December 12, 2010

• Never The End

  When my sister and I were little, we would entertain our brother whenever he was bored, and we were done playing with the knick knacks lying around the house (high-end toys were for sissies, according to our parents), by telling him stories. Usually reserved for pre-nap sessions, they were mainly made-up stories about two alter-egos named "Strong Boy Jon"* and what can only be directly translated as "Leprotic Jon."* Strong Boy Jon was the hero, while Leprotic Jon was a cowardly bum who shirked every duty and consistently lost in arm wrestles and war games to his counterpart. Sprinkled with and within these stories (they were the most oft requested) were bits and pieces of every fairy tale, Aesop's fable, and stories of tigers my mother used to tell us. Jigsawed and mangled with our memory's use and misuse of these parables, these stories ended with the same phrase: "And Strong Boy Jon lived happily ever after. The End."

  Inevitably, my brother would chime in with this Korean phrase, eager to partake of the story: "And then?" 

  The first few times, that threw us for a loop. What do you mean, and then? That's it, buddy. But then we started to not only add tiny addendums to the story per request, but also anticipate it: "So Leprotic Jon wanted to beat Strong Boy Jon up. The End."  And then? "And then Strong Boy Jon just decided to go home. The End." And then? "And then Strong Boy Jon came out with huge boxing gloves that his mom made for him and beat up Leprotic Jon. And he lived happily ever after. The End." And then?  "Um... and then Leprotic Jon rolled down the hill and drowned in the lake." And then? "Uh... and then he became a zombie and ran after Strong Boy Jon and Strong Boy Jon beat him up again." And then? "And then nothing!" And then?! "And then Strong Boy Jon got sick and died!  The End the End!" And then...? "No more 'and then''s! Go to sleep!"

  But what about the "and then"s of life? Does our story ever end? This past week, I studied the passage on the widow of Nain in Luke 7:11-17. It certainly seemed like the end of the story to the widow's son. We don't even know who he was. We don't know if he was good steward, or a bad son, or if he was much help in his living moments to his mother, much less if he had hairy legs and bad breath. I suppose Jesus knew. But in all aspects of the story, death is the end of life. This is one of the big non-negotiables about humanity: death (and taxes, right?) The buck stops there. Even the forerunners of cryonics have dealt with it (click on the link for a prev post on that.)  

  

  Moreover, we don't know much about the woman. It sure seemed like her story was ending as well...  the happy alternative, anyway: her future, her support, and her livelihood had died with this young man. And we don't know her name either. But what we do know that Jesus knew her story and had compassion on her. Unlike other people Jesus encounters, she did not plead for his help or appeal to Him with a display of faith. He just felt sorry for her. This no-name woman in the middle of nowhere, in some Podunk town that most likely had only one good point of entry, had the very first resurrection performed on her, not because she saw Jesus, but because He saw her.  

  I don't know why I've been thinking about death so much lately, but it seems that it's a little difficult to avoid. A few days ago I was at a shower for a girl whom they believe will not see another Christmas. And I suppose the worst thing about death is not that the story ends for the deceased, but that the story keeps going for the ones who have known and loved them.  

  It's comforting to know that Jesus notices and has compassion. I'm not sure why there was not a tremendous amount of additional resurrections that took place during Christ's life on earth. Maybe there was. I don't know if people brought their dead to Him. I would have. The way Jesus is, perhaps His Father put a restriction on Him so that the death rate of the Fertile Crescent didn't nosedive and result in some sort of population boom. In the same way, there's a reason why Jesus must stand aside when the time comes for His children to pass away. I wonder how much grief He experiences. Our grief is mingled with helplessness, but His is mingled with empathy and restraint. As most parents like to say, "This hurts me more than it hurts you." (For some reason, I don't recall my parents saying this. Sometimes I am tempted to think that it definitely hurt me more.)

  I guess the underlying theme of all of this is one of hope. Jesus is the "and then" of the dark days of life. While He was on earth, and even after His resurrection, people would bring their sick for the chance that they would be healed. With Christ, and consequently, with Christians, came hope. This is the power of the gospel. It's the fire of the continual answer to all the "and then"'s and "now what"'s of life...  

  And considering the realms of Heaven, I suppose the question of "and then?" is not a silly one. Because there will always be an answer. There will always be an "and then." There will always be a tomorrow, as eternity rolls. Someone once told me that as much as we humans say we can't comprehend "eternity," it is ingrained in us. Death teaches us to think, "I guess I thought they'd be with us forever..." I'd venture to say that an "end" is much more difficult to understand than a world without an end. We were built for eternity. Let's pursue it together, you and I, and fill in all those "and then"'s.

   “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the ending,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.”  Revelation 1:8

   

   

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  *Jon is not my brother's name, but every other Korean boy's name is some variation of John, or starts with a "J" so it'll do. The stories were in English, except the name "Leprotic Jon" which was said in Korean. "Konglish" was the language of choice for us native first-and-a-half and second-generation Korean American New Yorkers. That is one mouthful.  

  • 10:08 pm
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