Two Years ii

Our church schedules a memorial service for a fallen hero. His name was Minhee Kim. Friends knew him better as Andy. He served his country. But he loved God and His people even more. Those who would gather at the service would serve as a living testament to the short life that our friend had lived. The room quickly fills up. Tissue boxes line the aisles. No one says a word to one another. Tears that flow like mighty rivers say enough. Andy lived well. He left a legacy.

Several days later, two friends and I go to visit his family. We bring comfort foods of sort so that they wouldn't have to cook in their time of great grief. We greet the parents and his brother. We try to console them. We tell them some stories about Andy. They grieve. We grieve alongside them. Words seem hallow at a time like this.

A few days later, the casket arrives in full procession. The body arrives at the airport from Dover, DE. There's a more formal open-casket funeral service. Local news reporters, officials, veterans of Operation Iraqi Freedom, veterans from other U.S.-involved wars, and the rest of the Ann Arbor community would cram in the sanctuary of Covenant Presbyterian Church. It's my first time experiencing a military funeral--bagpipes, bugle, the standing guards, etc. One of our pastors presides over the main service. Some of his closest friends and small group leaders give eulogies. A little sermon. Many tears. We pay our final respects. I approach the half-opened wooden casket draped in red, white, and blue. I see his lifeless body robed in full military garb. You did good kid, I whisper. You did good.

The pallbearers close the casket. The flag is draped over. The Marines do their ceremonious procession in carrying the body out and into the funeral car. The parents and his brother follow. It doesn't ease the pain. But at least he's in a better place, a place where there is no more tears and sorrow. I see friends in the arms of others, individuals in contemplation, old war veterans saluting their own. I see grown men cry, young college kids grow up, strangers pay homage and respect. It would be beautiful picture in any other circumstances. But not today. Today, I weep with those who weep, grieve with those who grieve.

I open my email to find the last correspondence I had with him. He last wrote to us on Oct. 16, 2006: "one verse thats been sticking out to me has been psalm 44:22. it brings [an] odd comfort that He calls us to die each day to many different things, physically or spiritually. i need to learn more to take my hands off situations, especially when i can't control who gets to come home in one piece and who doesn't." Psalm 44:22 says, "Yet for your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered." That verse now has new meaning.

People often ask how a loving God could allow tragedy to happen. In my youth, I would have tried to find the most articulate philosophical argument to that question. But these days, I just let God deal with those who ask. Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.