Jesus and his disciples went into the Judean countryside, and he spent some time there with them and baptized. John also was baptizing at Aenon near Salim because water was abundant there; and people kept coming and were being baptized—John, of course, had not yet been thrown into prison. Now a discussion about purification arose between John’s disciples and a Jew. They came to John and said to him, “Rabbi, the one who was with you across the Jordan, to whom you testified, here he is baptizing, and all are going to him.” John answered, “No one can receive anything except what has been given from heaven. You yourselves are my witnesses that I said, ‘I am not the Messiah, but I have been sent ahead of him.’ He who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. For this reason my joy has been fulfilled. He must increase, but I must decrease.” The one who comes from above is above all; the one who is of the earth belongs to the earth and speaks about earthly things. The one who comes from heaven is above all. He testifies to what he has seen and heard, yet no one accepts his testimony. Whoever has accepted his testimony has certified this, that God is true. He whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for he gives the Spirit without measure. The Father loves the Son and has placed all things in his hands. Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life; whoever disobeys the Son will not see life, but must endure God’s wrath.
—John 3:22-36
I asked my grandfather if there were any Biblical texts that he wanted me to use today. He told me that I could choose whatever texts I wanted. I chose the texts from First and Second Kings and the Gospel of John because I feel that they speak many things to us about my grandfather's life, his death, and the presence of God throughout both. I am not sure that I will expound upon them as well as they deserve, but, here we go anyway.
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Growing up, I always thought of my grandfather as very “traditional.” And, in many ways, he was. He was the head of the household, even if my grandmother held much of the power in the family. He worked, while she watched the children, cleaned the house, and kept up appearances in the community. He was the man and she was the woman. He was the husband and she was the wife. She cooked dinner. He ate it. She washed clothes. He wore them.
Then, the change came. My grandmother had a stroke, which greatly diminished her capacity to do the things she once could. Strokes that followed left her increasingly disabled. I watched as my grandfather learned how to cook and clean and wash clothes. I watched as he learned to run the various pieces of medical equipment that my grandmother required in her last couple years. He knew how to run and maintain those machines better than some of the nurses. He attended to the needs of my grandmother in ways that I never thought him capable. His love for her was made manifest in the tenderness that he expressed to this woman that he loved dearly. If my grandmother was Christ crucified, then my grandfather was Christ the caregiver, the healer. God was made present in weakness and in love.
Then, another change. I remember thinking that my grandfather would not live long after the death of my grandmother. He was extremely depressed and I imagined him dying soon after the loss of my grandmother, which happens to many older men who lose a wife of many decades. And, I believe that he would have, except that he met a woman, his girlfriend [name]. He became like a teenage boy again. It was a resurrection of sorts. I remember when he came to tell me about his “friend.” He was worried that I would think that he was not honoring the life that he had lived with grandma. He was worried about what his relationship with [name] looked like to me. I assured him that I would be happy if he was happy. He was. I “gave him my blessing.”
Then, another change. He was diagnosed with his terminal cancer. He was told that he would feel fine for a while and that he would then fade away. He knew what this entailed, having taken care of my grandmother during her illness and decline. He lived his life fully, day by day—visiting [name], going to dances, watching Mariner's games, playing cards, and serving as an officer of his veteran's group. His own decline soon began.
Then, another change. He became weak enough that it was time to hire hospice care and live-in caregivers, in order that he could die in the comfort of his own home. The mantle was passed from generation to generation. As my grandfather decreased, the role of his sons increased. As my grandfather decreased, his reliance on others increased. As my grandfather decreased, the presence of God increased. His home was filled with the activity of love.
His son [name] checked in on him every day, helping attend to his needs, even though they were oftentimes quotidian and mundane. His son [name] took time off from work to come and sit with him. His daughter [name] stopped in before or after work to see how he was doing. Housekeepers came by to clean his home. Nurses stopped by to check his medications and health. He was groomed and given baths. His four live-in caregivers—[name], [name], [name], and [name]—doted on him, fed him, changed his bedding and clothing, gave him medication. I will especially remember and cherish moments of the relationship and interaction of my grandfather with his primary caregiver [name], who was also present in his final moment on this earth. [Name] was gentle, yet firm. [Name] would cajole and coax my grandfather to eat, would caress his forehead and hair when he was in discomfort or short of breath, and would tenderly call him “buddy.” Grandchildren and great-grandchildren and nieces and nephews visited him. [Name] would cook him meals and sit with him at night.
Once again, I saw Christ crucified in my grandfather, lying in his bed, weak and tired, and Christ the caregiver, the healer, in many guises—children tending to the need of their father, caregivers sacrificing their own sleep to attend to their patient, a woman worried about her boyfriend, family members sitting in a room just being present to one in need. The most precious moments that will stay with me, though, are those of my father and my uncle tending to the needs of their father—holding his hand, stroking his cheek, ruffling his hair, joking with him, embracing him, kissing him.
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Eulogy is by Troy's Work Table and was delivered to a full funeral home at the paternal grandfather's funeral service. The picture was taken by Troy's Work Table at the same.
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