Good News


Dear Eugene,

I wrote you this early morning, as you were "navigating the thin and sacred space between earth and heaven."  And then I went out there, tried to see what you were seeing.  There were specks in my eyes, dark wooden beams, too big for me to see anything.  But I trust your report, that there is joy in that space dark to me now, off-screen to me now, off-limits to me now, until the two beams, an uncrossed crucifix, are finally taken away by the only one who could bear them faithfully to the end. When I took this picture earlier today, before I learned the news of your passing, a deep sadness laid hold of me.  I'd like to believe your leaving explains the sadness, but like my tears now it explains nothing.  "Nothing is explained. It is a plain fact on wood," Rowan Williams once said about the "Good News" we tell.  The news of the death of God is also the news of the life of God.  The sad news of the death of you, today, my pastor, my father, is also the great news of the life of you, in Jesus, our shepherd, our Lord.

Yours, always, Alex

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