If you keep up with this blog, you might remember me writing in my 10/6/18 and 10/27/18 posts about attending nursing home chapel with my grandpa on Sundays. One week ago today was my last Sunday with Grandpa. Here is the eulogy I delivered at his funeral. Three weeks ago Grandpa was in the hospital. His oxygen levels were dangerous, and his body was swelling. I had been sitting with him on a Sunday afternoon, and when my sister Jill arrived to do the same, I leaned in close to his face and said, "We're both here. Now you've got double trouble." Grandpa, who hadn't been saying much that day, whispered through his oxygen mask, "Double blessing." My grandpa died on Monday. He was 95 years old, and he was a blessing in my life. On Monday I had the privilege of sitting with his body and mourning the end of our relationship and the end of our rituals. As tears fell down my cheeks, I thought about how we had been bonding and what he taught me. Grandpa taught me about the blessing of work. He loved farming and even last month he and I talked about the fields and this year's late harvest. When he wasn't farming, he served at his church and on many boards. Service is work -- a different kind of work, but work nonetheless. I, too, have the blessing of work I love dearly just as my grandpa loved his work dearly. Work can bring great meaning to our lives, and I am grateful that my grandpa and I shared the blessing of work. Grandpa also taught me to honor the blessing of rest. My earliest memories place me at their home having just finished lunch and Grandpa lying on the floor right where the sunlight hit and resting before the afternoon's work. I love to do the same. I also picture Grandpa in his recliner reading the newspaper, a magazine, the mail. He worked hard, and then he rested. The Bible's creation story teaches the same rhythm that ends with rest. In his last few weeks, Grandpa rested more and more until he passed away in his sleep to enter eternal rest with God. He also taught me that creation is a blessing. From cattle to his dog Bud to many farm cats, Grandpa cared for animals. And as a farmer, Grandpa cared for plants too. Grandpa loved the farm life and shared with me the blessing of creation. I credit my farm roots, established by Grandpa, for my need to putz around my own little plot of land and get my hands dirty tending to my plants. Finally, Grandpa made sure I understood the blessing of family. After Grandma died, we frequently talked about how he missed her, and then he'd give me marriage advice. When I'd visit him at the nursing home on Sundays, toward the end of our visit, he'd tell me to go home and spend time with my family. I'd say, "I'll be back next week," to which he would reply, "Well, that'd be nice, but if you can't because your kids have something going on, that's all right too. You've got to be with your family." Every once in a while the nursing home would ask their residents questions and write their answers on handmade decorations for the wall. A year ago the question was about favorite Christmas memories, and Grandpa's decoration said, "I've always appreciated my sons and their smiles at Christmas time!" Grandpa made sure to teach me about the blessing of family. I loved my grandpa, and I'm not sure what tomorrow -- my first Sunday without him -- will feel like. But, when the waves of sadness come, I'll meditate on the word blessing. For his 95 years on earth and 42 years with me, I will end this remembrance with the same words we ended each chapel service at the nursing home with. For work, for rest, for creation, for family, for Grandpa, thanks be to God. Robert Poppens 12.8.24 12.9.19
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It's 2020. My preachers are Richard Rohr and Rob Bell, and my pastors are a handful of women with whom I share my deepest joys and heartaches and who take care of my heart.
It's 2020. People don't leave their homes to hear an inspirational sermon. People minister to one another over coffee, text messages, and a meal. People serve their communities through thousands of volunteering opportunities, thousands of charities, and thousands of moments for mentoring. People find their close-knit community in clubs, neighborhoods, workplaces, and schools. It's 2020, and church is happening in millions of places, in millions of ways, for millions of people -- as it should be. |