I spent a few hours in the woods on Saturday, surrounded by people I’m still getting to know and love, and some whom I probably won’t meet again. We stood beneath the branches of a towering white pine to remember a man who had touched us in some way during a life well lived.
Before the mountains
were born
before you brought forth
the whole of creation,
from eternity to everlasting
you are God.
You turn men back to dust,
saying, “Return to dust,
you mortals.”
A thousand years
in your sight
are like a day
that has just gone by,
or like a watch in the night.
Yet you sweep men away
in the sleep of death—
they are like the grass:
Sprouting and flowering
in the morning
but withered and dry by
dusk.
Teach us to number our days,
that we may gain
a heart of wisdom.
Let us wake in the morning
filled with your love,
that we may sing for joy
and be glad.
(From Psalm 90)
There was laughter and there were tears. Neighbors smiled and hugged. Even as his mortal coil failed he had been a man whose faith was never dimmed.
For I am convinced that
neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the
future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all
creation, will be able to
separate us from the love of
God that is in Christ Jesus
our Lord.
(Romans 8:38-39)
For I know that my
Redeemer lives, and He shall
stand at last on the earth;
And after my skin is
destroyed, this I know, that
in my flesh I shall see God,
(Job 19:25-26)
Roger, my elder brother in ministry, shared some words of remembrance while another brother in ministry, Lance, closed in prayer. My daughter Sophia sang a benediction with me.
There was a mist in the air but warmth in our hearts as we gathered around the long tables for boiled fish, fresh buns, potatoes, coleslaw, and cherry pie.
I was reminded of the book I Heard the Owl Call My Name by Margaret Craven about life and death and community.
“Thus he went, the air fresh from rain and filled with the sweet smell of fir, the sky blue and white with cloud… And it seemed to Mark that death belonged here as the mountain belonged, as the eagle belonged, and the little scurrying squirrels that peered at him from the fir boughs. And it seemed to him that the ugliness of death was as unimportant here as the fir needles which made the path soft beneath his feet, or last year’s windfall in the thick underbrush…” (p. 85)
And
“Past the village flowed the river, like time, like life itself, waiting for the swimmer to come again on his way to the climax of his adventurous life, and to the end for which he had been made…” (p. 159)
The villagers and the forest. The salmon. The mist and the wind. The sunlight glittering on the water when the clouds lifted. The mingling of cultures. Faith and friendship.
Be still
and know that I am God.
(Psalm 46:10)
Love one another…
(John 13:34)
Rob McCampbell left a legacy of memories for those who knew and loved him. Thank you, Perihan, for hosting such a memorable day upon which to share them.
This week our contributor is Daren Blanck, pastor of Zoar Church in Tofte, a former Wilderness Canoe Base guide/counselor, and a student of Beyond the River Academy, a ministry program of Lutheran Congregations in Mission for Christ.
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