made his path difficult at times but all the more beautiful and unique.” 

Every one of you is a witness and, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, a recipient of the difficulties, beauty, and uniqueness of Lance. 

I wonder what that was like. In what ways did he touch your life? How did he let you know you were important and mattered to him? What did he do or say for which you will always be grateful? What’s the best story he ever told you? What adventures did he take you on? What did he teach you? What did he make and give you? What are your funniest stories about Lance? And what are the saddest stories? What were your best times with him and what were your most difficult? What are the stories of you and Lance that melt your heart? And what are the stories of you and Lance that break your heart? What are the conversations you wish you could have with him now? What would you say or ask? What would you do differently? What do you need from Lance today?

Here’s why I ask those questions. It’s so easy, on days like this, to categorize our answers to those kind of questions and our relationship with the one who died as being either experiences that remain in the past or hopes and desires for a future that can never be. Either way it can feel as if all has been lost and nothing new can come of what was. I don’t think that’s how Lance lived or how he died. And it’s certainly not what our holy scriptures tell us today. And you know how seriously Lance took the scriptures. 

In today’s gospel (John 6:37-40) Jesus says, “And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me.” Nothing. Nothing is ever finally and forever lost. That doesn’t turn back the clock or undo what has happened. It means that life is changed, not ended.   

And from the Book of the Revelation to John (Revelation 21:2-7) we hear this: “See I am making all things new.” Not some things or a few things, but all things. “See I am making all things new.” 

I remember having a conversation with Lance about the Book of Revelation. What do you think – was it a long conversation or a short conversation? Yeah, he had some things to say about that book. He trusted what it said. Maybe that’s what allowed him to carve his own path. Maybe that was his way of participating in the making new. 

“See I am making all things new.”

Making new prevents the past from having the final word. It keeps the present moment from closing in on itself. It opens the door to the future. “See I am making all things new.”

I hope you will hold onto those words. Let them ring in your ears and rest in your heart. Let them be your daily mantra. They are a thread that runs through everything we do and say here today. They are God’s truth for Lance, you, and me. 

Here’s the thing that strikes me about those words, especially on days like today. God wastes nothing of our lives. Nothing is lost and all is being made new. Life is changed, not ended.

So let me ask you this:

• What needs making new in your life today? 
• What are your best hopes and prayers for making new in Lance’s life today? 
• What does making new mean and look like in your relationship with Lance today? 

Maybe you need to celebrate and thank him. Maybe you need to tell him that you love him. Maybe you need to tell him things you didn’t or couldn’t tell him in this life. Maybe you need to forgive him or ask his forgiveness. Maybe you need to tell him what he means to you. Maybe you need to bless him or pray for him. Maybe you need to express the longing in your heart. Maybe you need to have the conversation you hoped you’d one day have. 

Those are just some of the ways in which we participate and have a part in God’s making new. We are always being invited to participate in God’s making new. And when we do were are replicating in our lives and the lives of others the love, goodness, and faithfulness of God. “See, I am making all things new.”

I don’t know when or how that making new will happen. I only know that it does. I’ve experienced it in my life and I’ve seen it happen in the lives of others. In whatever ways it happens, whether in this life or in the next, God’s making new is why even on this day, “even at the grave we make our song, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.”

__________________
Image Credit: Photo by Manuel Rheinschmidt on Unsplash