For Bear
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Jefferson Funeral Chapel
Today is the hardest of days. We gather here to grieve for Bear -- husband, father, brother, son, friend and coach and so much more -- gone much too soon and suddenly. We gather in sorrow, struggling to find some sense of hope. We gather in pain, hoping to find some sense of comfort. We gather with questions and regrets, needing so badly to find a sense of peace.
Barb, you’ve lost your husband, your best friend, your confidante. Audrey and Rachel, you’ve lost your funny, proud, loving dad. And there are no words to make that better, nothing that can fill that hole. I know Bear still loves you, he is still proud of you, he will never be far from you. And yet all of us know that isn’t the same as his being here with you. Please know that this room today is full of people who want to offer you our prayers, our love, and our support as you begin to reshape your lives. Know that today, but maybe more importantly, remember it next month, and next year, and whenever you feel overwhelmed or alone.
Bear mattered to a lot of people — that much is obvious just by looking around this room. One of the best ways you can remember and honor him is to share the pieces you have of him. The stories that begin with, “Remember when …?” and lead to big grins, new understandings, and sometimes sadness.
So I’ll start. Bear's family was attending St. Aidan’s when I first started there as a new priest 12 years ago. A beautiful family, as you all know, so loving, so kind and giving, so much fun. But what always stood out for me about Bear from the start was his searching, his interest in going deeper, his questions. He had questions about God, about the church, about scripture. Deep, seeking, life-long questions that generally felt impossible to answer with any certainty. Bear's questions would challenge me even now, but certainly back then, fresh out of seminary and most definitely not sure yet how to fake it, when I saw Bear in church I would sometimes nervously wait for the new challenging thought he might have for me. But I loved it. Sometimes people think in church they have to pretend to believe everything, to understand it all, to have faith without questions, to have their lives together, to be proper and super holy. Bear knew better, and that was wonderfully refreshing.
My favorite memory of him came during an adult ed Sunday school class. I don’t think he came to many of them, so maybe that is why this memory stands out. I love imaginative prayer - using our senses to imagine ourselves into the stories of scripture, to see what new discovery or encounter might await us. And so that morning I passed out to small groups of adults different passages from scripture. Their assignment was to read the story several times, and then to take on a role and act out their story in their small group and see how it felt to become that character. And then to switch parts until everyone had tried on all of roles. To one group, I gave the story of the Samaritan woman, challenging and being challenged by Jesus. To another group, the story of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper. And to another group, Bear’s group, the story of the Prodigal Son that we just heard.
The story of the Prodigal Son has always been one of my favorites. The characters are so rich and true. They present such a broad range of human and spiritual experience. They present (or confront) us with some of the family dynamics that we all probably experience in our own families at some point or another. And they challenge how we think of God and our relationships with God and with each other.
There is, of course, the so-called Prodigal Son himself. The one who doesn’t feel satisfied where he is; wonders what else is out there; feels compelled to find out. He lives life to what he thinks is the fullest before realizing that the depth and fullness of life is actually better found inside himself and in the love of family. And then he returns home — eyes open, but full of shame and expecting disapproval.
And then there is the older brother. He isn’t in the reading we just heard, but he’s an interesting part of the story. He lives his life doing exactly what is expected, comparing himself to others. He can’t seem to figure out how to get beyond the version of himself that others see. Like his younger brother, he also has trouble seeing or accepting the love and openness and welcome that is right before him and within him.
And then there is the father. The father that at first you feel sorry for because it looks as if he is being taken advantage of. He gives his beloved youngest son whatever he asks and blesses him on his way, even though he knows that the road ahead for will be full of heartbreak and sadness and disappointment. But when from far off he sees his son coming towards home, looking apologetic and forlorn, he rushes out to embrace him. Pouring out nothing but love and welcome and forgiveness.
This is a story of us with one another, it’s a story of us with God, and it is, I think most importantly, a story of God with us.
I remember watching Bear putting his full self into this story. Some people you could tell felt silly and self-conscious, but not Bear. I remember thinking Bear would enjoy most the role of younger brother - going out into the world seeking adventure with anticipation and questions. Full of the good humor and intensity that he had. But I was wrong. It was the father role that clearly drew Bear’s imagination. I’ll never forget Bear rushing out with wide arms ready to give a big “bear” hug to the person playing the Prodigal Son in one round of their acting, much to surprise of the person playing that role. (And, at least in my memory, I’m fairly certain Bear was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.) That piece of the story seemed to feel right and true and holy to him. I’m guessing that was partly due to his own experience of fatherhood, and the deep love he had for his family. But I also think it had to do with his understanding of God.
Bear had questions and uncertainties and deep wondering. But I think even in the midst of all that, he could imagine himself being embraced and welcomed by a loving God — no matter what. The One who would finally have the answers and the assurances he sought.
Bear’s death hurts. It leaves us reeling and overwhelmed. But we have a God that runs with outstretched arms to greet us in our pain and confusion and tragedy. Even when we feel far off, God is right here with us, weeping right alongside us. So when you feel that pain, that hurt, maybe even that anger or regret, know that our God can take it. With God, you don’t have to be strong, and you don’t have to be proper, and you don’t have to be particularly holy. I think Bear’s questions showed he knew that about God. And now he is experiencing God’s loving, welcoming, open arms for himself. May Bear's soul rest in peace, and may all of you find that peace as well. Amen.
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