Our friend and pastor, Andrew Snekvik, died yesterday morning. He was surrounded by his family, loved, prayed over, and by all accounts died as good a death as one could imagine (as if there is such a thing for a young husband, son, and father?), trusting that there is life beyond this life.
Those of us here--his friends, his family--are stunned, numb, and mostly just quiet, trying to figure out what this means, how to pray, how to move forward. It's a mystery. It has me thinking about how glibly we toss out comments like death is natural, or death is part of life, making it sound like just another rite of passage. But I think there's more to it than that.
To be clear, I don't mean this in terms of eternal things, or questions of heaven and hell. I mean in terms of this life, and the glimpses we get that we live in a big, spiritual world, and that there's more going on around us than what we see.
Jesus talked about how our eyes aren't always the most trustworthy source of information. We're admonished to try a sensory shift: to keep our eyes on Him, looking away from the world around us, and to open our ears. As if somehow this creates the space for God to come through on his promise, "Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."
Today, I'm calling.