Resurrection

Webster defines “resurrection” as the rising of Christ from the dead, so my husband’s literal return from the almost-dead seemed like a good story to share with the congregation one Easter morning. Cliff was the recipient of a double lung transplant twelve years ago. Getting to the transplant was the single most unnerving experience of our lives. Cliff came within days of death, and our last clinic visit just two days before his surgery left the nursing staff in tears, fearful that they would never see him again and frustrated at being unable to help. We understand now that the only possible explanation for why all the details of January 27, 1994 came together is that it was the working out of God’s purpose. During an 11-hour surgery, Cliff was literally resurrected by a miracle of modern medicine.

However, the word “resurrect” is also defined as bringing something back to use or restoring and a couple of other ideas presented themselves: resurrection as a return of light after a particularly dark time, the return of spring after a Chicago winter, the return of life after a close brush with death – or perhaps a fresh, new understanding of an old familiar idea. For me, staring death in the face has resurrected, if you will, the preciousness of life. Resurrection has become a way to live.

Though the details have started to fade, I will never forget the long, frightening months spent waiting for a donor and the daily crying sessions in the shower wondering why Cliff had to suffer and how I was ever going to handle everything I had to do that day. Now, in the morning, as I walk the dog and watch the sun burst over the eastern sky line, I often sing, alone in the park, just the dog and me, a song that was a favorite of my Grandpa Kremer: “I owe the Lord a morning song of gratitude and praise, for the kind mercies he has shown in lengthening out my days.” How many times I heard and sang those words without understanding. Resurrection: facing death makes life so precious. Appreciate it, cherish it, be grateful for it.

Cliff and I share highly cultivated tendencies toward perfection, wanting everything to go smoothly and just right. That’s not reality. Life has its ongoing stresses and aggravations. We have been forced to realize, time and again, that the only important thing is that Cliff is alive and well – everything else is a “flitting blip” on the computer screen of our lives. Resurrection: facing death makes life so precious. Don’t squander it on insignificant aggravations.

I’ve been called “Nervous Nellie,” with good reason. It’s easy for me to become frantic with worry about what the future holds. I know what the statistics are. I know how quickly everything could go wrong. I know that Cliff’s treatment is just a shade beyond experimental. I know how few of our transplant friends have survived. “What ifs” and “hows” and “whys” can send me into a tailspin. How easy it is to forget who holds the future; how hard to let go of worry and fear. Resurrection: facing death makes life so precious. Don’t sully it with useless fretting.

Several years ago we lost our best transplant friend. On the first anniversary of his death, a gray Sunday morning, I cried as I remembered Terry and the song that Melvin sang to him during the service before the respirator was turned off, “Breathe on me, breath of God.” I thought about asking the congregation to sing that song during the worship service, for me and for Terry, but I didn’t have to ask. It was one of the songs that Pastor Mag had selected for the service that day. How wonderful to know God cares. How bright my day became as I sang, “Breathe on me, breath of God; fill me with life anew.” Resurrection: facing death makes life so precious. Open yourself to signs of God’s care and communication.

Resurrection: new love for live after near death; new outlook on the same old existence; new chances to trust God just for today; new reassurances that God cares. Resurrection: what a way to live!