January 12, 2019
Just this week I learned that a friend and colleague passed away. "Passed away" doesn't quite seem to fit him. He was big on the wisdom mothers and fathers of the desert so maybe he just quietly slipped into eternity with them.  His name is Dr. Charles Melchert and we called him Chuck. I first met him when my husband Daryl was co-teaching with his wife Anabel at Lancaster Theological Seminary.

Chuck and I got to be friends because we would often drive to places where our spouses were performing as they led the seminary Arts Ensemble team on tour. I also had him as one of my professors when I went to seminary. But more than being a theological giant, which he was, more than making complex things understandable, which he did, I loved him for his laugh and his ability to have fun, even amid sorrow.

Chuck and I shared something in common that while it can be a strong bond, I do not wish on anyone. Both of us had sons who died when they were in there 20's. His to an automobile accident and mine to suicide. We didn't talk a lot about it, but I remember two specific times when his presence was an incredible blessing regarding this loss. We were paired in a writing class led by the singer Carrie Newcomer. The assignment was to write:  Before..... and then After:........

It was only a year after my son died so I sat there, knowing that what I would write would only be sadness. I can't remember to this day what Chuck wrote - although I know we discussed it. I wrote, Before my son died, I had so many dreams for him. I looked forward to every time we were together. After he died, all I can do is cry. As we reflected on what we had written, I asked Chuck, "does there ever come a time when you don't cry?" "No," he said, "I cry a little every day." You know, somehow that healed me more than all the well wishers who kept telling me that it gets easier with time. That is not comforting by the way!

Another time we were together in Europe and it so happened that Chuck and I were standing in front of a statute of "The Pieta." We stood there, both of us weeping openly. "She shares our sorrow," I told Chuck, "like us, she lost a son." "You are right," he answered and we both fell silent. It was another moment of dealing with our grief. It was uncanny that both of us were at the same place at the same time. Almost like the Divine One knew I needed a companion at that instant.

The other side of Chuck that made him such a wonder in my eyes was his ability to laugh. He would throw back his head and his deep laugh emanated from his entire being. He loved good stories, good wine and great beers. He taught Daryl and me to fly fish and I'll never forget his approach to mosquitoes. I kept complaining about getting bit, "just don't scratch" he advised, "then it won't itch." Really!?!

He was wise as well as fun. One time when I was preparing for a sermon (still a student) I was confounded about how to make the text come alive and do it in fifteen minutes. So I called him distressed. "Chuck," I exclaimed, "there is just too much in this passage. How will I ever get through it and make it plausible to a congregation in a little sermon?" "You can't," he said, "Just pick one theme and go with it." That advise has helped me for over fifteen years as I write sermons. When I am tempted to make a sermon into a theological paper, I recall his words and hone in on one nugget.

As I remember Chuck today, my heart is blessed. Death is all around me these days. When I came back from my sabbatical, three parishioners died within the first two weeks. Even the woods seem dead, buried beneath snow and layers of pine needles. But it's okay. Death reminds me of the treasures I have in life, of the people who impact me and bless me. So as I move into the work of this hour, I breathe a prayer of comfort for Chuck's wife Anabel and a prayer of blessing for life. Amen.