The Bungee Cord. 10-21-24

Hello,

Normally I would tell you unequivocally that October is the best time to live in Western Pennsylvania. The temperature is mild. The hills look as though a fine quilter has laid her handiwork on them as they are adorned in a patchwork of orange, red, yellow, green and brown. The angle of the morning sun coming over the ridge creates a filter that magnifies the colors around. People are out and about enjoying the beauty. That is what October normally looks like in Western Pennsylvania.

But every four years, and this year much more than normal, there is an invasion the likes of locusts plaguing our state: political ads. Pennsylvania is a “swing state”, and so we are inundated with ads in hopes of securing our vote. When watching a football game on TV, each two-minute break is stuffed with nothing but ads telling me why I should or should not vote for a candidate. Often times there are several ads back-to-back for a candidate. Every day, I get at least four or five e-mails from my two newest best friends, Kamala and Donald. My mailbox is littered with shiny mailings warning me about the end of the world that is about to come if the sender is not elected. The beauty of October is sometimes hard to see amid the acid fog of incivility, fear peddling, raised voices, and anger.

Alas, only 15 days left!

This weekend, one of my dearest friends from my college days died of cancer at the age of 68. We met as fraternity brothers, Beta Sigma Psi a national Lutheran fraternity, when I started at the University of Illinois. He had grown up on a dairy farm in Northwest Illinois, and I grew up in a suburb of Chicago populated by country clubs (which I didn’t belong to) and business executives (my parents were public school teachers in that town). He was a year older than me and was majoring in Dairy Science, and I began my college career majoring in Finance on my way to becoming a corporate lawyer. An unlikely pair to meet and become lifelong friends.

I don’t know what he saw in me that led him to befriend me, but I know what I saw in him. The world that he carried on his shoulders was much lighter than mine. Contrary to the environment in which I grew up, upward mobility was unimportant to him. A stress on perfection and being the best which was normal where I was from, was countered by contentment in “good enough” and curiosity for the sake of curiosity in him. He would often have me come out to his farm and get my hands dirty and meet his cows, each of which had a name by which he called them. (When my wife and I were dating, we arrived at his farm only to find a young Heffer tied to a post with a sign saying, “Katie”…my wife’s name. ) For me, those years of college were life shaping and transforming. It was the first time that I was on my own, out from under the roof of my parents and town, and I was blessed to be swept up into a group of guys who cared for me deeply and opened my eyes to what I might become. My friend who died, Dale, was that kind of friend. I miss him.

One of the most significant things about Dale was the depth and the certainty of his faith. Life for him was pretty bumpy. Some bumps much bigger than others. But when the bumps came, he always got back on his feet, not by his own strength, but by the strength of Jesus who was holding him tight and lifting him up. About a month and a half ago, he hit a bump like none other: uncurable cancer. When I heard of it, I went to see him, and it was easy to see that the cancer had been hungry, eating him away. Strong and rugged before the cancer, frail and withered now. When he was told that he had cancer, he decided not to fight it and let it take its course, and here is the reason why: heaven was going to be far greater than this life. Death was not a thing to be feared, but the opening of a door to wonder and awe. I know, because he told me so, that even though he didn’t know how many days lie ahead for him, maybe 15, turned out to be 30 or so, he knew that he would soon find himself in a place where nothing, not even political ads and hostility, could spoil the beauty of all that would be around him.

That door opened on Saturday, and in the timelessness of heaven, he felt the strong arm of Jesus taking ahold of him again, lifting him out of the grip of death, and I know that he heard, “Dale, welcome home.”

I, too, look forward to hearing that welcome said to me and residing in that beauty…and you can look forward to it, too.

God’s grace and peace, (ggap)

Pastor Jerry Nuernberger

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