In my mind there is a table

Where the Voices come to meet

To call for my attention

To contend for my heart

And my will

My future even

Some speak loud and often

They are bold and crass

Others are silent

It feels like patience

Rather than reluctance

Some are sullen and dark

Destruction and Cruelty

Devious voices

They caw in my weak moments

And gnaw at my hope

———

There are voices who appear not to speak

But rather intimidate with their presence

Confusion and Fear

Waiting to pounce

They seem to say 

‘So what now?…’

‘What’s it like to be utterly lost?’

Doubt whispers, stirs darkness,

Smirks and sneers

‘Maybe the world is not as you see it?’

‘Nothing really matters’

‘Does it?’

——–

Hope waits patiently

Smiles at Doubt, Confusion and Fear

Resolute and secure

I wish she would speak more often

But sometimes it is in the absence

Of words that her confidence and grace

Are best experienced.

I need hope to use her voice

To shape the conversation

————–

Meanwhile Determination squares his chin

As if to say

This will not end you

It may break you

Shatter you even

In time it will reform you and

Endow you with a knowledge

You may wish you never had

But it will not undo or destroy

Of that he is confident.

————

Peace observes silently

Breathing deep calm

Into everything

Because there is no rush

There is nothing to fix

Grief will set its own pace

Weave its own path

I trust that Peace is reliable

Faithful and true

An ever present friend.

————-

Trust waits quietly

She never pushes in

Or calls for my heart

She is used to being thrown off

The scapegoat for Destruction’s work

She has been here before 

And she knows the path

She gives space

—————

Love just aches 

And bleeds

Wants to repair

To rewind

For one more chance

(Just one?…)

But can only weep at what has been lost

Love speaks little but

Her sorrow is unmistakeable 

———-

And so I choose each day

Whose voice I will allow to speak

Where I will place my heart

Whose words 

Will shape my path

And my future.

I’ve heard it said that grief comes in waves. The weekend just gone was difficult as Danelle had brought home Sam’s ashes and what was left of his possessions. Several boxes of stuff – some of it sentimental/memorabilia type stuff, some practical, tools, clothes, physiotherapy instruments and the usual junk that we keep in our bedside table.

We sat down Saturday afternoon to sort – but it just felt very heavy – very much of a reminder of his non-presence any more – of the utter gone-ness of his being and the sheer finality of the whole thing.

Clothes, trinkets and some ashes  in a plastic container… with accompanying death certificate… It’s confronting to see a human body reduced to ashes. It’s unbelievably sad when it’s someone you love this much. I haven’t had too many super -sad days in the last week or two. (Of course then comes the struggle of wondering if you are a heartless bastard who has simply moved on.) I have gone back to work, kept the exercise regime up and managed to balance whatever social commitments we had without much anxiety or pain. I watched the Danelle and the girls really finding it hard over the weekend while I was doing OK. ‘Grief comparing’ – you know it’s dumb but you do it anyway.

I chose this picture to put on my phone as a lock screen. I had the other one below initially but the challenge of looking at this larger than life grin rocked my heart every time I opened it up – so I swapped it out.’

But after a week of the black and white, back view I decided to switch back. I feel like I’d rather look him in the eye and suffer the daily wrench than look at his figure from behind and maybe pretend he hasn’t really gone.

Today I was at the gym and it is amazing how much comes at you in that hour. I was listening to Greg Boyd on a podcast, while gym music played and two different tvs showed two different programs complete with subtitles. Was it any wonder I lost count of my reps! Trying to concentrate on a theology podcast with all the other noise is pretty hard. And then you add to that the ‘background background’ track that plays just reminding you that life has changed for ever.

I have used the image of having a ‘room’ in the back of my mind that opens on one side to a Narnia like place – I guess it’s heaven (however that looks) and on the other side is my consciousness. Some days I intentionally ‘open the door’ and let Sam in – I muse, feel, smile and weep. Other days I leave it shut. Then there are the days he barges in all guns blazing and I am overwhelmed and caught off guard by his presence. I haven’t ever felt like I want to ‘lock’ the door so I imagine that is a good thing.

For some reason it was the gym where a wave of grief broke today – just enough to throw me off balance and drag me under for a brief rinse. A flick thru my photos as I rode the warm down bike was enough to throw a spanner in the works.

I have kept the photos from our identification of him and from when they were returning on the boat. They are heartbreaking to look at – but somehow I feel like I want to see them every now and then to remind myself that he is not gone on a long holiday – instead he is just gone forever. It’s been the hardest part for me to grasp.

People have asked me if I’m angry, but I’m not – just deeply sad to a depth I didn’t realise was possible.. Somehow as my brain ‘does the maths’, I feel like I have no one or nothing to be angry at. I was angry at Sam initially as he had told us of close calls with blackout, but I only have to remember my own teen years to know that I did my fair share of risky stuff and just happened to get away with it.

Yeah I do sometimes wonder ‘why us?’ Why do we somehow get to bear this greatest of losses that a child seems to be? But there is no real answer to that. Those who would see it as all part of God’s plan would suggest that there is a bigger picture that we just can’t see. I guess you have to think that if you truly believe that God would engineer an event like this. I don’t mean that snidely. I just can’t conceive of God in that way.

That said, maybe one day we will find out that those folks were right… But for now that isn’t a theological position I could credibly hold. It sits too heavily at odds with the notion of a good God or even with the idea of genuine free will.

We are now 6 weeks since Sam’s death – long enough for the initial impact to have worn off most people I would imagine. And even for myself I know I am no longer reeling and disoriented. I think I am starting to accept this new reality, but conscious that waves are still breaking over the bow every now and then and either catching us off guard or at times capsizing us.

Danelle and I spoke this afternoon of possibly travelling as a ‘family’ but just the thought seems more like it would currently serve to enforce what’s not here. So the next family holiday may need to be left for a while.

Anyway just some musings 6 weeks in… Oh and you simply cannot watch the news with the same kind of detached perspective any longer. Two brothers killed in Mexico is not just very sad. It rips at your heart as you know the pain of one child dying in a relatively good way – but to have two sons shot in the head while in a foreign country and then have to go there to retrieve bodies and identify them is next level intense. So very sad for that family.

It was my turn to teach again this week from John Ch 3 – and I focused on Jesus interaction with Nicodemus – quite an intriguing conversation on a number of levels, but in particular with regard to where Nicodemus went with faith.

We began by asking the question – imagine you had never read the Bible before and you were reading the book of John for the very first time. By ch 2 Jesus has gathered a fairly unimpressive group of followers, created a stack of wine for an already inebriated wedding party, he has kicked over tables in the temple and driven out the money changers and he is somehow related to the crazy dude John the Baptist who is going around calling people to repent.

If you were only just reading all this for the first time then I imagine that by the time ch 3 comes around Jesus would look like some kind of crazy dude. Miracles, fits of rage and associations with weirdos would leave the reader wondering ‘just who are you anyway?…’ Of course this is the point. John wants us to be inquisitive as to who this man is. Mission accomplished I’d say.

Then in ch 3 Nicodemus comes to see Jesus because he is genuinely interested in who he is and what he is doing. In fact he goes so far as to call him ‘Rabbi’s and state that it is clear ‘God is with you’ because of the miracles you have been doing. It seems he broke ranks with the other Pharisees to come and see Jesus.

But Jesus responses are anything but helpful. He calls Nicodemus to be’ born again’ – a phrase he is clearly unfamiliar with, and then he critiques him for not understanding. ‘You are Israel’s teacher and you do not understand these things?…’ Again Jesus comes across rude – abrasive even. He gives Nicodemus a couple of heads up from the OT with reference to Ezekiel 36:25-27 and to the whole ‘snake in the wilderness’ experience from Numbers 21.

Jesus goes on to challenge him, but ch 3 ends with the story taking a different direction and we don’t hear what happened to Nicodemus. Did he become a follower of Jesus or was he just offended and put off by Jesus fairly abrasive and confrontational approach? 

Well… while you can’t be sure, I get the sense that maybe Nicodemus started buying in, but couldn’t bring himself to break free from the Sanhedrin – too much to lose maybe?… In Ch 7 we see him defending Jesus and sticking up for him, but then in ch 19 is the biggest hint that maybe he is onboard. As Joseph of Arimithea goes to collect Jesus body for burial, right there with him is Nicodemus, carrying a whopping 30kg of myrrh and alloes to prepare Jesus body.

That amount of gear is the kind of extravagance reserved for a royal burial – as if Nicodemus somehow brought himself to acknowledge that Jesus was the ‘king’ – the messiah – even if he couldn’t fully break free from his place in the Sanhedrin.

So my hunch is that Nicodemus had taken significant steps towards Jesus. Maybe he wasn’t what we could call a ‘fully devoted follower’, (are any of us?…) but he was on the road and pointed in the right direction. It would have taken some courage to go and retrieve Jesus body – and all this before the resurrection. I believe ‘The Chosen’ portrays Nicodemus as wrestling with the decision to follow Jesus before choosing not to, but I am not convinced they got that quite right. 

So much of how we portray discipleship is either hot or cold – for or against – missing the nuance and challenge that often accompanies real life. Nicodemus was in a complex situation and ‘extraction’ if it even were possible would have been costly to both him and his wider family. Perhaps he was trying too live on a knife edge, trying to follow Jesus with all of his heart, but also navigating the implications of that decision on others close to him. That isn’t a bad thing is it?…

Just a thought for those who find themselves on the journey of faith, but for whom it is not simple…

‘Are you sick of talking about this?’

What a great question! I caught up with my old mate Scott V a few days ago and as we were having a coffee together he asked me that. I liked that he was perceptive enough to know that maybe I was repeating myself for the 78th time, and maybe it was emotionally draining, but my answer was ‘no – not yet… I guess I may do in time, but for now I’m still coming to grips with it.’

CS Lewis reckons grief feels like ‘fear’. So he says in A Grief Observed – such a Lewis style title! I don’t think fear has been among the emotions I have experienced. Certainly disorientation, confusion and overwhelm have been among the words I would use. Maybe they consolidate into fear? Hmmm… nah… I don’t know that you can describe grief to another person easily and assume that they will have a similar experience.

To be honest I feel like I’m punching out of my weight division trying to make any sense of grief. I am inclined to ‘think’ my way thru situations (INTJ style) and find solutions, remedies and fixes… whereas grief is really more of a ‘feeling’ zone where no one gets to fix anything. So being immersed in a wash of unusual and unfamiliar emotions is quite disorienting and disconcerting. That said, I do have a fairly well developed ‘don’t panic’, response, so I have been able to ride out, endure, or just cop a beating from the various moments that have transpired over the last 40 or so days since Sam died.

I must admit that this has helped me realise that in moments of deep grief for others I have really not been able to empathise much at all. In some ways we have lived a pretty fortunate life, free of any major personal traumas, so grief has always been a very foreign experience to me. I feel like a bit like a visitor to a new city, hearing the sounds, smelling the smells and encountering the newness for the first time. i remember when I first went to the Philippines, the year after the revolution and we arrived for new years eve…I was in sensory overload. I had no idea quite what I had encountered! And it has felt a bit like that these last few weeks.

When I describe what is going on, its like Sam has taken up residence in one of the back rooms of my mind and just wanders into the forefront any time i am not focused on a specific task. So when I’m at the gym or cycling and I have ‘think time’ he seems to push his way to the forefront – even if I am listening to a podcast and reasonably intent on tuning in closely. And it’s usually just a flash of a memory that pierces the focus, then explodes on impact into a thousand other thoughts and associated feelings. Mostly they culminate in one dominant motif – he’s not coming back… And that evokes some very strong emotions as i wonder why…

Honestly – you know ‘why‘ I think Sam died? I think it was simply because he didn’t come up for air at the right time. That’s spectacularly unimpressive by way of any greater meaning or purpose in his death – but I’m not sure that there is any greater meaning or purpose other than what comes from how we allow the situation to shape and form us. I have no problems believing God can work all things together for good – if we will work with him – but I certainly can’t swallow any theology that calls this ‘God’s will / God’s timing’ or some other form of divinely ordained execution.

And while we feel for ourselves I can’t help but feel for Sam who lost his own life in this tragic event. He lost the joy of living in this world and all that would have brought – marriage, family, travel, vocation… his life was just kicking off and then snap… it was over. If he had his time over again – if we were able to bring him back – I doubt he would ever take a risk like that again. Unfortunately this isn’t a mistake you ‘learn’ from.

A bit of my own sadness comes from realising that i was really looking forward to our adult-male relationship and what it would become. I have enjoyed all stages of our relationship, but this one I was really anticipating, as I knew we would have some great conversations, and he would not be afraid to challenge my thinking with a mind far sharper than my own. I was hoping he would find his way into church life and offer his left field insights to a leadership team who were willing to hear some different ways of thinking. I know he wasn’t a ‘settler’ in the status quo so he would have ruffled some feathers along the way, but in a very likeable way. I’m also sad he won’t be around in 20 years time to take back his blog post critiquing my apparently very boring life – a life where I need to make a steady income so I am committed to a job etc (partly because it costs a lot of money to raise two kids 🙂 ) I remember being utterly disappointed with my own father’s unambitious, stay in the same job your whole life approach – but then i have benefitted greatly from his stability. Stuff you learn… if you are around to do the learning…

At this distance of 40 days most of the raw shock seems to have worn off and we are now just left with daily living minus Sam – which is sometimes uneventful and other times quite difficult. Over the weekend we caught up with some of our closest friends, going right back to the late 90’s during our time at Lesmurdie and then the Upstream venture in 2003. Our kids grew up together and were best of mates (see pic above) for the first 5-10 years of their lives before jobs and circumstances took us all in different directions. The gathering was planned several months back – a grand reunion of oldest of friends (see pic below 15 years later) – and it was a great time being with those guys again for a couple of days. But the absence of that one person was painful to us all. It was beautiful to be with people who just ‘got it’ and were able to roll with wherever we were at, acknowledging Sam’s absence, but at the same time celebrating the kind of friendships that are so valuable in these times.

I have read 3 books in the last month all around this same theme, and the pick of them has been Lament For a Son, a short collection of reflections and literal laments. I read this first, within a few days of Sam dying and it felt like he was reading my mind. It is quite beautiful, poetic and piercing in its simplicity.

On a more amusing note I downloaded a collection of Sam’s playlists to my phone so I could tune into some of what he was listening to. I discovered the song ‘All the Pretty Girls’ by Kaleo at the front of a ‘Going North’ collection of songs. I started listening to this song but had to re-listen to the first line a couple of times to make sure i had heard correctly… And yeah I did hear correctly. It opens with ‘All the pretty girls like Samuel…’ I believe it was one of his favourites 🙂

‘How are you going?’

It’s a simple question, right? But the last 5 weeks it has been difficult to answer. Often I say ‘I don’t know…’ because that just feels honest. The last two weeks (apart from my first ever bout of Covid) I have felt quite stable and emotionally ok… I think… so my response has been ‘good’, or ‘fine thanks’.

And maybe that’s where it gets complicated for an INTJ… I think I feel ok. To say that actually feels callous, but if I’m honest I have been getting on with the stuff I have to do and trying not to get ‘bogged’ in grief. So while I’m deeply sad that Sam is no longer with us, I also know i can’t do anything to change that. It’s just a terrible reality of our daily lives. Much of the pain I feel now is from watching Danelle, Ellie and to a lesser extent, Cosi grappling with loss.

So I ‘think‘ that is where i am at… but perhaps I’m kidding myself? I feel like my hurt and pain is very real and raw when i choose to focus on it, or bring it into the foreground, but it also seems to be shielded from me, as if the most painful thoughts and feelings are still there, but ‘insulated’ in some way.

I intentionally chose this photo of Sam as a wallpaper on my phone – but the image I selected is one that only shows his back. There was something too disconcerting still in having a photo of Sam’s bright, energetic face lighting up at me. I simply didn’t want to look at that every time I opened my phone.

Anyway here’s a poem I wrote that speaks to some of the ‘aftershocks’ of an event like this and some of the complexity of working thru grief and pain.

Aftershocks

It has been 36 days 

Since the ground quaked beneath us

Life exploded around us

In us…

Leaving debris and destruction

Of every kind

Much that is yet to be uncovered

or discovered

But I know it is there

Lurking and waiting to pounce

Growling and snickering

A constant taunting presence

Like an angry dog, unrestrained

Free to menace at will

———-

And what is it to grieve and mourn?

By what means?

For how long?

And in which ways?

Grief has many faces

There is anger that snarls silently

Tears that invade mercilessly at any moment

The paralysis of anxious thoughts and fear

Raw, sad musings about what might have been

Had there been just one more breath…

(Really? Why not just one?…)

Then sometimes nothing…

Just once joyful memories

Seared with sadness

Leeched of emotion

Like blurred photos of an old friend

Is that kind of grief ok too?

———-

36 days ago

I could still see the reddish stubble on your unshaven face 

Your head lying on its side 

Eyes closed and small bubbles frothing from your already blue lips

We knew it was your body

The body we loved and nurtured from young

The strong, muscular body you trusted to propel you around the ocean

It was you

But not you

Life was no longer

The lights were out

And you had left.

———-

To where?

We can only speculate as to details…

Heaven? 

Well yes…

But where is this?

And what is this place we speak of so glibly?

A different dimension?

A ‘good place’?

Where you live now oblivious of us?

A holding bay until the resurrection?

When we will meet again

We will meet again – won’t we?…

(“Mummy & Daddy and Ellie and Sam 

We’re a family aren’t we eh?”)#

My deepest hope is in this reality

Of which I know so little

Because I have not needed to know

This mysterious notion imbued

With centuries of church mythology

But very few hard, undisputed facts

A genuine hope of our faith

That on one hand feels so intangible

And on the other so rich and strong

———

36 days is all it has been

(Not that anyone is counting)

A wisp of time – yet it has felt like an eternity already

The new normal of our family life

Has not yet been cast

As if we are refusing to accept the constraints of this new reality

We do not form new patterns

We wake and hope the the nightmare will end

But every morning it is the same

Aftershocks pierce deep into our hearts

And out from us

Raw pain transmitted to friends

Who embrace it beautifully

Who love and care

Sincerely and honestly

Genuine friendship is a beautiful gift

In this worst of times.

Even then

Only we can truly know the depth of those aftershocks 

———

Now when I ponder my own inevitable death

It is with a different tone

I see a hand holding those I love

Here and now

A hand that is saying ‘goodbye’

But the other hand is reaching out 

To those I love who have gone before

And yours is the face I see

The first port of call in the new realm

You’re telling me to ‘jump’ into the new reality

The kingdom of God where one day

All will be made right

All will be restored

Until then we wait and we trust

# This was a little mantra Sam started when he was about 3 years old. It still generated laughs a couple of months ago…

Oh I am sad today.

Just sad that my son, Sam, is gone – I have been pondering permanence and finality and it just seems that the sheer unfixable nature of this one event has re-made our entire world and I feel somewhat adrift in it. None of us really have our bearings at the moment so we are just getting on, the best we can.

I wonder if my heart is possibly more fragile than I can articulate or even feel? But it also feels like there is some kind of protective layer around it preventing me from feeling the full force of Sam’s death. 

I wonder if I haven’t yet felt the full ‘wumph’ of this. Maybe I have… What would that imply?…

I seem to be able to get on with work ok and get jobs done. I can operate at a fairly healthy level (even with Covid), but the ever lurking thought that occupies my mind is ‘gone’…

Gone… for ever…

So many things in life are fixable – and that’s something I am good at – fixing broken stuff – but I can’t do anything with this situation except try to step into it and accept that this is now part of our journey in life and we will find our way… somehow. I know I want to do that well and allow it to form me in whatever ways it may. (Let’s at least get some good out of it.)

A week back in church we sang that song ‘Blessed be the name of the Lord’ iand we repeated the lines ‘you give and take away’ many times. I wonder if people really think that God gives and takes away children? I certainly don’t think God took Sam away as part of a bigger plan. I find that idea abhorrent – to think that God would actually take a life to teach a bigger lesson or to create a ‘learning opportunity’?…

Not a God I could devote my life to – that’s for sure. And perhaps I am messing with some people’s perspectives on who God is, his sovereignty and the like, but without doing any theological gymnastics whatsoever it is impossible to reconcile the God I know in Jesus, with a God who orchestrates all kinds of tragedies as part of a greater ‘grand plan’.

Whatever the theological ramifications, the simple daily reality is an acknowledgement that the man who is my son is not coming home again, ever. I feel the poem I wrote a couple of posts back articulates what I am sad about better than I can do here, but we are now a week out from the funeral, family have gone home and we have settled back into a level of normal.

Certainly on the surface my life looks quite un-rattled by everything – I have work to keep me busy, I have an exercise schedule I am trying to stick to, despite covid challenges and I naturally look ahead at what the rest of the year holds. We were going to do some interim pastoral work for Marg River Baptist, but we withdrew from that following Sam’s death. Not knowing exactly how things would play out for us it seemed unwise to take a role that involved some significant responsibility while we see how the dust settles on our life minus Sam. We hope to keep doing some teaching in the country churches as we are able, while trying to keep aware of what is happening in the grief process.

It’s a an unusually warm autumn day outside. I cut thru my work in record time this morning, so I was able to go for a SUP paddle in the most stunning blue water, before coming home for a quiet afternoon of reading or whatever I am able to do with covid. It’s hard not to feel like life is wonderful (on one hand), but then on the other it is in ruins.

That’s kinda where it’s at. We have been supported beyond what I could imagine, which has been beautiful, but we face the challenge of easing back into daily realities and discovering a ‘new normal’ for our family life.

1.00pm the bell tolls

the final call is made

by your empty lungs

to leave the ocean floor

ascend the 13 metres

to surface

to breathe

to live

—

but… 

you choose 

one more shot

one more chase

one more chance…

—

and it is this decision

this flash of impulse

that now separates

us from you

that rips the fabric

of our lives

that shatters our hearts

and leaves you utterly unreachable

unknowable any longer

just memories to sometimes comfort

and other times taunt 

memories that will fade

and blur as time smudges the ink

—

1.00pm Sunday is the time

we will always remember

when your misty head

succumbed to the lure

that maybe you were invincible 

unlike other men

when your 21 year old confidence

pushed that bit too hard

and crossed the line

into that other realm

never to return

—

one brief moment of 

asserting your strength 

so inconsequential to 

the rest of the world

but for you

for us

the moment that changed everything

—

And now we wait for 1.00pm

each Sunday as a reminder of

what could have been

what should have been

but no longer is 

or ever can be

one simple breath

the difference between life

and this death we all now endure

I left the blinds open last night and woke to a beautiful sunrise – dusky colours over the ocean, but alongside the beauty of the new day was the dread of what this day holds.

We have had 2 weeks now to get used to the idea that Sam is dead, but I feel like it hasn’t really sunk in. And words often feel inadequate to express what is inexpressible. So maybe tears are all we have…

I Weep

I weep for the time we no longer have

For the man I will not see you become

For the world which is poorer for your leaving.

I weep for the people who will not meet you

And know simple love and acceptance in your presence

For those who others ignore, but whom you always saw

—

I weep for your mother who prayed so earnestly for your arrival

Who gave her life to shaping yours

And now must cope with the loss – the quiet – the family minus crazy

I weep for your sister who loved you like no other

Who is lost and bereft – bravely trying to carry on

But broken and shaken on the inside

—

I weep for the surfs we will no longer share

For those rich conversations we enjoyed – now no longer

The questions I will no longer ponder with you

And for the woman you left behind who was soon to be your wife

Brave and beautiful – kind and creative 

It would have been a wonderful match

—

I weep for our family who have already known so much loss

Another one – preventable – unnecessary – so many words…

But it is done and there are no second chances – no fix we can hack for this one

I weep for your friends – so many who loved you

Even when you struggled to see anything of worth in yourself

Those friends knew your care, your loyalty and love

—

I weep for the grandchildren we will not know

For the shrinking of our already tiny family

And the absence of the one who brought such joy and warmth

I weep for the church who lost a thoughtful, courageous leader

A young man with genuine, practical faith

Whose sharp mind and soft heart would have helped shape the future 

—

I weep for your clients who now notice your absence

Who will miss your sincere and thoughtful care

Your love for the strugglers, the odd, the outsiders

I weep for the dreams that now are no longer

The infamous troopie trips, the lap of Oz you would surely have done

The adventures you, Cosi and your tribe would have shared

—

I weep for the neighbourhood you would have lived in

For the people who just need a truly good man in their orbit

For the young men who will not experience your influence

I weep for the challenges and questions that will not get raised without you around

For the unwillingness to settle for trite or weak answers

For your ability to listen and then disagree – but with love

—

I weep for the laughter we will not share

For the pranks we will no longer hear of

The hot marketplace deals you will no longer send my way

I weep for the battles we will no longer fight with you

For the victories we would hear about

And the hope for a better future and a settled mind

—

I weep for us – for the men we were going to be together

For the way we were going to shape our families

Jesus at centre – our inherited dysfunctions finally put to bed

I weep for myself because I have lost my son

The curious and kind little boy 

Who became a strong and good man

—

I weep for the conversations we will not have

For the hugs that are now gone

And for the ever present ‘love you’ at the end of every conversation.

I weep because I have no words 

To describe the pain of touching your face that last time

The rich hope of God’s kingdom coming our only constant as we carry on

Oh my son my son! If only I could have died in your place.

I literally read these words in the Bible just over a week ago as David wept for his son Absalom (and the kid was a complete jerk). I remember feeling his anguish even then. Today I feel his pain a thousand times over, for a son who was everything a dad could hope for. Sam died free-diving off Mandurah. We think maybe he stayed down too long and blacked out. He was unable to be revived and Sunday around 2.30 pm we got the news that he wasn’t coming home.

I am the guy who ‘writes things’ and is able to put words around ideas so they make sense, but today my words just feel so paltry and inadequate as I have struggled to put language around such a deep inner heartache and loss – a terrible tragedy and one I can’t make sense of in any way. It has taken me 6 days now to form some kind of response.

My world has changed forever and I still don’t even know quite how. I just know that I wake up, begin pondering what the day holds and then the grief truck mows me down and takes all the wind out of my sails all over again. It leaves me stuck on repeat, remembering moments with my son, but knowing I will never have those experiences again. 

Each day there is a realisation of a new ‘what will not be’, because Sam is gone. Ellie is left without her dearly loved brother and our small family loses its brightest spark. Sam was the one who brought the joy, the passion and the rage. Sam rarely left you guessing as to what he was feeling and for that I admired him. He laughed loud and cried hard. He loved life and brought so much energy to our home. 

Sam had a deep and sometimes troubled mind. He was an ‘over thinker’ – a second guesser and so often his questions were about his own worthiness – his own intrinsic goodness – which no one else ever doubted. There were few men in this world as ‘good’ as Sam – as kind and loving  as brave — he was the kind of guy you hoped your daughter would marry. In my journal as I pray for my kids each morning, I write words that I am praying for them. For Sam the word was ‘peace’ – that his brain would settle and allow him some rest. The words alongside Ellie’s name are: fun, substance, adventurous, courageous, Godly, kind – except these aren’t words I am praying for her – but its a description of the man who I hope will one day win her heart. And yeah – I did notice that I could overlay that description on Sam and it would fit him like a glove. So I pray for his type of man to one day come along and sweep my own daughter off her feet. 

His beautiful partner, Cosi, who found him, dragged him onto their kayak and tried to resuscitate him, now has to live without him – her final memories so traumatic. She is one courageous and strong woman, but her heart is shattered and healing will take time. I am grateful every day for her efforts to save him and bring him back. We love her deeply and share some of her pain – but who can feel the pain of a love lost like that?

In these days after Sam’s death we swim in a sea of both murky darkness as we contemplate the loss, but also beautiful light, as we are surrounded and cared for by so many people who love us and who want to support us. So much of our lives have been spent caring for others and being those people who help in times of tragedy. It never crossed my mind that one day we would be the ones bereft and mourning. ‘Those poor people’… are us…

On my previous blog I tried to describe as concisely as I could my deepest convictions about life and faith. First and foremost was that God is good. Just in case you’re wondering, I do not doubt that in the slightest. I also said that my hope is in the cross and the resurrection. Again I am reminded of the beautiful truth that there will be a final resurrection and we will be once again share in life together. I know some speak ‘hopefully’ of a good God and perhaps a heaven… if we are lucky… I feel a depth of confidence from deep in my being that I am unable to explain – except that my life experience over 60 years has always led me to a place of trust and confidence in that same good God. 

I know Sam shared that confidence and hope, but I am devastated that his life ended too soon. Initially I was angry with him, until i reflected on my own early 20’s where I pushed limits in every way I could. It’s what young men do… Only most of us get away with it.

So, my son, Sam is dead.

That is such a brutal thing to say or write, but that is the reality we are facing now. And it’s as cold and harsh and terrible as that word on the page. 

Dead.

We sometimes describe it as passing away or even sleeping, perhaps as a way of cushioning the blow. But when all the dust has settled the result is still same. Tragic, devastating and utterly unfixable. The ocean I taught my kids to love was a place where Sam was genuinely free and able to be himself most fully. But it was the ocean that claimed his young life. Just 21… so strong, so full of life and potential. 

Gone in a heartbeat – or a lack of one.

And so we weep for the life that was lost and the future that will not come to be. For a world that is poorer for the loss of a vibrant and deeply compassionate human being who loved people and loved adventure. 

Yesterday afternoon as we sifted thru the stuff in his room, I found this poem in Sam’s journal. The opening line states ‘I belong to the ocean…’ It feels gut wrenching to read those words today, but it was actually written a few years back. It is him trying to express deep love for this most marvellous part of creation that ultimately was his undoing.

Thank you to the incredible number of people who have supported and loved us this week. Our family, close friends, our church communities, the local Yanchep crew, our surfer friends and more. We have been overwhelmed with love and for that we are so grateful. Tomorrow is ‘resurrection Sunday’, a day that will take on even greater significance from this year onwards a we wait for the day when we will meet again

If you read my previous post then you’d know where I am headed with this one. And no I hadn’t forgotten to follow it up – I just thought I’d wait a week so you could reflect more on it in your own experience.

The question I am pondering is, ‘after 40 odd years of following Jesus what have I come to ‘know‘ deep in my heart as absolutely critical to the establishment of a strong and well formed faith

I had thought I would cycle thru these ideas one post at a time so I could really develop what I mean and why it matters, but having begun in that frame and found it feeling a bit awkward and detached, I sense it is better to scan the whole range of ideas in one swoop

So here we go with 6 elements that give foundation to my own faith and that help me stay the course and live as a disciple of Jesus.

1. God is good.

He is GOOD!

This deep conviction is the cornerstone of my faith. It has been my experience over and over, but it is also a deep belief. If God is not good for any reason then we are in real trouble. If God is malevolent, capricious or just has ‘bad days’, then he would be impossible to trust and to put our hope in. If God is not good then he simply becomes another despotic deity who needs appeasing on a regular basis.

This knowledge cultivates an awareness of his goodness in the world, a heart of gratitude for what I see of him and a deep sense of joy in life.

This understanding also helps me deal with issues like Old Testament violence. If God is good then I begin reading these passages with that premise. And it helps me form a reasonable response – maybe it wouldn’t be one that everyone would accept – but the premise of a perfectly good and loving God must be the foundation for my ruminations (as I don’t accept that God simply wanted to wipe out nations who weren’t onside with him and his people.)

What do I mean by ‘good’? I mean that he only ever intends the best for his creation. Perhaps it’s not much different from saying ‘God is love’ and as a result he is ‘good’. But his goodness for me relates to his ongoing faithful concern for his creation – his refusal to do anything to harm that creation.

I just can’t buy the view of God’s sovereignty that has him as the mastermind behind all sorts of shitty stuff in life because he has a ‘greater plan’. I was abused as a child because God wanted me to help other abused kids? … It was God’s plan for me to have terminal cancer / motor neruone disease / or whatever else for some greater good?… I don’t think so. There may well be greater good come out of tragedy and difficulty, but God is never the one pulling the strings and screwing up people’s lives so they can learn some hard lessons.

God is good. If we don’t get that factored in early then we are in trouble.

2. Jesus is Lord – again – utterly foundational and not negotiable. Paul spoke to this when he said ‘For me to live is Christ – and to die is gain.’ Scot McKnight once summed up the gospel in these 3 exact words, ‘Jesus is Lord’, When Stanley Hauerwas was interviewed by a rather straight laced Christian journal and asked to define the gospel he was a little more feisty stating ‘Jesus is Lord – everything else is bullshit’. Maybe this was why Time magazine called him America’s best theologian in 2001. 🙂

This statement gives shape to literally everything I do. Ok not everything – not what colour socks I wear – but it does give shape to the way I live my life – the way I use my money – the way I treat other people – the way I do business. If Jesus is Lord then I bow the knee to him every day and surrender my own will to his. If you’re reading this as someone who doesn’t have faith then I appreciate that can sound a little weird – but it’s a conscious decision when you become a disciple – to live a life that is reflective of the one you follow. And it’s done in the belief that the life he calls me to, is life as it’s intended to be, lived in the ‘kingdom of God’,

Most days this idea bubbles away beneath the surface guiding and shaping. It’s rare that I hear a megaphone giving me instructions to obey. At this point in my life it is in some ways ‘second nature’ – and that’s probably an apt term because my first nature is still to look after no 1 and make decisions that only ever serve me. There are times when the voice of Jesus speaks clearly into a situation I am grappling with in a way that is simply calling for me to choose the Christlike way when I am struggling with my own will. It’s been 11 years since I gave up alcohol, but it happened because in a moment I heard him say ‘stop‘. (Follow the link if you want a broader picture). I had grappled with drinking in moderation and failed on numerous occasions. I just loved wine. Then one day – clear as a bell – Jesus said ‘stop‘. For someone who holds to the idea of Jesus as Lord the only appropriate response is to say ‘yes’. I did – and he hasn’t said that I can start drinking again yet, so the ‘ban’ is still in force 🙂

I won’t deny there are times of wrestle as I discern him sometimes forming me in ways that are difficult – but this choice is firmly made, and as long as it’s in place there is only ever one response.

YES.

3. The kingdom of God is ultimate reality & the hope of God for the world – I am embarrassed to say that I really didn’t ‘get’ the ‘kingdom of God’ until I was in my 30’s. I didn’t understand or grasp that what was meant by ‘your kingdom come on earth as in heaven’ was for the world to operate according to God’s original design. And while we live in the ‘in-between’ space now – we anticipate a time in the new creation when the kingdom of God will be fully expressed and experienced.

This matters to me because for much of my early years ‘salvation’ was nothing more than being pulled from the flames of hell and sent on a path to heaven. And my job on this earth was to ‘save people’. I’ve been really grateful for the theologians who have helped me expand my understanding of salvation to realise that it is much more than the forgiveness of sins, but it extends to all of creation and that we are ‘being saved’ as we live each day in the reality of God’s kingdom and under the rule of the king – Jesus.

I’m not a person who particularly likes being told what to do – or made to conform for no good reason. But when I think of the world as God intends where there is love, kindness, generosity, forgiveness and so on, I want to live in that reality – so I will bow the knee to the way of the kingdom in the conviction that God knows better than me. And quite frankly there is great joy in living in the way of Jesus – of knowing that I can trust his judgement on everything, (even if I can’t always trust my discernment in hearing him…)

These days when I am speaking to people who aren’t Christians about the faith, I ‘lead’ with the ‘gospel of the kingdom’, of there being a God who loves his creation and wants the best for it and has a plan for how that can happen – how we can return to the better plan. The cross is at the centre of this, but it is not the circumference. The gospel is far grander and more beautiful than Jesus dying for my sins so I could go to heaven.

These days it is the ‘gospel of the kingdom of God’ that inspires me and forms my imagination of how life should be lived in this world.

4. Faith is both beautiful and mysterious (but not very systematic) – This is core because the longer I am alive and the more I read the scriptures, the more questions I have forming in my mind. Yet, while questions form, I am also deeply convinced of the goodness of God and his greater plan for his creation so I find myself regularly living in moments of tension where I read a passage of scripture that once was so ‘clear’ and now it is puzzling.

I listened to a recent podcast with Richard Rohr and Brene Brown as they discussed ‘second half of life’ issues. They made the point that in church we are trained to explain rather than explore and as a result the place of mystery has been replaced by what is often a rather dull and hard to believe explanation of something beautiful and mysterious. Maybe we were never intended to explain faith in short concise statements.

For an example of a case in point consider 2 Kings 2. In this crazy narrative we have Elijah rolling up his jacket and parting a river with it, then his disciple, Elisha requesting a ‘double portion’ of Elijah’s spirit (can you actually do that?!), followed by a whirlwind taking Elijah ‘up into heaven’ and then the story that always reminds me to be nice to prophets, where a group of young men mock Elisha’s bald head – so he calls down bears from the forest to maul them (42 of them to be precise)… There is so much to ponder in that chapter – so much that is puzzling – absurd even! As I read the scriptures each morning I find myself journalling my questions more than my observations or learnings and it is the questions that stir me. Over the years I have ‘learnt’ a lot – and much of it has been good – but I don’t feel I was well trained in how to sit with curious parts of scripture and to be ok with not understanding all of it.

Seriously thoughb – what’s the deal with the bears!?

I have a clear memory of being 19 years old and attending a series of mid-week Bible studies at my church where a supremely confident teacher gave us completely authoritative answers to absolutely everything that we wanted to know about, even the most complex of passages. After one of the meetings I chatted with him personally in the carpark before heading home. I asked ‘can you tell me – is the Bible like poetry where everyone can read it and make a different interpretation, or is there only one true reading of each passage.’ He cleared that up for me straight away by letting me know that for every verse there was only one correct way to read it.

While I don’t subscribe to a ‘choose your own adventure’ type of reading of scripture where every and any interpretation is equally valid, I have benefited more from appreciating beauty and mystery in recent years than I have from needing to nail rock solid certainty at every bend.

5. Faith is inherently communal – I have written about this plenty.

There simply is no such thing as a solitary Christian who doesn’t see the need to be part of some expression of church. The New testament letters are all written to communities, instructing them in the way of faith and in how to live together as the people of God. So when someone says ‘for me faith is just very personal – between me and God’ I have warning lights flashing. This isn’t the faith the Bible speaks of.

Having been in church for nearly 60 years now there is a part of me that feels like I have ‘been there done that’ and if I never went to church again I feel like I’d be ok. Hmph… I guess what I wouldn’t be able to observe is the difference in my own behaviour and thinking as I move away from the people of God to ‘do my own thing’. I may ‘keep my core beliefs’, but that assumes that faith is about intellectual assent to a collection of ideas. As if… While there are some ‘core beliefs’, the real test of faith is in how it is lived out each day. I keep saying ‘there is no theology exam for heaven’, yet with so many theologically anal Christians nit picking over doctrine, you would think this was the case.’

I do appreciate plenty of people have been burnt by church and struggle to re-engage with the beast that bit them. Churches can do a lot of harm and PTSD is real. But there are many different expressions of the church, so my encouragement to the wounded is to try and find a bunch of people who are up for sharing the road with you – then join them and stick with them for at least a year. Give it a good shot and who knows – you may just be pleasantly surprised,

Unless we are in community we won’t be able to serve one another, carry one another’s burdens, forgive one another, encourage one another, rebuke one another… and so it goes on. There is never going to be a time in my life where I can say ‘ok I think I’ve done church… let’s do something else’.

6. My hope is in the death and resurrection of Christ – this is both the beauty of our faith and the ‘foolishness’ of it as Paul writes in 1 Corinthians.

I was reading that chapter again this morning and as I was reflecting I realised that I cannot easily ‘explain’ this hope in a logical way. The ‘mechanics’ of salvation are not able to be easily broken down into ‘4 spiritual laws’ or ‘two ways to live’. Sorry if those booklets were your go to for evangelism. I just don’t see it that neat and tidy.

I began to imagine myself explaining this some friends and I could see puzzled looks forming on their faces… This is a weird story we subscribe to right?… This eternally pre-existent God, created a world where people were given free will to choose how to live and many rejected him. He then sent his son (also him incarnate…) to die for the sins of the world and to be the means of salvation for all mankind… It was his death and resurrection that began the establishment of his kingdom – a kingdom that will come in fullness at the new creation

If you had never heard this story before it would be utterly absurd to you. It sounds like a sci fi or fantasy story! But I wonder if it wouldn’t also be ‘good news’ – that we are not alone – that life is not random and meaningless – but there is a good God who is in the process of restoring the broken creation and he invites us to join him in that.

As I have sought ways to make clear practical sense of this gospel I have felt like one of those gentiles for whom it is ‘foolishness’. There are times when I find myself wondering how I share this story with other people without them thinking I am off with the fairies. I don’t know if such a method exists, but perhaps it’s just a case of stating it simply and clearly – the inner workings of all of this is above my paygrade – but what I do know is ‘Christ was crucified and then risen again on the third day’ and this is the basis of my hope. Then we leave it to the spirit to do his work…

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So there you have it – 6 foundational blocks of my own faith. As I said earlier, these are less ‘beliefs’ (in the intellectual sense) and more a product of my own experience of faith over a lifetime. I wanted to articulate the stuff that sits deep in my gut rather than the information stored on my ‘hard drive’. So if you read it and feel like there are some omissions then you’re probably right. There is nothing about the Bible, nothing about the Holy Spirit, or end times…

Chances are that God has been revealing different things to you and your list would look different to mine. But there you have it – the stuff that gets me out of bed in the morning…

So – tell me what’s on your list?…