Thinking About Fifty Years

There's nothing quite like burying a 50-year time capsule to get you thinking about the big stuff.

Life.

Death.

Legacy.

What am I doing here and does it even really matter?

On Sunday, as part of our church's 300th anniversary celebration members of our congregation wrote personal stories and notes on colorful slips of paper. We then placed them in a time capsule with the intention of having it opened by our church's members in 2073. 

Admittedly, the idea of 2073 sent my mind wandering.

Thoughts of climate catastrophes and natural disasters settled in first. Is there any way that this spot where we are burying this time capsule right now will still hold it safely in 50 years? 

I hope so, was the honest answer playing in my mind as I looked at my 13-year old son sitting next to his cousins.

It was surreal periodically catching his eye as we moved through the service. The math of 50 years is unmistakable. Fifty years ago my parents were not even married yet. Fifty years from now these two people who have given so much to our church community won't be here to reopen that time capsule.

From my position up front with the praise band there were many times when I felt the tears well up as I looked out over the room of people who have been so impactful in my life. And as I felt the presence of those now gone who once occupied those church pews.

There is something deeply powerful about the way we are all connected through time and space.

I kept reminding myself to fully take in the moment, almost as if pinching myself in order to embrace the beauty of what we were doing there together.

During our service, as members came forward to place their personal notes in the time capsule we sang From the Inside Out by Hillsong United. The chorus felt particularly poignant.

Everlasting

Your Light will shine when all else fades

Never ending
Your Glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out
Lord, my soul cries out

As I watched everyone bring forward a piece of their own story and place it into the capsule, I thought about the many special moments I had experienced within this congregation over my lifetime. It was like a beautiful movie playing with too many supporting characters to count - so many distinct puzzle pieces coming together in beautiful community.

On my own paper, I wrote about Joe's death and how that led me to partner with my mom and others to bring the GriefShare program to our church.  There have been hundreds of people who have found care and support in that space we created over these last 12 years. Joe's death was awful, but what a legacy it is that God took that worst moment in my life to speak to the worst moments of so many others. 

Outside at the end of our church service, we gathered around and sang Great Is Thy Faithfulness as my nephew placed the capsule in the ground. Later that afternoon, my son and his Confirmation Class helped shovel the dirt on top of it, burying all that we had poured into those notes for the next 50 years.

My son and his classmates will be 63 years old.

If I am still alive I will be 95. I thought of this as I looked at the older members of my church and imagined myself in their shoes. I hope my life is held to be even a fraction as faithful and impactful as I have known theirs to be.

The reality is that many members of our current church congregation will have died by the time that capsule is reopened. That's tough to swallow, but if there is any lesson to be taken in from the 300 years of our church's existence, it is that a legacy built on following God endures. Things may look different 50 years from now in ways that we cannot even imagine today, but I believe in God's love and the power of community to meet that moment.

What a special gift it will be for the members of our future church to read the stories of the church of 2023. Fifty years from now, much will likely have faded, but the assurance that God's light is everlasting and that a new generation will be able to have their souls cry out encourages me beyond words.

Til Death (or money) Do Us Part...

Last night as I was getting ready for bed I had on a TV show called Four Weddings. If you don't know the premise, it's basically four brides who attend each other's weddings and then rate which ones they liked the best. There are safeguards in the grading system so that a bride can't undercut everyone else's wedding in hopes that she will win. In the end the bride with the most points wins a pretty impressive honeymoon for her and her new husband.

Last night's show was not a typical Four Weddings show; it was a Four Weddings special. It was a review of many episodes in the form of "blunders" - what not to do (and specifically what cost brides points in the evaluation process). One segment in particular caught my eye. It was called "for richer or richer" and it was literally a string of brides who refused to say the "for poorer" part of the traditional wedding vows. I was floored. Some women just said "for richer" and then after a pregnant pause moved on. Others said "for richer or for richer", slyly replacing the dreaded "for poorer" part with what she thought would be the circumstances for her continued commitment. Now I have to assume that these brides thought they were being funny, but it got me to thinking.

My brain was going into hyperspeed thinking about how this "for richer or for richer" sentiment is really a symptom of a bigger problem in our think of yourself first, do what makes you happy, immediate gratification culture. It made me very uncomfortable. And it wasn't just because I thought these women were horrible, but because in different ways I saw that same sentiment in myself both currently and at various points in my life.

Then, this morning I saw the counterpoint. My mother-in-law gave an eloquent eulogy for her Uncle Pat at his memorial service. Part of the eulogy was talking about his courtship and marriage to his wife of nearly 47 years. During the eulogy, Mom talked about the vows they took and the part that struck me hardest (probably for obvious reasons) was the "til death do us part" part. Tears were streaming down my face as I stood in the back of the Church holding my son while she spoke. She talked about how it's hard to do that and (maybe I'm embellishing a bit here), but how you have to work at having a marriage like that.

It got me to thinking about my first marriage to an emotionally and verbally abusive husband, a marriage that while it didn't end well, has left me nothing but happy at a second chance.  I then, of course, think of my marriage to Joe - one in which no matter how difficult things got - we were in it together. A marriage in which I had someone to challenge me to be a better person and to dig deeper in everything I did. A marriage in which I found everything I had been looking for - literally everything. I knew that ours was a "til death do us part" kind of relationship, but I never thought that time would come as soon as it did.

The traditional wedding vows that couples take are very difficult. They run counter, I believe, to our nature as human beings. Sickness, poverty, death. These are devastating, hard things. But, that is why these vows are so wonderful. It's because they bring us to something bigger and deeper than ourselves. Perhaps the amazing part is that I believe I can have those same counter-cultural, earth-shattering relationships as a single person. I find that the Jesus I have come to know is that way and that we are called to do the same while we are here. I think we could turn the world upside down by committing to love people (all people) for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part.