Eleven years ago this weekend, Pentecost Sunday fell on May 27. I know this because Allie and I were expecting our second daughter and she decided to come before her due date. This is why I had to surprise my intern at 6 am with the news that he would be leading music in multiple massive services with no advance warning on his first day. He muttered utterances under his breath which I assume were “tongues” in the Spirit of the Holiday. Then I got in my car and headed to the hospital. Our church was on the cutting edge of livestreaming for those days, so we were able to watch the service unfold from our labor and delivery room. Andrew did a stunning job, providing sufficient evidence to support a theory I’m still musing on to this day: as far as my work goes, I am very replaceable.
I cannot help but think of the reported final words of the late Dr. Timothy J. Keller, a personal hero of mine and legend in modern pastoral work. As my ministry friends and I watched our Twitter feeds last week for updates, we despaired at the thought that anyone could fill the void this man leaves behind. Maybe he wasn’t the same gift for everyone, but for us, Tim’s winsome, humble, incisive, gospel-centered-and-saturated approach to preaching and cultural engagement will remain unmatched. Yet his parting words of comfort to his family ring out to haunt the eavesdroppers: “There is no downside for me leaving, not in the slightest.”
As we wrap up this Heaven Is Local series in the Book of Acts, we find the indomitable Paul in chains at the Ends of the Earth, and probably at the end of his life as well. He certainly writes like he’s running out of time – by no means anxious; just focused. He tells the Philippians, (among them his former jailer and forever child in the gospel), these chains are somehow a source of joy. That for him, to die would be gain. Those final sentiments were no doubt the inspiration for Dr. Keller’s words as well. And what unsettles us about these kinds of statements? Is it that they reveal a level of hope that is often foreign to us? What would it take to be able to say such things at the end of our lives? In the middle of them?
I hope you’ll join us in hearing this weekend.
- js