Last Sunday we heard Pastor Dustin say that “Great things can come out of our wilderness experiences.” I agree with him and wish to share a painful wilderness experience that had a major and significant impact on my life and ministry. Let me begin by briefly describing how very blessed I was in the years leading up to my wilderness journey.
Life was good. Dottie and I married in 1959, and were blessed with four children, Nelson, Karen, Sharon, and Carolyn. I was ordained as minister at Metzler Mennonite Church in 1966. During the next 10 years, I pastored a white, conservative congregation, a mixed black/white congregation in a Harrisburg black community, successfully graduated from Goshen Biblical Seminary, and was installed as pastor at Frazer Mennonite Church.
In the year prior to my wilderness journey, our oldest child, Nelson, graduated from Goshen College and was hired as the Director of the Umble Center on campus. Our second child, Karen, graduated from the Nursing program at Hesston College and was married on the same day.
Life for me was incredibly good and satisfying. But I, like most of us are probably inclined to do, was enjoying this good life wrapped in a world of assumptions. We go to bed at night expecting the sun to rise in the morning. We wake up in the morning and assume that life will be much the same as yesterday.
Like most people, I had somehow convinced myself that tragedy is what happens to other people and not to me. And when it did happen, my friendly and comfortable world was blown to bits and I was torn apart by a whirlwind of intensely painful emotions of confusion, uncertainty, and God forsakenness.
While serving as pastor of the Frazer Mennonite Church, I worked half-time as chaplain on the newly formed hospice team at Paoli Memorial Hospital, beginning in 1980. During the next four years I was privileged to become a well-trained chaplain and confidently ministered to the terminally ill and their families in their journeys of grief through dying and death.
I had been taught much about “end of life” death and grief from expert seminar lecturers, training studies, and through many bedside experiences . And I was being invited to lead training seminars and grief support groups at the hospital and in our Lancaster conference churches.
Even so, I was not prepared for the telephone call that I answered during the late evening of May 1, 1984, informing me that our 23-year-old son, Nelson, was dead.
I still remember the conversation and the feelings that followed. “Hi Ray. This is Lawrence Burkholder, president of Goshen College. How are you and Dottie doing this evening? I said that we were doing well and watching the story of Helen Keller on TV. He then said, “I have some very sad news to tell you. Nelson was playing in a practice soccer game, when he collapsed on the field with a heart attack and is dead.”
After a brief silence, he continued with additional details surrounding Nelson’s death, and asked for permission to request an autopsy. He expressed his condolence and promised to pray and to be in touch with us during the next few days and ended the conversation.
Suddenly, time came to a screeching halt and my world seemed unreal. Nothing made sense. My mind was in turmoil, struggling to accept the tragic news as fact. I so much wanted it to be a bad dream from which I would soon awake.
Dottie came into the kitchen where I was, wanting to console me, thinking that one of my parents had died. I sobbed on her shoulder until I was able to tell her it was Nelson. After more sobbing we realized we needed to tell Carolyn, who was still watching TV. This was followed by sobbing phone calls to our other two daughters, Sharon, and Karen, and then to our families.
I felt so weak, empty, and out of control as I tried to think what next needed to be done. I felt numb, dazed, and functioning in slow motion as we planned for a funeral, responded to the many friends and neighbors who stopped by to embrace and pray with us in the week that followed. The day of funeral service and burial seemed so unreal and almost a blur as we were being comforted by an unexpected crowd of people sharing with us their condolences and memories of Nelson.
About 3-4 weeks later the emotional numbness gave way to a heavy weight settling in my stomach, crushing and squeezing the breath and life out of me. I later described the feeling as having my heart ripped out of me and leaving a ragged bleeding hole in my chest.
The intense pain of loss and grief with its whirlwind of emotions, began to seep through my whole body, causing my mind and heart to cry out, “Oh God, why have you forsaken me.” It was an unrelievable, indescribable pain that I never knew was possible to humanly experience.
The death of one’s own child is most difficult because the child, regardless of age, is a part of the parent. This child, Nelson, is my child, my flesh, my future, and it seemed impossible to fathom that he is gone. It soon dawned on me that I was needing to “walk the talk” of my chaplaincy training and teaching.
Even though there many people and many life experiences that shaped my spiritual outlook on life and my relationship with God, the sudden death of our son was probably the most pivotal in my spiritual journey.
Nelson’s death caused major demolition to my previous understanding and experience of God. What I thought was a well-constructed Anabaptist perspective of Christian theology and faith, now lay broken into a pile of scattered debris at my feet.
The meaning and purpose of my whole life, past, present, and future, now hung upon a fragile lifeline, and I had to make a choice to either become bitter toward God and spiritually die or find a new, better way of understanding God and relating more intimately with Him.
I chose the latter, and even though I was feeling forsaken by God, I somehow knew that I was not, and chose to believe and cling to his promise, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Heb. 13:5).
In my search to rebuild a more authentic and stronger relationship with God, several passages became especially helpful to me. Lamentations 3:22 – “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
And verses 32-33, “Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone.”
These verses and many others from the Psalms and book of Job, which I slowly read and studied, anchored my faith, and deepened my relationship with God. This in turn, enabled me to reframe a more authentic, compassionate theology of God, built on a much firmer foundation in Jesus Christ.
Thanks to the emotional support and genuine caring love of many persons in our church and Christian community, I began to slowly formulate a new understanding of who God was, and his expectations for intimate relationships with us by creating us in his image and likeness.
In this searching for a better understanding God, I discovered a deeper purpose and direction for my life and ministry. It is spoken by Paul in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 – “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
This “ministry of comfort” became my life’s mission statement as I pursued further training in Clinical Pastoral Education at Philhaven Hospital. This training equipped me for full-time chaplaincy ministry at Menno Haven Retirement Community and Chambersburg Hospital for more than 20 years.
During those years I continually gained new insights and real-life experiences into God’s view of suffering and his faithful enabling presence through such journeys. My relationship with God has richly deepened and my ministry as chaplain was graciously blessed as I ministered emotional and spiritual consolation and encouragement to those suffering distress and fear in their journey through grief.
And so, I present my testimony this morning as an offering of thanksgiving and join the psalmist in praise to God as recorded in Psalms 139:14, 16-18 – “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. … Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand – when I awake, I am still with you.”
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“Healing Rays of Righteousness” – March 3, 2021
Ray M. Geigley