From Here to Eternity:. Bruce G Epperly

      

      FROM HERE TO ETERNITY:

      PREPARING FOR THE NEXT ADVENTURE

      BRUCE EPPERLY

      Energion Publications

      Gonzalez, FL

      2016

      Copyright © 2016, Bruce G. Epperly

      Unless otherwise annotated, scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible (NRSV), copyright © 1989 by the Division of the Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA.

      Electronic ISBN: 978-1-63199-241-4

      Print ISBNs:

      ISBN10: 1-63199-226-0

      ISBN13: 978-1-63199-226-1

      Energion Publications

      P. O. Box 841

      Gonzalez, FL 32560

      energion.co

      [email protected]

      DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF

      MY MOTHER-IN-LAW MAXINE GOULD

      MY PARENTS EVERETT AND LORETTA EPPERLY

      AND MY BROTHER BILL EPPERLY.

      CHAPTER ONE

      IN THE MIDST OF LIFE

      For everything there is a season,

      and a time for every matter under heaven:

      a time to be born, and a time to die. (Ecclesiastes 3:1–2)

      One midweek morning, Susan called me at my study and requested that I stop by to see her on my way home that afternoon. Susan and her husband of forty years Phil were among the saints of my church. In the year that I’d been her pastor, I had companioned with her on cancer’s roller coaster ride. For a while the treatments appeared to be working, but now they had reached an impasse with no certain remedy in sight. The most recent regimen had left Susan so physically weak and mentally fuzzy that she could no longer do what gave her great pleasure, painting, writing poetry, and taking walks with Phil. Tests confirmed that chemotherapy could no longer keep her cancer at bay. The cancer had spread throughout her body. She could enter an experimental protocol, but there was no guarantee of success and there was also the likelihood of serious side effects.

      Around the kitchen table they had shared for four decades, Susan told me of their decision to forgo any further treatment. “We had hoped to get a few more years. We’d even hoped for a cure. We wanted to travel and spend time with our grandchildren. But, now we’re opting for quality, not quantity. I want to live well until I die, playing with my grandchildren, finishing a few canvasses, and leaving a legacy of poems for my children and Phil. We’ve prayed about this, and now it’s the time to let go.”

      As a pastor, I believe such conversations are sacred. They are “thin places,” as the Celtic Christians say, where divinity and humanity meet. I took a few breaths to spiritually center, and then inquired as I’ve done many times in similar situations, “How are things with your spirit?” Susan and Phil looked lovingly at one another as she responded, “I know what this means. I’m going to die, but I know that I’m in God’s hands. I know that death isn’t the end. I’ve lived a good life, done good work, and loved my family, friends, and church. I hate to give all this up, but I know God won’t let me down.” Three months later Susan died, leaving a legacy of love and a life well-lived. Her memorial service on Thanksgiving weekend was truly a celebration of life and affirmation that Love is eternal.

      The Reality of Death. “In the midst of life, we are surrounded by death,” so wrote Protestant Reformer Martin Luther. In life there are no guarantees nor can we insure the safety of our loved ones and ourselves. Even among healthy and young persons, a car accident, heart attack, stroke, or diagnosis of an untreatable illness can come with no warning and when we least expect it.

      The story is told of a servant who encountered Death at the bazaar in Bagdad. Frightened by his encounter, he raced home to his master. “Please let me have your fastest horse,” he begged. “I just saw Death at the marketplace and I’m going to flee to Samarra. He won’t find me there.” Being a kind man, the master lent his horse to his servant and sent him off with a blessing. Being a bold man, he confronted Death in the bazaar and challenged the Grim Reaper. “Why did you frighten my servant?” he demanded. Somewhat taken aback, Death responded, “I didn’t mean to scare him. I was simply startled to see him. You see, I have an appointment with him this evening on the road to Samarra.”

      The mortality rate remains 100% despite our technological advances. Still, there is something about the human spirit that defies death. Deep down we have a sense of immortality and can’t imagine the reality of our non-existence. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, author William Saroyan quipped, “Everybody has got to die, but I always believed an exception would be made in my case. Now what?”

      I know how Saroyan felt. Now in my sixth decade, I can no longer claim to be in midlife, as many baby boomers do, unless I make it to 125! Yet, on certain days, I feel sixteen or twenty-five and when I’m playing baseball or rough housing with my young grandchildren, walking on the Cape Cod beach down the road from my church, working on a writing project, or taking a few minutes for meditation, I feel eternity in the midst of time. There is a spark in us, something holy and divine, which participates in everlasting life. There is something dynamic and timeless that shines regardless of our age or physical condition. We experience ourselves as being part of an adventure that is bigger than our lifetimes and lures us toward new horizons.

      Still, everything hinges on the “now what?” that perplexed William Saroyan. Once we recognize that life — and let’s get personal, “my life” and “your life” — is finite, we need to ask ourselves “What are we going to do with this unique and precious life that has been given us?” Once we truly realize that we don’t have forever, at least, in this lifetime, will we live in fear or savor each moment, including the most painful and challenging ones? Will we greet each fleeting day with worry or with the affirmation, “this is the day that God has made and I will rejoice and be glad in it?” (Psalm 118:24).

      The Psalmist asks God to make our mortality meaningful. “Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart” (Psalm 90:12). As a friend asserted, after he was diagnosed with incurable cancer, “I don’t have time to mess around. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of living. I’m going to greet each sunrise with joy and each sunset with gratitude.” “Each day matters,” noted a 95-year-old widower I encountered at a Hyannis, Massachusetts, coffee house. “When I was younger, I thought I had forever. I thought my wife would live forever and that she’d be with me at the bedside. But, she didn’t make it. I was with her when she went. I want to make to one hundred but that’s just a few more years. I have no illusions. I’m going to die and pretty soon. Even if I stay healthy, I only have a handful of Christmases left and what if dementia sets in. I know how brief my stay will be. Now, each day is a cause for celebration.”

      Our human adventure can be described in the counsel of the Hasidic Rabbi, Simcha Bunim (1767–1827):

      Everyone must have two pockets, with a note in each pocket, so that he or she can reach into the one or the other, depending on the need. When feeling lowly and depressed, discouraged or disconsolate, one should reach into the right pocket, and, there, find the words: “For my sake was the world created.” But when feeling high and mighty one should reach into the left pocket, and find the words: “I am but dust and ashes.”

      We are heavenly dust, sparks of the divine that must eventually be extinguished, at least in this world, and that is the source of our greatest joy and most abject sorrow. Our mortality is inevitable, and an abundant and joyful life involves accepting the reality of death. But, our deaths are not entirely natural phenomena, without anxiety or care. Our deaths are not always like the gentle fall of an autumn leaf, especially if our dying process involves certain types of debilitating physical or mental diseases. Once we reach a certain age, we experience the reality of death not as abstraction, but as a concrete reality. We realize that eventually everything we love will be taken from us and