Since Thanksgiving our church has suffered two tragic and sudden deaths, Lori Braner and Karen Ray, both of them victims of auto-related accidents.  Two active, vital, faithful, uniquely individual women were taken from us in an instant, and in that moment the world was turned upside down for those who knew and loved them.  In the wake of such loss, we are left to pray, to grieve, and to wonder at it all.

Here in the shadow of death, I know what we all know.  There are no magical words, no simple answers, to ease the shock and pain.  No comfort is found in pat answers or sweet clichés, well intentioned as they might be.  So, together we will tread lightly through the heavy air.

Life is fragile, and our moments in this world are holy gifts.  That much we know.  But, having affirmed that truth, what do we do with it?  This gift that is life, so ethereal and immediate, becomes upon examination as distant as a moonscape or as strangely alien as a fleck of skin under a microscope. This gift that is life and the people with whom we share it can only be experienced, shared, relished.  What else can we do but live our days with fullness born of gratitude?

And when loss comes, as it has, we feel it profoundly and deeply.  The ties that bind us heart to heart are torn.  No easy words can heal a wound so real that it can only be felt, not seen.  In these moments we know death is real.

And so, first, we acknowledge that truth.  In death's shadow, we feel what we feel.  Embraced by pain, we embrace each other.  We hang on.

Then, and perhaps only then, can we dare to remind each other, in a whisper maybe, in a prayer haltingly spoken, that there is more.  We can begin to remember that God has declared the gift called Karen and the gift called Lori of eternal worth and beauty.  The Love that suffered on the cross in Christ-the Love that embraces human life in all its ethereal and fleshy immediacy-is declared by Easter to be greater than any foe, even death.  The final word on all this will be spoken by the same God who gave us the gift of Lori and Karen, who gave us the gift of Jesus, who gives us the gift of the Spirit to pray for us when we cannot.  Having given us life, only God can give us life again.

In a moment everything can change.  We know that all too well.  And in another moment, surprisingly, out of nowhere, we remember: a conversation, a morning run, a smile beside us.  Our memories also are gifts.

And in the memory of the story we share, brothers and sisters in Christ, is our hope. 

In Christ,
Rev. Mark Westmoreland

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