It's A Wonderful Life

We approach your blue/gray church with trepidation. We cannot help but notice the brilliant flowers throughout the churchyard. The cross on the steeple. We are supposed to want closure. We enter the church. The church you loved in the place you loved. We are surrounded by those you loved and those who loved you. The altar seems particularly bright, covered with a bounty of your beloved flowers. Magnificent light breaking through the blue of the stained glass window. We find ourselves focusing on the flames of the candles. Tears burning our eyes. Wooden pews. A mountain church. Choir practicing. Determined to do it right for you. Their sounds comfort. They sing of the cross. Blue hymnals. Red Bibles. Red Books Of Common Prayer. Embraces. Flowers. Candles. Crosses. There was a breeze outside. Now there is a stillness. 

I close my eyes and I can see you. 



I can see him. Standing there grinning from ear to holy ear. Looking at the waterfall cascading from the rock formation. It was breathtaking. It was not lost on him. The beauty. The majesty. It was exquisite. It was grace in a tangibile form. I can see him being in the moment in the astonishing tones on the horizon.
I can see him. Behind the pulpit. Adorned in his clerical robes. Making a sacred place even more sacred with his presence. I can see him. Beaming with immeasurable pride when discussing his grandkids. His kids. His wife. I can see him. Wearing a kilt. Nice looking legs. It fit him in every way. I can see him in his photography.  The image of his wife's candlelit face in church. The perfect snow-covered beak of a bird feasting on seeds. I can see him.

I can see him. Born in Tifton, Georgia. Educated there and at the University of Georgia. Then Seabury Western Theological Seminary in Evanston, Illinois. He further studied at Cantess in Canterbury,Kent. He was a student and a scholar. He was a teacher. He recently celebrated 50 years as an Episcopal priest. He was the ultimate priest. He enjoyed coins, stamps, flowers and cooking.  He loved confusing recipients with overly stamped notes with two dollar bills enclosed. He loved bridge and cribbage. He loved reading and animals. He loved travel and calligraphy. I can see him involved in a close competition. I can see him enjoying ice cream or creme brulee.  I can see him downing a box of Fireballs. 

I can hear him. A soft voice. A quiet strength. Humble. Loving. Faithful. He left congregations spellbound with his sermons. His messages remained with them. I can hear him. Discussing the atomic levels of hot sauce he not only endured but enjoyed. I can hear him. Intrigued by all things related to the USS Titanic. I can hear him. Cheering for any sport-playing family member. Cheering for any family member doing anything. Cheering for the Dogs. I can hear him . Absorbing the bagpipes with a passionate appreciation. If you hear the bagpipes, you hear him. If you hear the roar of the crowd, you hear him. If you truly listen to the hymns, you hear him. I can hear him. I hear the rustling falling leaves and the rushing waters of the stream. I can hear him. I hear the Holy Gospel. I can hear him. That laugh . It was genuine. I can hear him. He said he won either way. He meant it. I can hear him.

I can see him. Baptisms. Confirmations. Counseling sessions. Marriages. Funerals. Memorials. Births. Disasters. Graduations. Sermons. Meetings. Rituals. Always there for us. I can see him.

I can hear him laughing aloud as he penned directions to his home. Stop at the next intersection and take a deep breath. Try to take in all the colors of the trees tossing leaves at your path. Continue on to the next stop sign. If there are more than two cars, you are in the midst of a Tiger traffic jam. Turn right at the next road and Stop ! Look at that stunning view ! 


I can see him reaching out for a hug. I can see him urging us to live loving lives. I can feel him giving us strength. He was bold. He wants us to be bold. He wants us to have the courage of our convictions.

I can see him delivering a quick response. He would read my blog and say I could preach that !!   I once complimented his sermon and he smiled and replied in a rather deadpan voice: That's nice. Now what are you going to do with it? Hmm ? He always had the upper hand without seeming to try. I can see that glint in his eye. 

I can see him surrounded by colorful Highland cattle. I can hear his Scottish brogue coming through in a stronger Gaelic accent. I can see the plate of haggis and the deep green pastures. I can see him smiling. There are a few Scottish blackface sheep and a monastery on the hill. The bagpipes are singing. I can see him. I can hear him. Clan Gunn. 

I can hear him answering questions about his most and least favorite things. Luke was his favorite writer. He enjoyed Gone With The Wind and Home Alone as far as movies. Crossword puzzles, Kim Novak, Sandra Bullock, Morgan Freeman and Roy Rogers made it on to the good list. High drama, cocktail parties and violence are on his bad list. He enjoyed pro baseball, UGA football and curling. The latter as a spectator sport we presume. He adored people and quite obviously most of all his family. He would have dinner with President Abraham Lincoln if he could. And now perhaps he has. He admired President Barack Obama. He enjoyed laughing and good food. 

I can see him. He is in Tiger, Georgia. He is at his home. He is at his cabin. Either way he is happy. I can see him. 

I can feel him. I can feel his generosity of spirit. His wisdom. His insight. His humor. His compassion. His warmth. His impact on so many lives. His faith. His hope. His love. 

I can see him. Fishing. Gardening. Cheering. Preaching. Hiking. Loving. Laughing. It was a wonderful life.

I can see him.  He is surrounded by bells. Thousands of bells. They are all ringing. Clanging loudly. Tingling softly.

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. 

Way to go,Reg.