When someone dies, a lot gets ‘left behind’. Money (or debt, I suppose), clothes, trinkets, pictures, you-name-it. And that stuff has to go somewhere, does it not? So, the question comes: who wants what? What goes where? All that left-behind ‘stuff’ may have already been specifically assigned, or maybe it will be sorted through later by family, or perhaps picked through in a big estate sale or thrift store by strangers. Interestingly, the same item seems to decrease in value the ‘further out’ it goes in that line of thinking. If someone you love specifically denotes something for you, you’d value said-item far more than if you were to happen upon it in a resale shop. Why? Because of your attachment to the person, not the thing. The thing just calls that person to mind.
I was pondering this as I got home and saw so much of my grandpa’s ‘stuff’. I’m not a particularly nostalgic person, so the things felt more like clutter than a reminder of him. Now, I’m not knocking those who are nostalgic, I recognize we are all different and to some an item of a loved one is a way to treasure their memory. And there is certainly room for both in the Bible--we have examples of when God commanded the Israelites to travel with tangible reminders of those before them (Aaron’s budded staff, for example) and times when what was supposed to be a beautiful reminder/sign went sour when they started worshipping that thing rather than the God it pointed to, and therefore God would destroy it to make a point (i.e. the Temple). That said, my non-nostalgia is not me patting myself on the back for being more spiritual than the rest of you ‘stuff people’. Like I said, there’s beauty in both (when the heart is right, that is).
Even so, I wonder what we value most of what my grandpa, Gerald Larson, ‘left behind’ and what that says about us. Is it his woodworking--all that artistic skill, wow!, is it his sharp wardrobe--we all know he had an eye for fashion!, is it his library of highly theological works--what a mind!? What are we drawn to? Why?
Now, if there’s something we value of what got ‘left behind’ we can’t just have it--we first have to honor at least some degree of hierarchy for preference of who gets what, right? For example, family was called to look through my grandpa’s woodworking and wardrobe, not the manager of Good Will. But who gets first pick? Well, I’d say the one it all belongs to in the first place: God. He made us and all the stuff that we made whatever we made with, so he should get to go through and pick out what he wants before giving the rest of us a go, should he not? So why doesn’t he? Well, I’d say it’s because he already did. He has picked. And he chose the person.
Right now, as we speak, Gerald Larson--not even that name as we know it, but Gerald Larson the person--right now is with the one he belongs to. When all is said and done, who we are is who God cares about. That’s who he came to save. Not our stuff, not our wardrobe, not our list of achievements, not our show-and-tell of ‘good works’, not our paintings and poems, not our books, not even our bodies as we know them here, but our person. Our spirit, who has a new body waiting for us. One that is not wrecked by sin, disease, pride, resentment, pain, and even fleeting, misplaced pleasure. But a perfected, forever body that holds our now perfected spirit. No longer at war internally or externally. Within and without--united in faith, hope, and love.
While my Grandpa was on earth, I loved him--dearly. I still do. And I got to behold glimpse after glimpse of who he is: Gerald Larson, the person. Not just the artist, not just the intellectual, not just the woodworker, not just the prankster, not just the stubborn competitor, and not even just the pastor. But him. The glimpse of him that I got to see when his spirit warred with his flesh--and won. You see, I counted his ‘disease’ (as I’ve heard it called) a blessing. Because when his ‘disease’ or ‘flesh’ or whatever you want to call it took over and he was unkind, or harsh, or lashing out, or lying, I got the privilege to know that that is not him. At least not the true him, the new him. That is the sin--the ‘old self’--that Jesus died for that got left behind with all the rest of his stuff. Because of the extremity of the ‘disease,’ it was as if I got to watch the weeds being separated from the wheat right before my eyes, which then enabled me to see with greater clarity who he is alongside who he is not. All that came from ‘the disease’--or his sin--is not my grandpa, because he doesn’t ‘take it with him’, so to speak. The sin died with Jesus on the cross.
My grandpa is who is now held in my Father’s hands. It is my grandpa I got to see when he knew he was weak and humbly acknowledged his need for the Lord. My grandpa who sparkled as he retold his favorite Bible stories. My grandpa who with faith and wisdom would preach a sermon that would cut right to our hearts. My grandpa who with free laughter would play with uninhibited joy like a child. My grandpa who would flood us with love as he would speak and pray over us. My grandpa who could care less what sort of ‘cultural rules’ we were supposed to abide by when he felt moved to do something by the Lord. My grandpa who shined when he would talk about how dearly he loved my grandma. You see, I don’t think he was delusional for forgetting grandma’s ‘failures’ when he would talk of her; rather, I think he learned something a little quicker than the rest of us: that that beautiful wonderful her that he would revel in was just a sliver of a glimpse of who the Lord had been crafting her to be all along. My grandpa remembered and looked towards the true her, the new her. The her with all of her sin washed away.
Oh if we could see each other through those eyes! The eyes of the Lord’s grace and redemption! If only we could also look at one other with ‘hope eyes’-- letting the lens of Jesus’ blood draw us to who we are becoming in him. The redeemed who. The who my grandpa is now finally fully free to be--the who he is in and with Jesus. The true him. The him I one day long to see. Because all the squinty, imperfect glimpses I got to see of him, my wonderful grandpa Gerald Larson, here were already so, incredibly beautiful. And those were just glimpses! So, that’s what grandpa left behind for me: glimpses. Glimpses of who he is in Christ. Glimpses that we carry to some extent, too, as those glimpses have shaped who we are. And for now, those glimpses will carry me through, until I finally get to see my grandpa, Gerald Larson, for who he truly is--when he is finally revealed in full. In glory.
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.
Romans 8:18-21
I was pondering this as I got home and saw so much of my grandpa’s ‘stuff’. I’m not a particularly nostalgic person, so the things felt more like clutter than a reminder of him. Now, I’m not knocking those who are nostalgic, I recognize we are all different and to some an item of a loved one is a way to treasure their memory. And there is certainly room for both in the Bible--we have examples of when God commanded the Israelites to travel with tangible reminders of those before them (Aaron’s budded staff, for example) and times when what was supposed to be a beautiful reminder/sign went sour when they started worshipping that thing rather than the God it pointed to, and therefore God would destroy it to make a point (i.e. the Temple). That said, my non-nostalgia is not me patting myself on the back for being more spiritual than the rest of you ‘stuff people’. Like I said, there’s beauty in both (when the heart is right, that is).
Even so, I wonder what we value most of what my grandpa, Gerald Larson, ‘left behind’ and what that says about us. Is it his woodworking--all that artistic skill, wow!, is it his sharp wardrobe--we all know he had an eye for fashion!, is it his library of highly theological works--what a mind!? What are we drawn to? Why?
Now, if there’s something we value of what got ‘left behind’ we can’t just have it--we first have to honor at least some degree of hierarchy for preference of who gets what, right? For example, family was called to look through my grandpa’s woodworking and wardrobe, not the manager of Good Will. But who gets first pick? Well, I’d say the one it all belongs to in the first place: God. He made us and all the stuff that we made whatever we made with, so he should get to go through and pick out what he wants before giving the rest of us a go, should he not? So why doesn’t he? Well, I’d say it’s because he already did. He has picked. And he chose the person.
Right now, as we speak, Gerald Larson--not even that name as we know it, but Gerald Larson the person--right now is with the one he belongs to. When all is said and done, who we are is who God cares about. That’s who he came to save. Not our stuff, not our wardrobe, not our list of achievements, not our show-and-tell of ‘good works’, not our paintings and poems, not our books, not even our bodies as we know them here, but our person. Our spirit, who has a new body waiting for us. One that is not wrecked by sin, disease, pride, resentment, pain, and even fleeting, misplaced pleasure. But a perfected, forever body that holds our now perfected spirit. No longer at war internally or externally. Within and without--united in faith, hope, and love.
While my Grandpa was on earth, I loved him--dearly. I still do. And I got to behold glimpse after glimpse of who he is: Gerald Larson, the person. Not just the artist, not just the intellectual, not just the woodworker, not just the prankster, not just the stubborn competitor, and not even just the pastor. But him. The glimpse of him that I got to see when his spirit warred with his flesh--and won. You see, I counted his ‘disease’ (as I’ve heard it called) a blessing. Because when his ‘disease’ or ‘flesh’ or whatever you want to call it took over and he was unkind, or harsh, or lashing out, or lying, I got the privilege to know that that is not him. At least not the true him, the new him. That is the sin--the ‘old self’--that Jesus died for that got left behind with all the rest of his stuff. Because of the extremity of the ‘disease,’ it was as if I got to watch the weeds being separated from the wheat right before my eyes, which then enabled me to see with greater clarity who he is alongside who he is not. All that came from ‘the disease’--or his sin--is not my grandpa, because he doesn’t ‘take it with him’, so to speak. The sin died with Jesus on the cross.
My grandpa is who is now held in my Father’s hands. It is my grandpa I got to see when he knew he was weak and humbly acknowledged his need for the Lord. My grandpa who sparkled as he retold his favorite Bible stories. My grandpa who with faith and wisdom would preach a sermon that would cut right to our hearts. My grandpa who with free laughter would play with uninhibited joy like a child. My grandpa who would flood us with love as he would speak and pray over us. My grandpa who could care less what sort of ‘cultural rules’ we were supposed to abide by when he felt moved to do something by the Lord. My grandpa who shined when he would talk about how dearly he loved my grandma. You see, I don’t think he was delusional for forgetting grandma’s ‘failures’ when he would talk of her; rather, I think he learned something a little quicker than the rest of us: that that beautiful wonderful her that he would revel in was just a sliver of a glimpse of who the Lord had been crafting her to be all along. My grandpa remembered and looked towards the true her, the new her. The her with all of her sin washed away.
Oh if we could see each other through those eyes! The eyes of the Lord’s grace and redemption! If only we could also look at one other with ‘hope eyes’-- letting the lens of Jesus’ blood draw us to who we are becoming in him. The redeemed who. The who my grandpa is now finally fully free to be--the who he is in and with Jesus. The true him. The him I one day long to see. Because all the squinty, imperfect glimpses I got to see of him, my wonderful grandpa Gerald Larson, here were already so, incredibly beautiful. And those were just glimpses! So, that’s what grandpa left behind for me: glimpses. Glimpses of who he is in Christ. Glimpses that we carry to some extent, too, as those glimpses have shaped who we are. And for now, those glimpses will carry me through, until I finally get to see my grandpa, Gerald Larson, for who he truly is--when he is finally revealed in full. In glory.
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.
Romans 8:18-21
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