Speaking from the Heart when Words Fail

“They don’t teach a class in college about how to write a letter to a friend who’s dying.”  A friend shared these words in a conversation we had last week.  Off and on over the past several years, he’s relayed to me updates about a long-time friend battling cancer.  Recently, he was told the end was very near.  This friend lives out of town and doesn’t want any visitors.  My friend wanted to do something to convey what their 30-plus years of friendship has meant, but didn’t know what to do.

“Write a letter,” is what I suggested.  Such an exercise is something we do as much for us as the person receiving it.  Additionally, they can read it when they want, at a time and in a place that they decide.  Even if we never know for sure if they’ve read our words, we will have known that we have written them and sent them.  “Okay, I think I’ll try that,” was his reply.  Two weeks later, over lunch, he shook his head while relaying how hard it was actually to put pen to paper and communicate the emotions he felt.  “They don’t teach a class in college about how to write a letter to a friend who’s dying,” was how the conversation ended that day.

His words came at an appropriate time for me.  This is the last newsletter article that I will write as your senior minister.  My leaving the church next week is, thankfully, not a death.  But there are similarities in the way that we process our grief over the loss of a minister, the loss of a ministry, the loss of a period of history.  As you know, my father died of a heart attack and I have always maintained that the difficulty in dealing with sudden death is that we don’t have a chance to say “good-bye.”  Privately, I probably always pitied myself for not having had the chance to do this for dad.  What is ironic, however, is that I have a similar opportunity to do this now and find the task far more difficult than I could have ever imagined.  How do we put into words our sense of love, thankfulness and appreciation; how do we describe what is learned through the ups and downs of a relationship; how do we measure the laughter, anxiety, tears, struggle, and elation experienced together?

How do I communicate humble appreciation to those who have driven upwards of 40 miles just to make Sunday service part of their weekend plans?  How do I convey the sacred honor felt at the trust placed in me by those who shared their deepest family secrets – who allowed me to glimpse through the window of the greatest vulnerabilities?  How do I say thank you for those who have been aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins for our children when our own families were so far away?  How do I express thanksgiving to the aged for having been allowed to hold their hands at the end of life, and to parents for entrusting their infants and children into my hands the very beginning of theirs?  How can I possibly quantify or qualify the meaning of seven years’ worth of memories with one family, let alone one hundred?

At some point in all of the funerals over which I’ve presided, there has been some “eulogizing” of the deceased.  That is, the community shared memories of the person’s earthly life lived among us.  As that time of the service concludes and we transition to the scripture readings and sermon, I have said some version of the following: No matter how much we say, we could never do justice to all that we feel about this one we remember.  Even if we stayed here all day – or even all week – sharing memories like this, we would not be able to describe them accurately.  For a person’s life – who they are and what they mean to us – will always be much more than a collection of memories or anecdotes we share about them.

How does one speak from the heart, when the words will inevitably fail?  If one says “thank you,” that phrase is too simple, too trite and not adequately profound.  “I am deeply indebted to you,” is too formal and not intimate enough.  “I appreciate you,” is too aloof and distant.

Years ago, a mentor in the ministry said, “We should ask our members if they are spiritually stronger than they were a year ago.  Not if they are happier, more comfortable, more knowledgeable.  But if they are stronger in a spiritual sense.  If they answer ‘yes,’ then we (the church) are doing our job.”

To the beloved community of First Christian Church of which I have been blessed to be part, I say to you that I am a stronger person spiritually because of you.  I am wiser; I am more aware of my shortcomings; I have witnessed God’s grace more clearly and experienced it more fully; I have learned a greater meaning of hospitality; I have become more patient; I have grown in knowledge and ability in unforeseen ways; I have a more confident faith in God’s love for me, God’s claim on my life, and God’s promise to provide.  All because of you.  I may not be a wise, patient, hospitable, humble, knowledgeable person yet.  But I am stronger in all of these ways because of you.  You have done your job in the years we have been together.  And I can only pray I have done mine.

And though these words will invariably fail, I say “thank you” from the bottom of my heart.  I will always feel indebted to you for your love and kindness.  I do appreciate you for all of the ways you have allowed me to be me. 

Your friend and fellow sojourner always…  Michael