Ok, my 6 yr old son, Seth, now has a cell phone. Don't ask. It was his mom's idea:) Anyway, he has been learning how to use all the features. I must admit he does very well and has proper phone manners. But, he does like to use it a lot. He calls me when he gets up, when he gets out of school, when he gets home, when he is going to bed. Well he calls me ALL the time. Some might feel this to be a bit much or a pain. However, hearing the sound of my son's voice brings joy to my life and he can call anytime. For there will be a time in which it isn't cool to call dad.
Anyway, we are on the way to school today. He calls his mom to let her know that I wasn't going to be able to pick him up after school and that he doesn't have boyscouts. I had a death in the church and needed to get back to Covington for the funeral. He said, "mom, we do not have scouts tonight and daddy has a wedding." WHAT? No not a wedding, I thought. But then I started to think about it. You know, he's right!
From a Christian viewpoint, a funeral really is a wedding. For it is through death that we become the bride of Christ and are fully clothed in a white cloak of righteousness. Yes, there is certainly loss, hurt and pain when experiencing the death of a loved one. But there is more. There is the hope of the resurrection. See we live within a paradoxical world of heaven and hell meshed together. We were created for paradise, joy, peace and love yet find ourselves in paradise lost, hurt, war and hate. We weren't meant to suffer and die. However, through original sin of Adam, we find ourselves desiring for what is right while often doing what is wrong. That's the tension of yearning to be made whole and complete while living in a place of incompleteness.
Through death and resurrection, we are made fully complete. Much like a bride anticipating that special day of walking the aisle into the arms of her lover, our soul yearns for the day of ascending into the arms of the one who is love--Jesus Christ.
Monday, May 05, 2008
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From the mouths of babes ...
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