In the Garden
Photo by Athena from Pexels
On a fine spring evening, in the garden behind a church in Wayne, Pennsylvania we gathered together to celebrate the life of our friend Dave Hicks.
We called him “Young” Dave because he was so much younger than the rest of us. His youth seemed to emanate from somewhere deeper than his body. He was ferociously curious, an almost insatiable appetite to more profoundly understand the world around him. Like a young child always asking why, Dave was hungry for answers.
His youth was further highlighted by a quality that is only possible for me to name now that he is gone. It was that sense of wonder, his amazement at watching the world unfold.
In 2017 we would meet every week at the Wagas in Chang Ning, at 6am. Wagas did not give a damn what time of day it was, they played the same music regardless. So Dave and I would sip our coffees, trying to find stillness and slow conversation within the EDM Top 50 playlist.
Dave’s curiosity led to him to ask questions and write articles. I remember meeting up with Dave at a dive bar (Cloud 9) on Xinhua Lu, where he peppered me with questions about the standup scene in Shanghai. He would later publish an article in Foreign Policy on this topic.[1] People said he was wise beyond his years, which he was, but on that day I still experienced him as a kid. Dave was starry eyed and enthusiastic about Shanghai, laughing at the cynical rantings of an old China Hand.
His sense of childlike wonder should in no way be mistaken for a superficial mind. Dave was a serious thinker and discerned what was going on around him much more than he let on. His sense of humor would sneak up on you and remind you of that sharp wit.
His love of inquiry led him to graduate school at Harvard to study policy, first as it pertained to China and later the policy of healthcare. As his illness progressed, his readings shifted and reflected that deep desire to understand why. I remember chatting on the phone with him and he mentioned chemo and classes in the same day. Learning was a form of sustenance for his mind and spirit.
When I saw him that evening in the garden, his body had withered to a shadow of its former self. He walked slowly and spoke softly, Young Dave had the body of a hundred year old man.
The cancer had eaten his body, yet the more his flesh faded away, the more brilliant his soul became.
A large banquet table was prepared for the party, an impressive spread of food for us all to eat supper.
Near the end of the night, Dave sat down to speak and a crowd gathered around him. He began to talk, though not in the polished, overly confident manner heard inside the church building. His words on that night were raw, unapologetic, gentle and lovely; he spoke with an authority not his own. Dave soothed our sorrows by making us laugh. “Gallows humor” he called it, every laugh a gulp of fresh air in the suffocating difficulty of the moment.
***
Where was God in this moment?
The darkness doesn’t have to bring fear, but can reveal all the things we can’t normally see. We are never in total darkness, as the moon reflecting the light of the sun reminds us. In blackness, the reflection of those standing in the light illuminates the path forward.
Listening to Dave talk to this crowd of friends and family something began to transfigure in that garden.
Like a fearful child seeking reassurance, I looked to the faces of Dave’s parents to see how they were reacting. It was then that I recognized the paradoxical face of God reflected in their countenance. Much like God, life had not gone as they’d planned for their child. There was so much joy and pride, awe and anger, rage and amazement in their faces. Every point on the spectrum of human emotions contained in this grief filled moment. Two totally contradictory experiences, both being true at the same time.
Dave’s talk was beautiful and simple. He apologized to all those who’d been hurt by the church. He talked about life and death, neither of which he clung to too closely. Maybe a miracle will happen at the eleventh hour to avert what seems inevitable – he believed it was possible. Lord there’s got to be another way, let this cup pass from me, he prayed in the garden.
The doctors had pierced his sides and installed tubes to drain the fluid that was filling his body. At some point while he talking the tubes popped out of his shirt. He shrugged, not bothering to hide them anymore. This is me now, he seemed to say, come and see. He did not try to hide his pain and in doing so became an advanced scout to the promised land. His life and death (and life again) foreshadowed the trajectory we are all on.
His colleagues from Harvard sat at his feet, listening to him talk. The brightest and best minds of our world were unprepared for what they were witnessing. How can someone so young, possess such wisdom?
Dave invited us into his suffering. The more he did, the more he began to resemble his creator. A God whose plans have also been severely disrupted. A God full of grief and disappointment, joy and pride. A paradoxical God, a contradictory story. A divine mystery.
Dave told a story with his body. A sermon that could not come from the comfort of the pulpit. The terrible hardships he endured cut through the noise and shallow distractions of this world. They placed him in solidarity with the hurting and the broken. He loved with a deep compassion not his own and in doing so showed us the way.
***
How do you say goodbye to someone?
You chat a bit. You have a few laughs.
And then you remind them that they’re a part of something bigger. A story that’s been going on long before we were around and will continue long after we also lie down next to Dave.
After the party he and his family took a vacation to California. While there his condition began to rapidly deteriorate. They decided to fly back to Pennsylvania that Saturday and get Dave home. On the flight back, at 35,000 feet, Dave gave up his spirit.
As Martin Baird says, “God is our homeland”. I guess Dave figured starting from cruising altitude would save him a little time on the trip.
I am comforted by the thought that on Sunday morning Dave arose, perhaps groggy from the long journey, but glad to be home.
For us who remain here, we can only stare up at the sky in amazement at what we’ve seen. The Long Story marches on, and Dave beautifully played his part.
We wrestle with what it all means – is he really gone? And amid the noise of this tragic world, a soft voice speaks to us:
“Why do you seek the living among the dead?”