Those of you who read my facebook wall, may have seen the occasional
“a Romans 12:15 kinda day” posts. The idea behind those comes from the Bible
verse Romans 12:15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep
with those who weep.” This verse has been a part of how I approach life and
ministry for a number of years now.
At first, it was simply an admonishment to be present with
those who are near. If they are grieving, it is right that we grieve with them.
If they are celebrating, it is right that we celebrate with them. Then I saw
those ancient words as permission to both rejoice and weep. If someone has
sorrow, I can enter their sorrow. If someone else has joy, I can enter their
joy and not belittle or betray the sorrow of the other. Both are possible to
hold.
This is where the idea of a Romans 12:15 kinda day came
from. It is a day where social media, ministry, or life itself brings me moments
of great sorrow and of great joy. I am always privileged to enter into those
spaces and grateful for the opportunity to reflect on the complexity of our
time here. The Romans 12:15 days that get posted are the ones that are easy to
define. A day with preschool chapel and a funeral, a
day of floods and fires contrasted with weddings and graduations, a day of
funeral and a high school play. Funerals tend to remind me of Romans 12:15.
Because funerals are more than just a day of simple grieving.
They add to how I understand what it means to rejoice and to weep with those
who do the same. In a funeral service there is joy, there is hope. It is not
just a day of the past, but one of the future as well. And while certainly each
funeral has these pieces in differing percentages, I recently attended a
funeral that masterfully carried the balance of these things.
The funeral was for a man I never had the privilege of
meeting. His name is Donald Rothwell. He was on the beaches of Normandy. That
isn’t the most interesting thing about him, but I needed to mention it to tie
it into the title. Don was a man by all accounts who brought joy with him into
every space he encountered. He taught, he volunteered, he loved well, he was a
tea teetotaler, and the north star to an amazing family. He served in the church
where I now serve for nearly twice as long as I have been alive. When we
remember a long life, lived well, it is easier to see lost as bitter sweet; as a
time of weeping and rejoicing; as a Romans 12:15 kinda day.
That evening I found myself in high school auditorium anticipating
a musical based on the Evil Dead films. If you are not familiar with the Evil
Dead franchise the short version is this: five high school students go to a
remote cabin in the woods where cultist, trees, and zombies (aka the Evil Dead
aka Deadites (again see title) attack. Then of course hilarity ensues. At least
in the musical version.
That evening was absolutely a celebration of the hard work
of the cast and crew as well as celebration of unbridled silliness. It was also
a celebration of the macabre. Laughing in the face of death is another way to
rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. In the play no one
really dies, they come back as the aforementioned Evil Dead. While the majority
of the cast end the play covered in blood, it is stage blood. The audience is
in on the joke. We know this all done tongue in cheek. Death has lost both its
power and its sting.
That day I attended two services, heard two stories. One was
a formal service with the story of Don Rothwell told by those whose lives he
impacted. The other was an informal service dressed as a high school play where
the story included a singing moose. A mixture of tears and laughter, grief and
joy, celebration and remembrance. Certainly in different percentages, but there
none the less.
A Romans 12:15 kinda day.
--Serving God alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau |
| Me, "Linda", her mom, and a family friend |
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