CHAPTER 1

Bringing comfort, assurance, and hope in the midst of struggle, sorrow,Confusion, and tragedy

PICTURES

Isaiah 66:7–14; Psalm 139:77–12; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18;Mark 10:13–16

Requiem for Jackson Graham Hunter,1 ½, Heart Attack VictimMark E. Stanger

A young child's book is composed almost entirely of pictures. When learning totake in the splendor and complexity of life, we need pictures first. Music,tones of voice, reassuring touches all communicate. But as soon as our infanteyes begin to work, we scan for pictures: the smiling face of a parent oranother child, the figure of a duck or a tree. Pictures reveal what words cannotyet describe.

Our Bible comes with pages of words and no pictures. But the words themselvespaint pictures for us. We know so little about God, about God's purposes—some somysterious. Sometimes only pictures can be given. Paul, writing to theThessalonians, trying to describe the connection between those who are alive andthose who have died, gives not a metaphysical explanation but the picture of agreat air show: a trumpet blast, God sailing down from heaven, the dead risingto be gathered in God's embrace, the living floating up for a grand reunion inthe bright clouds.

It's the kind of picture a child might understand, and it's about as much as anybeliever, priest, or saint can understand. A simple, beautiful picture, tellingus something so mysterious and wonderful that words can scarcely describe it:that our life together here, the lives of those who have died, and the very lifeof God are all connected, that the connection is forever. Only if we receivesuch pictures of God's love like a trusting child, says Jesus, can we even beginto know anything about life or death or the life to come—what he calls "theKingdom."

The prophet Isaiah offers a picture to a bewildered people unsure of God'spresence and purpose in the midst of loss and grief, saying that God willcomfort them like a mother breastfeeding a child, like a father enfolding achild in loving arms. It's a child's picture, meant to give the rest of us ahint of what God will do—even in our darkest hour.

The great rose window of this cathedral is another word picture: the prayer-poemof St. Francis of Assisi, the Canticle of the Sun. In this picture poem, St.Francis talks to all creation—even to life and death—calling them "brother" and"sister." "Gentle sister death," he says.

Death may come gently for one who suffers or for one beyond the limit of humaneffort to help and heal. But for those still alive, death is no sister orfriend; it is the intruder, breaking into lives and homes, leaving an ugly mess.Everything important, safe, familiar is ransacked and violated. Death, for uswho live, is never welcome. It never comes at the right time.

In our tradition, the picture of a bright reunion in the sky, of the living andthe dead meeting God in the clouds, is more than a child's fantasy. We believethat Jesus Christ, born of a human mother and loved by a human father, Jesus—whohimself really died—has overthrown the enemy of death. We believe that he hasbegun to renew the household, bringing all of us, like the good shepherd(there's another picture) slowly into that place we can scarcely imagine: theKingdom. We have God's own assurance, given in words and pictures, and in thewitness of believers, in the unshakable certainty of bonds of love and family,and in Jesus Christ himself, risen from the dead.

In our tradition, we also have the Kingdom picture not just in the future, inthe sky, but in a shared meal here and now—the basics: bread and wine, blessed,broken, given, taken in. It's a picture revealing something of the closeness,the intimacy, the nearness of the divine life, the nearness of our shared faith,hope, and love.

Today is a good day to sit with these pictures rather than look for complexanswers. Today is a day to receive the love and hope of the kingdom as a smallchild might, looking at the picture of two parents who have loved completely andfor whom hope is real, looking at the picture of friends and relatives standingby, without all the right words but giving comfort by their own loving presence.

Today we remember Jackson, giving thanks for the love he received and gave toAndrew and Marilyn, and to so many others. We surround each other with thebright and certain hope that this love will never be lost but will continueuntil that final reunion. And in this sacred meal, God already comes to meet us.

As the prophet Isaiah told his suffering flock: "You shall see and your heartshall rejoice. Your bodies shall flourish like the grass. It shall be known thatthe hand of the Lord is with his servants."

So it will be, as it has been, and as it is now.

Mark E. Stanger is canon precentor and associatepastor at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco.

IMAGINE THAT!

Ezekiel 37:1–14; Psalm 42, Romans 8:31–39, Matthew 5:1–12Anniversary of September 11, 2001Donna Dambrot

Who could have imagined the tragedy that beset us one year ago today? Today theworld comes together in grief and remembrance. But we who witnessed the planesdiving into the towers, who stared in disbelief as flames enveloped thebuildings, have been especially marked—our solid footing shaken, our fragilecertainties crushed. Time may restore some sense of the life we enjoyed before,but it cannot eradicate the sense of violation at our very core.

Some of us witnessed the towers from afar. Others were en route to officesdowntown and witnessed victims falling through the air from windows in the sky.Maybe you made your way down flights of stairs as rescue workers walked past youon the way up. Perhaps you were one of thousands fleeing through thick, blackair. For those who lived downtown, the sanctity of "home" was invaded by debriscrashing through windows and by white ash leaving residue on householdbelongings. Some of us have lost loved ones, friends, co-workers.

Many say it is time to move forward. But before we can do that, we need to tellour stories, name our losses. Our stories have become part of the fabric of ourhistories; they cannot be forgotten. They chronicle lives that share a commondenominator. We need to honor, to acknowledge these stories. They are sacredpassages worthy of embrace.

We also need to reconcile what happened last September 11 with our questions.Not so much to answer them as to understand our sense of bewilderment...