I found myself on Maundy Thursday with a strong urge to write. It’s a somber day as I reflect on the last week of Jesus’s life. In scripture, it says that in the last days of Jesus’s life this day was spent with the ones he loved the most, his disciples. I told a colleague of mine that in ministry, preparing for Good Friday was like preparing for a funeral. At least for me, I have to go there to really get in the headspace to grasp the magnitude of what Jesus did for us. All of these thoughts brought me to the memories of my dad’s passing. While I am not about to compare my dad’s passing with Jesus, the Christ, the experience of losing my dad has given me a perspective that I feel led to share. 

I’ll never forget the week my dad fell and broke his neck. His injuries had left him paralyzed from the neck down and on life support. This occurred in 2015 and there are times it feels like yesterday yet it’s already coming up on seven years. The events that transpired that week were life-changing and I remember the day before his passing were hopeful. Yes, there was fear and challenges ahead with the unknowns of his recovery but we were hopeful he would leave that hospital room. On Thursday, July 2nd we had a plan to see our dad through recovery after this horrific fall. We had prayer warriors all over the nation surrounding us in prayer and the feeling was palpable that we would see a miracle.

The following morning the hospital Ethics and Crisis team met with us. We were asking the doctors to proceed with a tracheostomy to allow my dad to breathe so healing could be his number one concern. The woman who sat with us was incredibly empathetic, yet authoritative as she broke the news to us that if these doctors here at UCLA medical center said that our amazing and active father would never walk again or breathe on his own then we had to come to that reality and putting a trach in someone who had directives to not prolong their life with these very things we were asking to do, was inhumane. At that moment the realization of all of this began to surface. My mother bravely went to my dad that morning and said to him with sadness in her voice, “Larry, you are not going to come home with me. They are saying that you will live the rest of your life on a breathing tube and feeding tube if you decide to continue with treatment.” I am not even sure if my mom finished that sentence, my dad began to shake his head in protest knowing that he never wanted to live that way. He courageously chose to begin the process of exiting this earth and for them to remove the breathing tube that was supporting his every breath in that stark hospital room. Suddenly we were in the last hours, saying goodbye yet, without even knowing the pain we would feel tomorrow. 

Going back to the story of Jesus, imagine the disciples’ long night of confusion and worry as they had just seen their friend and teacher be arrested and then condemned to death. Their calm dinner with Jesus washing their feet must have felt like a lifetime away already. We can never fully grasp the fear and confusion they were feeling nor can we fathom the pain that Jesus would encounter when being crucified. Can you even imagine having to stand by and watch a beloved friend be beaten and tortured and nailed to a cross? And then, in the midst of it all, Jesus does what you do when your hours on this earth are coming to an end. You begin to give out directives to those you are leaving behind. 

In that final hour, before the nurses would up my dad’s pain medication to alleviate his body’s stress, he began to communicate what he wanted for his funeral. My dad could not speak due to the breathing tube down his throat so he would blink yes as we went across a board of letters to help spell out the words he was thinking. It still amazes me how aware he was despite the immense pain he must have been in. He told us where he wanted to be buried and who would officiate among other details that he must have been thinking about all week long as he lay trapped in his hospital bed. We each snuggled his cheek and told him how much we loved him and how we would carry on the legacy of his love for Jesus and that we were so grateful he was our dad. He asked us to sing hymns over him and we prayed one last time as he slipped into a deep sleep and his body began to shut down. They removed the breathing tube and his neck collar as we continued to share stories of him and allow those who loved him most to squeeze his hands and kiss his cheek goodbye. 

As Jesus hung on the cross he told John to care for his mother Mary. He gave admission into eternity to the thief hanging on his own cross next to him. He forgave those who were yelling and spitting at him and the very ones who nailed Him to the cross and he even cried out to God one last time before breathing his last breath. 

In the final hour of my dad’s life, we were lying across his bed with the 5 of us waiting until his incredibly strong heart gave out. Then in a blink of an eye, it was finished. He was gone and immediately you could see that Larry was no longer here. His body was a mere shell. I remember squeezing those strong hands one last time while they still had warmth in them. We walked out of the hospital room as the fatigue set in those early hours of July 4th and made our way to our respective hotel rooms only to collapse in sorrow and grief.

After experiencing the last moment of my father’s life, I now think differently of the Saturday following Good Friday. No one went home following Jesus’s death. Some took the time to bury him and others scattered in fear that they would be next but most of all they left the crucifixion site defeated and overwhelmed with the weight of Jesus’s absence. Someone they had spent almost every waking hour with for the past 3 years was gone. I imagine they gathered and cried together and walked through the past 48 hours reliving and rehashing how it all occurred and may be wondering if they had missed any signs that this tragedy was going to occur. I am confident that the day was long and no one wanted the dawn to come. 

On the Saturday morning of my father’s death, the wave of grief knocked me over. Nausea washed over me as I woke in that sweet moment between dreaming and waking only to realize it was not a dream. That this was now our reality. The tears would not stop. As a family, we spent the day weeping; recalling the events from the moment he fell to the moment he passed. Of course, we shared memories of who our dad was, like his laughter and the way he hugged, all the while grief was taking hold of our hearts tighter and tighter. We spent the next 10 days planning and executing my dad’s memorial service including a 1600-mile round trip trek to Colorado to bury his body next to his mama and daddy. Those days were hard yet healing and gave us purpose in the midst of the grief. 

When Mary came the next morning to visit Jesus’s tomb we can only suspect she was just coming to do what was accustomed at that time, to make sure that the aroma of spices and perfumes were what was coming from the tomb as Jesus’s body would have surely been beginning to decay. Yet, she finds it empty and is overwhelmed with worry since grave robbers were a concern in that day and age. Then she hears Jesus call her name. Can You Imagine??!! Someone you just saw dies a horrible death is alive to call your name? I love how she recognizes Jesus only after he calls her name. What a beautiful testament to their friendship. In this day and age, we see miracles through modern medicine more often than we see miracles through the unseen acts of the Holy Spirit. But we have never seen someone come to life after being dead for 3 days!!

Oh, how I would lose my ever-loving mind to hear my dad call my name again. If that occurred it would change my perspective of everything. I would not be able to be quiet about what I saw and would yes, go running to my family and share the good news! After my dad passed everything he said or did had new meaning. I saw his heart and all the sacrifices he made for us. It became so clear to me how much he loved God and how his action toward others was driven by that love. I believe the feelings of the disciples and loved ones of Jesus probably felt all of this but multiplied by twenty. 

There is no comparison to Jesus. That is not what this writing is about. It’s about a real-life experience that allows me to relate to an experience that occurred over 2000 years ago. It helped me to see that what Jesus did was not only amazing but the example of how he lived and died causes me to pause and reflect. And then you have the miracle of Jesus rising from the dead and become aware of how incredible and yes unfathomable that is. Thinking about these things allows me to sit in the tension of the sadness that was felt on Good Friday and Saturday but I then have to recognize that the dawn of Sunday is real. The miracle of my dad’s death was that he was able to choose to leave this earth and not suffer. He was able to say goodbye to us and have the hope of eternity on the other side. I hope that tomorrow brings you to hope and that today you’ll sit in the tension with anticipation for the dawn of Easter.