“I'm throwing a funeral, funeral, for the old me; I’m throwing a funeral, funeral, for who I used to be.” - Christian singer/songwriter Leanna Crawford
Long ago, after my first wife remarried, my son went through a trauma that I couldn’t wish on my worst enemy. That trauma, experienced over a number of years, and, ultimately his rescue from the situation, combined to take a serious toll. My intelligent, reach-for-the-stars son lost interest in school. He graduated from high school and I thought college would get him away from trouble and turn things around for the better. It didn’t. With a self-esteem so low it couldn’t be measured, he had turned to alcohol and drugs. He was in its powerful grip. Two rehab attempts were unsuccessful; some friend would always ‘rescue’ him. There was some tough love toward the end and he wound up living in the woods, alone and disconnected from his family. It was breaking my heart.
One day, he reached out on a borrowed phone to tell me he was ready to make a serious change. He had heard about a Christian-based resident program in a nearby town. I got him a motel room, told him to get cleaned up and I’d pick him up in the morning. It was Thanksgiving morning when I picked him up. I had little hope. I mean, really, a Christian-based ‘Celebrate Recovery’ program? My son hadn’t been to church in years! This would never work; but I loved him and I had to try yet again. Something clicked as my son moved in to the Disciple House to join seven other men. The program was led by a wannabe pastor who had experiences similar to my son. There was a church service, multiple Bible studies and community service every day. After the initial 30-day lockdown, I could visit one night a week for a potluck and Testify Night. This was another church service, with the public invited, in a makeshift sanctuary, with someone giving their testimony about how God had changed their life.
The number of congregants was very small … and it was raw. Hands were raised. There was loud off-key singing that was nothing at all like the choir of St. John! Unlike Pastors Emily and Andy, there was no polish on the message. I had nothing in common with these people, but I felt closer to God in that setting than I had ever been in my life. There was change afoot. He was there. I could feel it. At the end of six months, my son graduated. The ceremony began at a small funeral home where there was a service to ‘bury the old man’. Dearly beloved. Back at the Disciple House, a flat tombstone, with my son’s name and his past addictions, was laid on the lawn under a large cross. I know what you must be thinking; it sounds a little hokey. I felt the same before the event. I can tell you that nothing about that day was hokey. As I would learn, there is both power and commitment behind an action to figuratively bury a part of yourself.
I need to digress, every so slightly, for just a moment. I think some people may have missed the intended sarcasm in a paragraph of my last devotional (it sounded good in my head but, admittedly, may have lost something in print). At the time, I had been reminded of Luke 15 and the parable of the lost sheep. You know the one. Try to picture that parable in the context of this nonstop war of words that is happening all around us today. The shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to search for the one lost sheep. The ninety-nine are huddled around, a little bit angry, a lot frustrated and they are all asking themselves the same question: ‘what makes that one so special; don’t we matter too? All lives matter!’ The shepherd knows, of course, that the lives of the ninety-nine most certainly matter; but they aren’t the ones in danger! With that in mind, we don’t need to feel threatened by the energy to eliminate racism. Nothing is being taken away from the ninety-nine as we look for ways to ensure that everyone has opportunity and, importantly, as we look at behaviors that may be preventing such opportunity. There are people, entire races of people, who need to be lifted up. There are prejudices, biases and favoritism that must be eradicated. It really is as simple as that. Despite different interpretations of what I was writing in that last devotional, in the end, there seemed to be general alignment with my broader message: There is more we can do as individuals to eradicate racism and we should not wait for others to act first. With this devotional, I’m still beating that drum.
Today, my son is eight-years sober. He has had a meteoric rise within a family-owned plastics fabrication business and is now their Chief Operating Officer, responsible for the operation of six plants in multiple cities. I met the CEO and he told me that my son has changed the entire company. He has his own home. He’s married; they talk of having children. He’s becoming what he was always capable of becoming. He’s been a good example to others. He’s been a good example to me. Truly, with God, anything is possible! But that’s not to say that ‘possible’ translates to ‘easy’! Change can be hard work, just as my son has demonstrated. And so will be the process to eradicate racism. Buckle your seatbelts. To that end, I’m going to ask you to join me in following my son’s lead. Whether it’s little things or big things, let’s bury parts of our old selves. I’ll start. I’m throwing a funeral and you’re all invited!
Heavenly Father, you see the parts of ourselves that are not in Your image. Help us to recognize those parts and help us to ’throw a funeral’ and celebrate as we bury those parts for good. Your Son loved all. Help us to follow His example in everything we do. In your Son’s name we pray, Amen.
"The new has come, the old is gone; Praise the Lord, I'm moving on!” - Leanna Crawford
Rick Meidel, his wife Natalie and daughter Sarah have attended St. John UMC since 2018. Rick can be reached at meidy@me.com or 832-418-9200.
