An auspicious date for hardly anyone, I'm sure, but for me the fifth Sunday of Lent will always be a very significant day. "Last Sunday in Brigham City" reads the note in my devotional book. This morning I read it quickly as I rushed to worship in of all places ... a Presbyterian church. Four years have passed since that note, since that last Sunday with Rod in the pulpit and me waiting for him when it ended. When it all ended. The moment of exit left our spirits lingering at the door for years. In the last months of his life he told me he was still there on the steps leaving the building. His heart and soul couldn't get across the parking lot. He was suspended there in a state of confusion and pain. Of course, our bodies had moved to a new house, a new life, a new city and state. At the very end he said he forgave all of them. The courage and clarity this took was amazing to me. It was stunning and compelling towards deeper faith. After all he had been put through, he was able to forgive them.
Since his death, I've had a greater struggle to forgive. But, something started stirring a month ago. Odd thoughts of attending a Presbyterian service entered my heart. My mind was quick to shut them down, but the heart can be so persistent. Maybe, I reasoned with my mind, if I go then I can finally make peace with that horrible institution. Maybe.
So, I went once. Then I went again. Today was my third visit. The liturgy, the reformed theology, the order of worship, the songs all spoke to me in a deep, aching place. The people all looked familiar even though I had never seen any of them. I knew how to Pass the Peace and participate in the responsive readings. The form and content were familiar and surprisingly comforting. If I could, even for a minute, let go of the bitterness and anger, then maybe I could hear God again in worship. Maybe I could reconvene my soul in worship.
As usual, I was late this morning and swung into the parking lot to find that same open space. Weird - it was open like this the last time, but the stranger part was the car parked next to it. A blue four-door Yaris was there the last time and this morning welcomed me again. You see, since I had to sell Rod's Yaris I've had several intriguing encounters with Yaris's. He loved his little white two door car with the center console. Flying around town in it was so much fun for him. It's not a very common car and I rarely see them around here, but the morning I pulled onto I-5 South, last May, to take his ashes to the Bay Area his exact car pulled in front of me on the freeway. We traveled together for many miles. Then, another one showed up the day before the service as I drove around Marin. My own personal escort, it seemed. When I went to see Mrs. G at her apartment in Walnut Creek I parked as she directed and, well, there was another one parked right in front of me. The next day on my way north to return home, another one showed up in front of me, showing me the way again. All of them were the exact model and year of his car and white. I took them as a sign that he was with me. And now, when I think it's important to see if the Presbyterian church holds anything for me, I end up parking next to another one. Although this one isn't white, the blue is beautiful. When I pulled in this morning, I just laughed, "Oh, you're here, again. Well, let's go see what we can figure out."
The text was about the raising of Lazarus and the affirmation of faith was taken from the Southern Presbyterian Church's "Declaration of Faith." Death often seems to prove that life is not worth living, but Christ has been raised from the dead. In his resurrection is the promise of ours. We are convinced the life God wills for each of us is stronger than the death that destroys us. In the face of death we grieve. Yet, in hope we celebrate life. No life ends so tragically that its meaning and value are destroyed. Nothing, not even death, can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.
Death. Lazarus. Grief. Resurrection. This being the weekend of Rod's birthday, I wasn't sure I could handle all of this, but I stayed. I stayed to see how Communion would go. It would be the biggest test for me. Could I enter into Communion with a Presbyterian clergy, who wasn't Rod, reciting the prayers, holding up the bread and breaking it, holding up the cup and pouring it, and inviting the people forward? I really didn't know, but I knew I had to once again meet the Christ in the bread and in the cup as I had for decades. Forward I went, in line with people I don't know, until I reached the elder serving the bread. As I took a piece from the center of the loaf the very kind man saw my tears and said, "The Body of Christ broken for you." In my tearful fog I stepped to the cup to dip my morsel while absorbing, "The cup of the new covenant poured out for you." "Amen" with the Sign of the Cross as I returned to my seat.
Memories of the fifth Sunday of Lent four years ago washed over me as I was stricken by the enormity of what had just happened. The last Presbyterian services we attended were Palm Sunday and Easter in 2013. That was it. The institution had beaten us up very, very badly. We felt thrown out and discarded. We worked hard to heal, and for him, his final healing came in forgiveness and believing that Nothing, not even death, can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.
For me, it has taken 1,460 days to walk those 100 steps off the church property in Brigham City. The people who perpetrated the injustices in Utah weren't there today, but the same Christ who was present in the bread and the cup, when Rod presided, was very present today. I caught a glimpse of the eternal truth of Christ's presence and love. The Body of Christ broken for you... the cup of the new covenant poured out for you... The same words, the same truth, different place, someone else wearing the robe and stole. My soul had been reconvened in worship. Perhaps deep and lasting forgiveness isn't too far behind.
As I was leaving a few minutes later, still with big tears and trying to keep myself together, I told the blue Yaris, "It was powerful. It was really powerful. Thanks for being here for me."