t h e good n ews
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Yes, Deb, news of a drown-ing at Temperance River is bound to get one’s attention, whether you’ve lived here one year or fifteen years. I was sit-ting at my desk in the base-ment when Linda called down on the intercom. While she was on the phone with her dad the Call Waiting ID showed that someone from one of the local government offices had been trying to reach us.
Saturday night. Holiday weekend. Trying to reach us. My first guess was the hospital. Second was the law enforce-ment center. My second guess was correct. There had been another fatality at Temperance River and they needed a chap-lain. Would I be willing to go?
Hurrying upstairs I called Linda from her computer, changed clothes, got in the van and we headed down the shore, driving behind people who were in far less hurry to get home than we were to get to the park. This was the fourth time in six years we’d taken a similar call, but this time we had instructions to a part of the park we had not been in before. It was dark. Again.
We pulled into the drive-way from the highway and slowly passed by little groups of people standing together, looking toward the river, the lake, the red and blue flash-ing lights, the boats, the dark. We found the campsite and a very nice but very heartbroken woman sitting at a fire under the compassionate and watch-ful eye of a ranger, clutching her dog to her chest. We intro-duced ourselves as we always do, mentioned why we were there, asked how we could help.
I sat on the bench of the picnic table on one side of her. Linda sat in a chair on the other. The woman began to cry. Linda held her hand. I prayed. The dog whimpered. The cat in the tent called for attention. The ranger excused himself to run an errand. The woman cried. Linda held her hand. I prayed.
We talked about her husband. About the years they had come to Temperance. It was their favorite spot. He had had a bad feeling about coming this year. They should have listened, she said. He wasn’t supposed to leave me, she said. We were supposed to grow old together. What will I do now?
Thiswas not a time for hard facts. This night was made for hope. Hope that comes from faith, from the realization that though God may not serve up easy answers to heart wrenching questions in the moment we ask them, he comes and is fully, compassionately, powerfully present in our grief.
He comes just as his word says he will. "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God" (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, NIV).
God knows how to grieve. God lost his precious, treasured Son to death on a cross. God knows the pain of death. He also knows the depth of hope.
God sent hope to Temperance River on the Fourth of July. Hope in the face of a ranger who made himself available while she waited. Hope in the hot cocoa from concerned friends she’d met just that day a few campsites away. Hope in the straighforwardness of a deputy who did his duty with both professionalism and compassion. Hope in the scream of a helicopter engine hovering over the river preparing for the next day’s search. Hope in the night desk clerk at a local inn who was gracious beyond measure and kind beyond words. Hope in the actions of doctors and nurses who stepped in with answers and assistance when the time came for their services. Hope when a strange community gathered around to prove the words I had prayed earlier: "Lord, please let her know you will not leave her alone."
God’s love for us is the same "yesterday, today, and forever." He’s available to us in the best of times and the worst of times. His love knows no limit, his mercy no bound. There is no circumstance he does not understand, no situation he cannot turn around, no nightmare in which he cannot produce hope.
That’s the good news.
Pastor Dale McIntire has served as pastor of the Cornerstone Community Church in Grand Marais since April of 1995.
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