I recently had the joy of meeting with an elderly member of St Paul’s who can’t come to church due to her inability to drive. She lives alone, surrounded by pictures of SPC and former clergy of the cathedral on her walls that date back at least 50 years. Her love and caring for our church home jumped out at me immediately upon entering her living room. These photos help her remember how she was and still is connected to the cathedral over many, many years of history and changes.
This lady was instrumental in establishing the Columbarium many years ago and told me she has reserved a spot for her ashes there when she dies. When I spoke with her earlier this week, she told me she wants her ashes to reside high above the other spots where no one will be able to see her plot or inscription. The reason for this, she told me, is that she has no family or close friends left anymore who would want to visit her or remember her when entering or exiting the cathedral. She went on to tell me that from this high point in the columbarium, she will be able to gaze down on everyone in her beloved cathedral, giving her much joy and pleasure for as long as the building stands.
Upon hearing this, my eyes teared up, I couldn’t talk, and the lady asked me if I was still there on the phone. After a minute or so, I replied that she had just told me something very dear and meaningful that I would never forget about selflessness and love.
Forgetting is something I am painfully aware of this week. You see, I just experienced a rather serious incident while landing my plane over in Borrego Springs on Palm Sunday. I had attended services at St Paul’s that morning and received a call from my mother that I needed to get down to the desert earlier than I thought for my aunt’s birthday party. Because I was in a rush to get there on time from San Diego, I jumped in the plane at Montgomery field and took off right after church on Palm Sunday. During my approach to the little Borrego airport, I forgot to extend my landing gear and heard the awful grinding scrape of metal on asphalt runway as the plane touched down. In my haste, I had forgotten to use my checklist for landing and failed to pull the switch to extend the landing gear. This is the first incident I have experienced like this in over 40 years of aviation and flying. It was, to say the least, extremely embarrassing and humiliating since I had to spend about 5 hours dealing with the FAA and NTSB that same day.
Today I am dealing with feelings about both literal and figurative ashes. My contact with a dear member of our cathedral has taught me a lesson about memory and remembering, which contrasts so starkly with my own forgetfulness while flying. This woman is a blessing and gift which have caused me to pause, slow down and catch my breath. Ashes remind us not only of our own mortality, but also of our humanity, stupidity and carelessness while we are still alive in this world of ours.
I find myself today still in Ash Wednesday, hearing the words “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return”. No one can dispute this fact – whether believer, atheist or agnostic. Ashes are not a tenet of faith, but rather a sad, sober, and sometimes depressing fact of our lives which we forget so much of the time.
It is difficult to approach Easter Sunday for me this week. The idea of the resurrection seems so far away and difficult to believe in. It is hard for me to understand what people mean when they say to me, George – “I believe in the literal, physical resurrection of Jesus”. All I can do is re-read the Gospel account and ponder it in my heart – hoping that one day, I will fully understand what it’s all about.
In the final analysis, I have only two guides to help me understand and grapple with the meaning of Easter Sunday: my new friend’s firm belief and faith that she will be looking down on all of us from her elevated plot in the Columbarium after her death, and the Gospel story itself of Easter morning which relates God’s promise to us of His assurance of eternal Life.
My goal this week and for the rest of my life is not to forget again. To remember to use checklists, and to recall (after forgetting again) the promise of new life through Jesus’ death and resurrection. I think I realize this week how critically important both of these are to me now.
George Kuhrts
