Tag Archives: death

Remembered smiles

I know this day well; I never forget it; it invariably sneaks up on me and grabs me unaware; and when I pause for a moment to reflect, I remember why things feel so raw. After all these years. And then I smile.

People have been posting on Facebook about remembering this day because of the Challenger disaster. I remember that. 

But I remember this day for an event that took place twelve years before the Challenger. An event that also claimed the lives of educators.

Forty years ago this day,  on January 28, 1974, William Koenig climbed into a small plane with another educator from Grove City. They planned a trip to Harrisburg, the state capitol, where they were to advocate for funds for the Grove City Public School system. At the time of his death, Bill worked as the assistant superintendent for the Grove City Public School system. But he was a musician. He played string bass in the pit orchestra for the high school musicals. He directed the town band. He was a tennis player. He was a photographer. He was also a private pilot. Though they had tickets on a commercial airline, the two colleagues decided Bill would fly. The plane went down near Emlenton, Pennsylvania, the crash site only located the next day. When I arrived at JFK a day later, after a college choir trip to Europe, family members met me and broke the news and shattered my heart.

Because grief lasts, I raise a glass to remember loses and acknowledge pains. And because love never ends, I raise a glass to give thanks and to celebrate love shared past, present, and future.  On this anniversary, I raise a glass to William Koenig, to his life, to the time, the far too short time, we shared. To all I learned. To laughter and tears. To music made well and badly. To a multitude of remembered smiles.

Goodnight and joy be with you, Dad.

Goodnight and joy be with us all.

See you along the Trail.

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Unexpected

I read today
of grief and loss
of love and faith
and unexpected
saw your name.

Eyes leaking.
I read on
and the cold, stark words
confirmed that
you were dead.
Into eternity’s void
I stared and hoped
you knew,
and somehow in grace’s mystery
know still,
My admiration for your work
My appreciation for our collaboration
My gratitude for the moments our lives touched
And the ministry we shared.
Thanks be to God.
For Carol Eberhart Johnson
13 July 2015
Manhattan, New York

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The day draws to a close

The day draws to a close,
yet another day
after.

The day draws to a close,
yet another day
without you.

The day draws to a close,
the pain of friends
who grieve at death,
who mourn for the dying,
touches my grief
and sends my spirit flinching
as when a child
pokes an open wound.

The day draws to a close,
the love of friends
who reach out in kindness,
who share their sorrow,
touches my soul
and sends my spirit soaring
as when a bird
rises to the air.

The day draws to a close,
grief and love mingle;
I think of you and ache.
I think of you and smile.

The Shire
Manhattan, New York
28 January 2015

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Smiles remembered after all these years

I know this day well; I never forget it; it invariably sneaks up on me and grabs me unaware; and when I pause for a moment to reflect, I remember why things feel so raw. After all these years. And then I smile.

People have been posting on Facebook about remembering this day because of the Challenger disaster. I remember that. 

But I remember this day for an event that took place twelve years before the Challenger. An event that also claimed the lives of educators.

Forty years ago this day,  on January 28, 1974, William Koenig climbed into a small plane with another educator from Grove City. They planned a trip to Harrisburg, the state capitol, where they were to advocate for funds for the Grove City Public School system. At the time of his death, Bill worked as the assistant superintendent for the Grove City Public School system. But he was a musician. He played string bass in the pit orchestra for the high school musicals. He directed the town band. He was a tennis player. He was a photographer. He was also a private pilot. Though they had tickets on a commercial airline, the two colleagues decided Bill would fly. The plane went down near Emlenton, Pennsylvania, the crash site only located the next day. When I arrived at JFK a day later, after a college choir trip to Europe, family members met me and broke the news and shattered my heart.

Because grief lasts, I raise a glass to remember loses and acknowledge pains. And because love never ends, I raise a glass to give thanks and to celebrate love shared past, present, and future.  On this anniversary, I raise a glass to William Koenig, to his life, to the time, the far too short time, we shared. To all I learned. To laughter and tears. To music made well and badly. To a multitude of remembered smiles.

Goodnight and joy be with you, Dad.

Goodnight and joy be with us all.

See you along the Trail.

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The long goodbye

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
in the marrow of my bones
I know.

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
partly me,
partly you.

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
too much said and done,
undone, unsaid.

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
too many years,
not enough tears.

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
what is, is and
will be.

Nothing would have happened,
nothing changed,
and yet,
in the morning’s wee hours
I wish I had tried
before you began the endless slide
into the long goodbye.

6 December 2014
Manhattan, New York

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Lift a glass in memory

PamThe Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) lost a giant in Pam Byers who died on 27 October 2014 from cancer. A woman of profound faith, amazing grace, and a loving spirit, Pam worked for the full inclusion of all God’s children in the life of the church and in  our culture. She served as the founding director of the Covenant Network of Presbyterians.

In her honor, I will raise a toast on 28 October 2014 at 20:11 (8:11 PM) Eastern time. 2011 was the year that saw the Book of Order changed to remove G-6.0106b, a cause to which Pam dedicated herself and her energies.

I invite you to join me either at Eastern time or at 20:11 in your own time zone and raise a glass of your choosing.
For the life, faith, witness, and work of Pam Byers, thanks be to God! Please share this invitation.

See you along the Trail.

 

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Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia

All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluiaalleluiaalleluia.

These words always move me during memorial services.

They give thanks for God’s gift of life.

They defiantly proclaim resurrection.

They offer a reminder that love and life remain stronger than death even in our moments of deepest grief.

All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluiaalleluiaalleluia.

These words wash over me with new meaning today.

Nancy and Mark MinneapolisA friend received a life-giving transplant in the early hours of Friday morning. And I give thanks.

But I also know my friend received this gift because someone I will never know died.

And that someone and that someone’s family, in an act of unbreakable love and incredible courage and astounding grace, chose life for others.

And as tears well in my eyes, the words echo again and again and again in my soul: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.

And I trust my family knows that when my time comes, any part of me that can be used, should be used. Here’s one site for information about organ and tissue donation.

All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluiaalleluiaalleluia.

See you along the Trail.

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Hope, courage, love

Luke and Merdine TI have posted several times about my friend and mentor Merdine T. Morris. At her memorial service on April 12, I saw a photo of Merdine T. with her husband, Lucas. Luke. During the memorial service, Merdine T.’s friends and colleagues and pastors witnessed to her deep commitment to justice and peace and the countless ways she lived out those commitments. 

Listening, I recalled the photo and remembered how Luke made Merdine T.’s witness possible. He stood with her, prayed for her, provided transportation for her. Luke was the good, good man who stood beside this good, good woman.

It seems only right to post a reflection about Luke. I wrote this for his memorial service.

Lucas Morris revealed hope.  In a world so horribly obsessed with race, any crossing of the racial divide is an act of grace.  As he lived, Luke endured the shifting and unchanging reality of being black in America where privilege is given to those who are white.  He was wounded.  But he was never broken.  He was not embittered.  He played a key role in helping to create the special relationship between St. Mark’s Presbyterian Church and Noble Road Presbyterian Church.  And when the time came, he was willing – he and Merdine T. chose – to have white pastors.  Amazing grace.  What a gift of hope.  If we refuse to give up, if we refuse to give in, if we keep on loving, maybe we can heal prejudices and remake systems and come together to live as God intends.

Lucas Morris revealed courage.  Frustration filled his recent years.  Illness touched him and it never let go.  Every time he made even the smallest step toward recovery, something went wrong and he took two or three or ten steps back.  Again and again and again my heart broke for him.  My heart broke for Merdine T.  But none of it neither the pain nor the procedures – neither the losses nor the limitations – none of it broke his spirit.  His contagious smile – his ready laugh – his concern for others – it all remained and shone through on even his worse days.  Our character is revealed not in times of ease but in moments of distress.  Luke was strong and true.

Lucas Morris revealed love.  He had deep, abiding love for Merdine T. and for his family.  He had deep, abiding love for his friends.  He had concern for all of God’s children.  When visited, Luke would ask about Merdine T., about his friends, about my family, about others in the church in need.  You may say it was a ritual.  You may say it was a way of shifting the focus from his own situation.  I know it was expressed his depth of feeling and caring.

Lucas Morris and I laughed together.  We cried together.  We prayed together.  We agonized over the fortunes of Cleveland’s baseball team.  That one year when Cleveland had no football team, we even followed the Pittsburgh Steelers together.  With Merdine T. and Sean and Eric we shared the body and blood of Christ as well as ice cream and brownies.  And one special morning when Merdine T. was in the hospital, Luke and I delighted in a high-class breakfast of Egg McMuffins.

I thank God for the gift of Lucas Morris.  I thank God for the honor and privilege of being Luke’s friend.  I thank God that for Luke all pain is past and he is received into the warmth and wonder of God’s love.  I thank God that within that mysterious reality of the Communion of Saints Luke goes with me, goes with us, now and always.  Amen.

See you along the Trail.

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Never, Merdine T., never

Some messages should be delivered in person and not left in a voice mail box or sent by email.

Some times we have no choice but to leave such messages.

Tricia left one for me today.

I think I said farewell“Sorry to have to leave a voice mail. I need to leave. But I just got an email that Merdine T. died last night. And I wanted you to know.”

Some realities cannot be expressed adequately in words. They simply have too much meaning.

My relationship with Merdine T. Morris is such a reality. She was one of the most significant people in my life outside of my family. She helped make me who I am today – at least any part of me that is good and kind and faithful. I take full responsibility for my failings and shortcomings.

While I have been gone from Cleveland for almost 14 years, while the times that Merdine T. and I saw each other on a regular basis occurred long ago, while her health has declined and I knew this moment was coming, while I am a great believer in the Communion of Saints, I have to confess my heart bears a ragged hole this evening. I miss Merdine T. immensely. And I probably always will.

Merdine T. and I were friends for more than 20 years. Friend really does not do our relationship justice, she is my mentor, teacher, challenger, comforter, disturber of my peace, guide, anchor . . . the list goes on. She and her husband Luke played  and will play significant roles in my life. Luke passed away some 12 years ago, not too long after I left Cleveland.

Merdine T. and I have shared some amazing moments . . . conversations . . . experiences . . . times of learning and growth . . . disappointments . . . violations . . . injustices . . . ordinations . . . presbytery meetings (incredible to say, I know) . . . graduations . . . transitions . . . acts of justice . . . moments of witness.

If you want to hear some amazing stories about a child of grace and a faithful follower of Jesus, buy me a Jameson and ask me about Merdine T. some time.

Merdine T.’s health began to fail some years back. As she became increasingly fragile, I began to wonder each time I saw her if that time would be the last time.

And finally it was.

IMG_3763This past December, our mutual friend Nan Dorer celebrated her 90th birthday today with a party at Noble Road Presbyterian Church. Tricia and I took Merdine T. to the party.

The day was wonderful. Friends old and young, long-time and new, greeted Merdine T. warmly. Her presence meant the world to Nan. We stayed for the children’s program and carol singing. Merdine T. beamed. When we returned to the Fairmount Health Center, staff members commented on the joy that filled her face. A wonderful day.

In her room, as Tricia and I were leaving, Merdine T. reached up from her chair and hugged me. Tears filled her eyes.  And she said the words. The words she said to me every time we said goodbye over the past five or six years.

“Mark. Never forget me.”

Tonight, through my tears, I reply as I always did.

“Never, Merdine T. Never.”

As I grieve my loss, I give thanks that I had the privilege of sharing life with God’s beloved child, Merdine T. Morris.

See you along the Trail.

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Dick Wherley: choices made, choices lived

“We are going to walk across the country as part of a witness for nuclear disarmament.”

I am sure those were not the first words that Dick or Cathie Wherley said to me. They are among the first I remember.

Tricia and I arrived at Noble Road Presbyterian Church in Cleveland Heights as co-pastors in the fall of 1985. Dick and Cathie served on the Session – the church governing board.

Sometime that winter, they announced their resignations so that they could take part in the Great Peace March for Global Nuclear Disarmament.

Their faith led them to work for peace in many ways and many places. Seeking racial justice in Cleveland Heights. Working to end gun violence in Cleveland. Advocating for sanctuary for their sisters and brothers fleeing war in Central America. Calling for an end to U.S. arms sales.

Now their faith called them to make another witness for life, the life of the planet. With about 1,200 people they set out from Los Angeles for Washington, DC around March 1. About two weeks into the march, the marchers learned that the supporting organization had declared bankruptcy. The marchers gathered, pondered, thought, dreamed, and planned. On March 28, a smaller group, including Dick and Cathie, started out again.

Dick often drove a support vehicle because of his health. But he and Cathie and the GPM made it to DC. When the march came through Cleveland, about 30 Noble Road members marched with them. A dozen of us went to Washington for the end of the march.

Upon returning to Cleveland Dick and Cathie plunged back into the life of the congregation, the community, and the peace and justice movement. Transitional housing and the inclusion of our LGBT sisters and brothers in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) became two areas of particular concern.

The simple reality though, was if people in Cleveland gathered to act in compassion, pursue peace, and do justice, Dick and Cathie were present more often than not.

Dick’s health continue to falter through the years. He appeared in person less often and in the spirit more regularly. His spirit remained strong and true.

This week, Dick died peacefully in his sleep.

My prayers are with Cathie and her children, Joanne, Rick, Tom, and Sandy and their partners and children. May their memories be blessed; may they find comfort in their grief; may the rejoice in love shared and love that binds them together still.

Frodo Baggins, in The Fellowship of the Ring, expresses a wish to have been born at another time, a gentler, kinder, less-troubled time.

Gandalf reminds him that none of us choose the times in which we live. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us,” the wizard gently says.

Dick Wherley decided what to do with the time he had. Dick chose life. He chose faith. He chose love, peace, and justice. And he lived his choices well.

Thanks be to God.

See you along the Trail.

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