Celebrating his 100 year birthday in Colorado Springs

I have an alarm set in my phone that goes off every Sunday afternoon at 4:15. It’s a reminder to make my weekly call to grandpa, who lives in Arizona and is 102 years old. I call him every single week and we chat about this and that. We’re buddies.

Though neither of us drink much we look forward to “having a beer with Drew and Grandpa” everytime we get together. And though grandpa and I are not blood related (he is my wife’s grandma’s husband), he is the only grandpa I have as my others passed away at a young age.

Call it intuition, but I had a strange feeling in January. So we flew down to Arizona in the spring and had several good days hanging out, laughing and even eating some delicious Mexican seafood.

This week the alarm went off, just as usual, but it was jolting to remember that I didn’t need to call him because he wasn’t living in this world any longer. He’s moved on to whatever lies beyond all this and hopefully we’ll be drinking beers over Mexican food real soon.

It’s been tough, but more than that it’s been an especially unusual week. Death seems to be all around us. Grandpa passed, and several days later my cousin passed after a long, hard battle with cancer. A day after that a long-time member of our church passed as well. We have been spending these days at funeral homes, memorial services, and gravesides. Whether you want to or not, it makes you reflect on death and by extension reflect on life.

When someone dies a common phrase we hear is they’re in a better place now. We talk about the afterlife as a dichotomous choice between places. Heaven is a glassy island where doorknobs are made of sapphire and the roads never have potholes because they’re built of solid gold.

Hell, on the other hand, is an overcrowded bus station that’s filled with the smoke of cheap cigarettes on a swelteringly hot day and you’re waiting for your bus out of there but it never comes.

Heaven is spacious and clean, whereas hell is more packed than an Alabama swim-up bar during COVID. Traditionally speaking, it’s like the choice between living on Lakeshore Drive versus the underside of a barbecue pit.

Christians believe in the power of life over death despite powerful evidence that death is more powerful. We believe in some form of resurrection, though the mechanics of it are oh so unclear.

How does life after life work? Are these common pictures of the afterlife really how it is and how much have our own historical experiences tainted their accuracy? What can we intelligently say about the afterlife? And what can we say when someone dies that is both intellectually honest and hopeful?

Reflecting on life and death often leaves you with more questions than answers.

***

Life is somewhat like a roulette table with its numbers and squares. Our life is like one square on the wheel. Taking all the information available to us at the time, and trying to make the best decision possible we pick a square. This is called faith because you have no clue where the roulette ball will land. But the square you pick will determine how you see the universe and how you choose to live out these days on earth.

When it comes to heaven and hell: what they’re like, how one ends up there, and who’s in and who’s out, I’m totally unsure. That’s by no means a square I’m willing to bet my life on.

But when it comes to life after death, I’d be prepared to gamble it all on the character and personality of the Creator, the one who receives us when we die. The mirthful love of God is conveyed in how the first miracle went down.

They were at a hillbilly wedding in Galilee.

Jesus, the human expression of God’s heart for humanity, was there with his newly formed crew, his family and most importantly his mother. Everyone was starting to get a sense that this Jesus guy was special and different, but surely nothing could prepare them for what would happen next. Only his own mother really knew what was about to happen.

Wine, a Hebrew symbol for joy and hope, was being drank in copious amounts at this hillbilly wedding. The uncles, aunts, cousins and in-laws were all yuckin’ it up and blowing off some steam after a long work week. In fact, so much guzzling was going on that only a few hours into the festivities they had almost drank up all the booze. People starting walking up to the buffet, shaking bottles upside down to see if there was any left in the bottom, they even pulled the bags out of the boxed wine so they could get those last few precious drops.

A murmur was starting to build and the bride and groom could sense it. The wine was almost gone, and by extension this party was at risk of being a huge bust. A major loss of face for this young couple trying to get their lives started.

In walked Mother Mary, a lady of note around the neighborhood. She’d played Pinochle with the bride’s mom for years at their Tuesday night ladies group and couldn’t stand to see the poor girl embarrassed like this. “Don’t worry, my son will handle this,” she told the worried bride.

“Dear woman, why do you involve me? My time has not yet come,” said Christ, but in his heart of hearts he knew it had, for what momma says goes. Perhaps grasping the hilarity of his circumstances and the gravity of the moment he decided to throw all caution to the wind. The King of Kings strong armed by his mother into performing a miracle before he had been planning to let the cat out of the bag about his supernatural powers. His timetable had been scraped but he played along with the improv comedy that was unfolding. His first display of divine power was a riotous cosmic joke sure to scandalize stuffy church folk for centuries to come.

He tells the servants to get those six big jars everybody’s been washing their hands out of and fill them with water. The jars are huge and the servants expend hours dragging water back from the well to fill them. But they work quickly, for time is running out and these wedding guests are seriously considering leaving early and heading down the street to Drinky O’Hallahan’s Sports Bar and Grill for an afterparty.

When the jars are filled, he tells the servants to ladle some out and take it to the master of the banquet for a taste. The banquet master, himself a self-professing wine snob and connoisseur of culinary delights is stunned by what he tastes. Never in his life has he sampled a wine so full bodied and smooth, yet well rounded. It has a floral nose, but with notes of jasmine and tangerine, a long complex finish hinting of mahogany, old leather, chestnuts and Virginia black cavendish.

“Exquisite!” he proclaims. Never would he have imagined a shindig in this remote backwoods village would feature a rare wine like this. Flabbergasted, he pulls the groom aside. “Normally, people bring out the cheaper stuff after the guests have had too much to drink, but you have saved the best for last!”

Jesus saved the day and kept this party from being a total downer. In the grand scheme of world events it was totally unnecessary but his first divine act was an expression of joy, playfulness, and pleasure.

The DJ cranks the music back up, the guests imbibe this nectar of the gods, the dance floor is packed and rocking once more. The servants are drinking the wine too, they saved a whole stone jar for themselves and now they’re in the back relaxing. They can’t stop cracking up over the fact the everybody’s drinking water out of the hand washing basin, but who cares anyhow!? It tastes sooo good!!

***

When someone dies I don’t know specifically where they are. But I strongly believe in who they’re with. God is not a stingy old judge during election season, racking up as many convictions as possible. In fact, nothing like that at all.

Surely, we’ve mixed up the population sizes of heaven and hell. Hell must be mostly emptied out: a few lonely doomsday preppers locked behind their doors eating tepid baked beans out of a can. Meanwhile heaven is a raucous hillbilly wedding: standing room only and overflowing with joy. The mirthful, wasteful, luxurious coming out party of Christ is a clear indication of who’s hands we’ll be in when we die. And that mischievous twinkle in his eye seems to hint that the best wine is yet to come.

Four Fifteen