I apologize for taking so long to write this blog. I've been busy at home doing a bathroom remodel, trying to get ready for my children to come visit at Thanksgiving. So, this blog is a little overdue.
As all of you who attend the Men's meeting are aware, Chapter 11 is my favorite. The first time I read the book, I had to share this chapter with Pastor Eric. There are so many deep, fundamental truths within the beautiful story of his Grandfather's Coffin. It touched me at a level that goes to who I am as a builder, tradesman, and more so, as a Christian. It's a somber chapter, in that it deals with the issues of death and dying. I can't help but wonder how many of us are really ready to die. What happened to the sure knowledge that this life begins with a road sign pointing toward death? The entrance, and exit ramp on this highway called life, are sure. The minute you breathe, you are confronted with the inevitability of death. It is how we live in between the start and the end, that makes a difference. What Wes Yoder makes abundantly clear, is that it is our bond with the community of life, that makes the difference.
For those who've faced death head-on, there is almost a serene acceptance of what is just beyond that last breath. For myself, my moment came as I was returning to Las Vegas on a Boeing 727. It was a military contract flight, and the weather conditions weren't the best. The cross winds on the airfield were borderline, and we'd already been circling in pattern for over an hour. The sun was beginning to set as we flew over Mount Charleston in our approach. We were at 11,000 feet when suddenly the air disappeared beneath our wings. The huge aircraft dropped flat for a second or two, then the #2 engine above the fuselage had a compressor stall. The left wing dipped, and I looked out the window to see the desert floor rushing up towards us. You would think that with an aircraft full of military men, expletives would be flying all over the place. I can tell you I only heard two or three, "Oh, S....s." What I did hear was a few men calling out 'Mom,' and a whole aircraft load of "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." I was bracing myself with the arm rest as the wing began to curve dangerously upward, and through tear filled eyes, I could see individual mesquite bushes below me. The man next to me tried to brace himself, and crushed my hand in his attempt to find the handrail. I felt the bone in my pinky finger crack, and his fingernails biting deep into my flesh. I still have the scars to show for it. I looked into his eyes and suddenly knew what death looked like. It often comes upon you without warning, and when you least want it. As you can tell, because you're reading this, we didn't die. The pilot managed to regain control of the plane, and restart the stalled engine. I sure didn't want to clean that cockpit. The rumor mill has it, that when she regained control of the flight, we were at 3,000 feet AGL. In flight terms, another thousand feet, and we'd have been a pile of burning metal and flesh on the desert floor just outside of Nellis Air Force Base. Needless to say, when we finally landed, the entire passenger compartment erupted in applause. Even the stewards and stewardesses applauded. Good job, Dale.
Since that moment, death is a lot less frightening to me. You see, while that plane was sliding sideways through the sky, I was sliding toward a place I had thought myself ready to go to. Except, I didn't feel ready. I was told by my buddy who left his handprint in my flesh, that my eyes were as wide as saucers, and I was shaking like a leaf. He swears, my only words were, "I'm sorry." My problem is, I don't remember saying it. I don't remember anything, but silently asking God to forgive me of my sins before I die. I don't know who or what I as apologizing for.
I'm ready to die, now. Not in a morose anticipation of death as an escape, but in a joyous expectation of what lies ahead. Yes, I resist the pain I know comes with dying, but the actual passing doesn't scare me.
The men who attended Sunday's meeting know how I want to die, they know how I want to be remembered. Still one thing is for sure; what I want I may not get. Dying is an extremely personal thing. All I know, is that I don't want a bunch of uncircumcised Philistines burying me either. Thank you, Bro. Wes. We need to have some kind of dignity brought back into the interment of our loved ones.
Your homework assignment for this coming Sunday is to re-read chapter eleven and highlight the ONE passage that spoke to you.
See you there.
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