On October 19, my pastor, Hal, was killed in a motorcycle accident.
(Hal was friends with everyone. Lux (a super trendy coffee shop) was practically his second home. I will really, really miss meeting him for coffee there to talk about the Bible.)
October 18 was a Sunday just like any other. But it felt especially fabulous, for some reason.
I sang with the worship team and we sang some of my favorite songs. A lady from the congregation did Trinity Talk with Hal and talked about depression during the holidays. I connected with her after church, and I totally want to be best friends with her. Hal gave a sermon about the book of Mark, but a lot of it was just him talking about how excited he was to be going on a motorcycle trip to Utah with his dad.
I've been considering moving out of state, but sitting in church on this most perfect of Sundays, I thought, "How can I leave this?"
That afternoon, I texted Hal about the area in Utah he'd be visiting. I was so excited that he was going to see one of my favorite places! He sent me this selfie (Hal's selfie game was strong) and complimented my singing that morning.
24 hours later, he was dead.
It still just doesn't seem real. A month later, I still think I see a glimpse of him at church and then feel heartbroken all over again when I remember.
The funeral was huge; almost 1000 people. We had to have it at a different church.
Food was needed, and we were all eager to help. One night, my small group assembled four casseroles. The next night, Laura and I baked six pies. (When I heard that they needed pie, I actually thought of that verse from Esther- "Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created.")
The time I spent in the kitchen with these ladies felt sacred and beautiful. I think it helped to feel like we had something to do. And then, the day of the funeral, it just felt so awful and final. Now there's nothing to do but grieve.
The pastor who gave the sermon admitted right away that he and Hal didn't see eye to eye on theology. And sure enough, when he started in on how "everything happens for a reason" and how it was God's will to take Hal's life, I felt both uncomfortable and irritated. This didn't sound like a sermon Hal would be preaching. And then, it was time for Hal's friends to speak. One of them told a story of a time he, Hal, and another friend were talking theology. Specifically, they were talking about why bad things happen. The other friend echoed what the pastor had just preached to us. Hal's friend said that Hal considered this and said, "If that's who God is... Then I don't have enough middle fingers to point at the sky." It was a beautiful, hilarious moment that Hal would have appreciated.
I don't know why bad things happen. But I know that suffering is an affront to God. My favorite Bible verses are in Lamentations 3: "When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Bow in prayer. Enter the silence. Don't ask questions; wait for hope to appear." The only certainty I have is that God is with us, even in the deepest valleys.
In Hal's last sermon, he shared that he had just figured out why we call someone a crook. (Because they're "crooked.") Then he got sidetracked and had to tell us how he'd just figured out why Marshall Mathers calls himself Eminem. That kind of thing is just so Hal; he loves connecting those dots and having those epiphanies. He was always learning, always seeking to understand more. Right after his death, I started thinking about that 1 Corinthians 13:12: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully..."
Hal is seeing God face to face. Now he knows fully how the universe works. All those little epiphanies he had here on earth are nothing compared to what he's seeing now. I bet he is so excited, and I am so, so happy for him. But so, so sad for those of us he left behind.
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