It’s Sunday morning after one of the hardest yet most beautiful days of my life. It is unbelievably difficult to put the shell of a loved one in the ground, especially a child that you have the innate sentiment and God given charge to care for and protect from all harm. When that could not be done, we surrendered to God’s marvelous and mysterious plan. While wonderful to be around about 700 friends, nothing puts salve over a deep and wide hole created by the absence of an integral part of the family. Nevertheless, the songs were truly beautiful. The tributes were rich and meaningful. The sermon was perfect. The video tribute brought smiles. It is humbling to know that a child barely half my age made a splash as big as Mitch did in this world. But, it was an enormous splash- not for himself, but for Christ. Even to greet those who came to know Christ or were spurred on their growth with Christ by our son made us humbly proud.
Then I woke this morning on my favorite day of the week (52 of them every year)- Sunday. I was so lost by time that it wasn’t until I rose that I remembered it is Sunday. It was still dark, but not for long. It was that way more than 2,000 years ago at Calvary. We worship today, Sunday, around the world as a whole community. Our culture may have lost much of its memory of deep spirituality. Our culture has definitely lost its memory of why Christians have chosen Sundays to gather. It has nothing to do with its proximity to the Saturday Sabbath. It could be a Tuesday or Wednesday. But, it is Sunday. We remember Jesus’ resurrection. Death conquered! Satan’s challenge vanquished! The birth of hope! A confidence emerged on that day that nothing, absolutely nothing could keep Jesus down or anyone whom he chose or who chose him. It was a day that took the sting out of death and the rancid smell of suffering without answers from the struggles in this world.
The memorial service was a great tribute. It was a wonderful celebration. But, its sweetness was solidified by what happened on Sunday more than 2,000 years ago. The sun is trying to rise, making the day official. We will go to join our fellow worshippers today on Sunday, as always, wherever we are. And, the focus will not be on Mitch. It shouldn’t be. It will be on Mitch’s Savior, his Hope, the Lover of his soul- mine too. Our worship will be of the One who made us, sustains us, saved us, regularly delivers us, shapes us, sanctifies us, calls us, fills us, uses us, corrects us and joins us together with a bond that is deeper than any human bond. I’m so glad its Sunday. I’m so glad Sunday rolls around every seven days, so we get to remind ourselves again when we have been too busy to remember that God can fix whatever we or the world may have broken over the past six days. I’m glad that God Sundays roll around every seven days to remind me that even the deep loss we feel over a life that didn’t have the conclusion we wanted, has a wonderful finish nonetheless- an eternity filled with carrying out our ultimate call: worshipping Him.