Seeing old friends after a long absence is to the soul like a Texas summer rainstorm breaking weeks of 3-digit temperatures. At least that is what it felt like to me hugging Joyce and Allen a few weeks ago.
Allen and Joyce came into our families life seven years ago. In all my years on this planet I have never known such genuine, grounded, down to earth people. What made this friendship so different is that Allen and Joyce out date us by 40-plus years. They have served in the capacity of ministers for over 50 years. You can sum up their ministry philosophy from a simple statement from Joyce: “If heaven is anything like church I don’t want to go there.” Though they love the body of Christ, Joyce and Allen seemed to have glimpsed beyond the curtain of this world and peeked into the next. It is not church politics or even gatherings that motivate them. It is the face of Christ. And what they have seen beyond that curtain makes this world look like a dried up mud puddle strewn with rubbish. Allen taught me the beauty of liturgy and tradition without the weight of pretense or hypocrisy. Joyce has sealed this truth in my mind: the fewer the words the better. But when you do speak let it be pure, powerfully sincere truth. Joyce did not hold anything back when it came to her philosophy of words. They have been our mentors, parents, compadres and one of the closest examples of Christ in our lives for the last several years. It should be no wonder that my first published book was dedicated to Allen.
Allen and Joyce
Over a year ago, they were called to spend a season at a church they started 30 years ago. Traveling to Oregon from Texas, in their twilight years, was a risky adventure. They would revisit their old parish as mentors to the church staff and bring some pastoral love to the congregation. We were sad to see them go but excited that they were being honored in such a way post-retirement.
After a year, their mission complete, they returned to Dallas. It was the middle of the scorching month of July that, after a fifteen month interval , we would revisit our friends. That first hug, when you get to squeeze that person long absent, smell their hair, put your hands to their backs and just hold– that is a beautiful moment. We spent the next two hours hearing of their adventures in the northwest and eating Mexican food. Joyce loves guacamole- I mean in an addictive way. Cheryl and I laughed watching her eat it by the spoonful. Our two hours were spent as if we had never been away from each other. (The funny thing about Allen and Joyce is that when anyone spends time with them they make them feel like you they are the most important people in the world to them. That is a gift I desire in my life and one that I woefully fall short of). Even though Joyce was full of life she was also tired especially as she talked about yet another heart surgery that awaited her. Several surgeries over the last few years had taken their toll and she seemed much weaker in body than I had ever witnessed her. But her spirit was as spunky, joyful and playful as ever.
So when I received the call, three days later, of her death I was saddened and incredibly thankful. She simply fell asleep and did not wake up. I am always disturbed by the suddenness of death- not death itself but just how rapidly it descends. I was incredibly thankful that Cheryl and I had a couple hours with Joyce before she decided to look beyond the veil. A few months ago I wrote and article called the Onion of Immortality (http://tinyurl.com/2cqq7xt). Here is a bit of that article that spoke to me after I heard the news:
As I grow older, the onion of immortality incessantly peels away. People that I love –die. Yet, my confidence in God’s love and Christ’s sacrifice causes my discomfort with death to diminish. The departure of my beloved family and friends feels more like an eventual grand reunion rather than a state of permanent loss.
A while ago, I sat down with Allen Groff, my mentor. Allen has been a pilgrim for the last 85 years. After serving in WWII, he married Joyce creating a gaggle of children and grand children. Serving as a full time minister for six plus decades, he pioneered several churches, preached an uncountable number of sermons, wrote several pieces of published music, and accomplished almost everything a pastor can possibly achieve.
Conversing over a cup of hot chocolate, I asked Allen a question I had been anxious to ask him for over a year: Out of all his years serving God and mankind: what were his highlights now that he strolled in the twilight years of his life. He said, “Shawn, out of all I have accomplished the times I treasure are moments like this. Sitting with a friend, sharing stories and laughter and love, those are the only possessions I will take with me when I am gone a few years from now. If any of my ‘accomplishments’ did not bring some or a smile to someone then they are nothing but hay and stubble. Those are the moments I will carry with me when I die.’
Joyce left this life the way she lived it: full of joy, peace and mischief. I thank God for allowing me to be surprised by Joyce. (And I bet the heaven she now runs through looks nothing like a church service.)
