For Walt

You do not get grief like this without love like that.

Photo by David Gomez on Unsplash

When I first arrived at Walker Chapel in the summer of 2023, still figuring out which key went to each door, Walt gave me some advice and permission. He said, “Pay more attention to the kids in this congregation. Do not worry about me.”

That is a nice sentiment on a day like today, but it is also, whether Walt knew it or not, great theology. Those are the words of someone who understands the Kingdom of God better than most clergy. Jesus said, “Let the children come to me, and do not stop them.”

Some church people will kindly nod along politely at that verse while still structuring the life of the congregation around the adults, the budgets, those with influence, and the noise.

Walt was not one of those church people. He cut through the noise.

In saying to me, “Pay more attention to the kids,” he was telling me, “Pay attention to what matters.” And please do not mishear me. Walt was not saying that he or you do not matter. He was pointing to the need he saw.

That is what makes today so hard, because if we are honest, we do not feel ready for this. After Max Thomas’ funeral, Walt told me, “I guess you did a good job with Max. I think I’ll let you do mine.” And I told Walt, “Well, you are going to have to wait. My calendar is pretty full next week.”

And now here we are. That was nearly a year ago, and I do not think we waited long enough.

That is the truth we do not like to say out loud at funerals. We are not ready. We never are. Love always makes us want, makes us need, more time.

Paul writes in Romans 8, “If God is for us, who is against us?” That is not wishful optimism. That is defiance. It is Paul cutting through the noise. And he keeps going, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword?”

And Paul answers his own questions, “No... For I am convinced that neither death, nor life…nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Notice what Paul does not say. He does not say death is not real. He does not say that days like today will not hurt. He does not say we will feel ready. He says this, even death, does not get the final word.

Which means, whatever we are feeling today, whatever you feel in this heavy movement, it is not stronger than the love of God. Not even close.

And then in John 14, Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Which is a strange thing to say to a group of disciples who are preparing to lose him.

It almost sounds dismissive until you realize Jesus is not telling them to ignore their grief. He is giving them something stronger.

“In my Father’s house, there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”

Not a vague spiritual idea. A place. Prepared with intention and care.

Then He says, “I am the way,” to this place. Not I will show you the way or point you in the right direction. “I am the way.” Meaning, wherever Jesus is, that is where life is.

And if that is true, and it is, then Walt is not lost. He is where Christ is.

Now, I do not want to rush past grief, because grief is what love looks like when it has nowhere to go. And Walt was loved. He is loved. In his family. In his church. In this room.

You do not get grief like this without love like that.

So, we name it. We feel it. We do not pretend it is easy. But we also do not pretend death is in charge.

If Walt were here, I know he would not want a long sermon editorializing his life. He would redirect us, as he did to me. He would say, “Pay attention to what matters.”

Pay attention to the kids. Pay attention to what matters. To the people in front of you. To the love of God that refuses to let you go, even when you want to. Pay attention to the fact that Christ, conquering death, has gone ahead of us, not in an act of abandonment but to prepare a place for all of us.

So here is the strange claim we make today: That Walt’s life was not defined by the day he died. And it is not over now. The same Jesus Christ who said, “Let the children come,” is the same Risen Lord who said, “I go to prepare a place for you.”

Which means our task is not to try to hold onto Walt. Our task is to live like he taught us. Cutting through the noise. Paying attention to what matters. And trust that the love of God is bigger than we think. Bigger than our grief and bigger than our death.

And if we can do that, if we can live that way, then maybe, just maybe, we will begin to see what Walt clearly sees.

Amen.