Resurrection Hope by Paul Larsen
- Long ago there was an exceedingly clever court jester at the court of the Caliph of Baghdad. For years he amused the court with his wit and his antics. But one day, in a split second of carelessness, he offended the caliph, who ordered him put to death. "However," said the caliph, "in consideration of your many years of fine and faithful service, I'll let you choose how you wish to die." "Oh mighty Caliph," replied the jester. "I thank you for your great kindness. I choose death...by old age!" (1)
- Scientists and researchers at Duke University conducted an interesting experiment. They took some lab rats, put half of them in containers of water and put covers over them. While there was plenty of air, there was no light and no obvious way to escape. They put the other rats in a container of water with no cover. They could see light and escape appeared at least possible. The rats in the container with no hope swam for a few minutes, ducked their heads and drowned. The rats in the other container, where a way of escape seemed possible, swam for hours not willing to give up until they were totally exhausted.
- Kelly Haugh Clem, the pastor of Goshen Church of Piedmont, Alabama, tells a story of tragedy and hope that happened in her life. Hannah, her four year old daughter, was in the Palm Sunday musical the children were preparing. On Palm Sunday morning the sky hung heavy and gray. The air felt strange. The church was jammed with people. As the musical drama began, the rain crashed down. Lightning and thunder cracked and shuddered. The lights flickered. Suddenly a stained-glass window shattered, spewing glass everywhere. "Get down!" someone screamed. It was a tornado. Pieces of the ceiling were starting to fall. Kelly tried to get to Hannah but a brick hit her on the side of the head and she fell hard on her shoulder. As she lay there a roaring, thunderous wind lifted the roof off the building. Then chunks of concrete and bricks were coming down everywhere. When it was over, she pushed away bricks and managed to stand. The sanctuary appeared like the aftermath of a bomb blast. She saw arms and legs protruding from the debris. Hannah! Where was Hannah? Despite her injured shoulder she tried to clear a path toward Hannah's pew. Suddenly, she saw Amy, who had been sitting beside Hannah. She was dead. She looked down and saw a piece of Hannah's dress protruding from a pile of bricks. Rescue worker arrived and one helped pull Hannah out. He laid her near the altar rail and began CPR. Kelly touched Hannah's face, wishing she weren't so cold. She thought she might be dead, but I couldn't absorb that. The man picked her up and rushed outside, stepping over what was left of the south wall. Kelly struggled to keep up. Sitting on the grass, a nine-year-old boy bent over his mother. "Don't die, Mommy," he pleaded. Kelly wanted to keep that mother alive, to keep this mother and child together. She felt for the woman's pulse and began chest compressions. Moments later when rescue workers took over, Kelly stood up and looked around, but the man carrying Hannah was gone. Carol, the choir director, said, "The put Hannah in an ambulance. I think to Gadsden Hospital." The hospital? Maybe she was alive. Kelly slowly turned to face the church. She saw a place filled with dead and injured. Less than an hour before, it had pulsed with songs and children gleefully waving palm branches. Now the building was completely devastated. In that moment Kelly could not foresee the congregation going on. She imagined those who survived losing faith, losing the ability to worship again. There would be no more Goshen Church. She looked down at her soiled white vestments and was reminded suddenly that she was the minister, that this was her church and these were her people. A feeling of calmness came over her. A sense of God's presence right there with her. For the next couple of hours she prayed with people, handed out supplies and tried to bring comfort. Everywhere she turned, she heard heart-wrenching words: "My husband is dead," "I can't find my little boy" or "My wife is trapped under the roof." As the last of the people were brought out, a rescue worker noticed her bruised head and injured shoulder. He put a sling around her arm and soon after, she was driven to a hospital. After X rays were taken of her shoulder, she asked every person she saw about Hannah, but no one knew anything. Finally a nurse and a pastor friend walked toward her. Kelly's heart started to race and her hands began to tremble. The pastor held her hands and said, "Kelly, I think you already know this, but Hannah died." Twenty people from the church died that morning and 86 were injured, many severely. As they moved through the days before Easter and as the funerals were held, Kelly kept wondering if the church would go on. She wondered if she could go on. Stunned with grief and pain, she could not envision a future. Then the phone began to ring. Church members wanted to know if we would be holding an Easter service. These were the same people who had lost loved ones, people who had been injured. She knew they were thinking about what happened to Jesus on the cross and what happened to the church, and they were longing for Easter. Yes, Kelly thought. We'll have a sunrise service right on the lawn beside the church. We'll be out there at dawn waiting for Easter. On Thursday Kelly woke with a piece of Scripture repeating in her head, and knew God meant for her to read it on Easter morning. "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? . . . No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death, nor life . . . nor things present, nor things to come . . . nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35, 37-39). On Easter morning Kelly waited beside the church with 200 others in the cool, predawn darkness. In the center of the ruins, where the altar had once been, someone had erected a large wooden cross. Then at exactly seven o'clock when Kelly stood to begin the service, the sun spilled over the horizon. With her face swollen and her shoulder in a brace, Kelly stepped up to the podium. She said, "I can't think of any other place I'd rather be. Can you?" Then she opened her Bible and read: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? . . . " When she looked up, she saw people nodding with tears in their eyes. Their faces told her they would go on. Almost a year after the tornado, the Goshen congregation gathered in a field and broke ground for a new church, which would be built in the shape of a butterfly, a symbol of rebirth. People often asked Kelly and her husband, Dale, how they could go on having faith after this. Dale told them, "You don't need faith for things you understand, but for the things you don't." (2)
References:
- "What's Next? Jesus Knows!" Sermon by Monsignor Dennis Clark, Ph.D., Saturday, April 10, 2004, deaconsil.com
- "Nothing Can Separate Us..." by Kelly Haugh Clem, Piedmont, Alabama. Guideposts Magazine, April 1996.
(Comments to Paul at paullarsen@COMCAST.NET.)
Christ the King Lutheran Church
New Brighton, MN