the death of a saint
If you have been around these parts before - or have known me for a time - you would know I have been a reader of Rachel Held Evans' for years. Her blog and books have been profound blessings to me.
As many as you know, this beloved author died unexpectedly following health complications earlier this month. She was 37, married and a mother to two young children. Her passing utterly shocked the Christian community. And, truth be told, I have found myself grieving an author I have never met for the first time in my life.
Rachel, known as RHE, was a storyteller, a warrior of truth, and an emblem of generous Christianity. Since the end of her life earth-side, I have reread parts of her books, dug into her blog and watched her teaching through the screen. More often than not, I surprise myself crying over her words - truths spoken with such authority and courage.
In writing this post, I am not interested in speaking of the egalitarian-complementarian debate, nor am I willing to discuss the hermeneutics in RHE's books. This is not the time nor space for such dialogue. Rather, I want to express gratefulness for the writer who has pointed me to the embrace of God again and again.
I would surely love to make sweeping statements about her being in a better place, having gone Home to be with God. And while I believe this to be true, and while I know the Christian faith grants me hope that death is not the end of all things - I do not want to approach such tragic loss with spiritual abstractions. Of course we know her soul is in the presence of the God she loved and served - a place where there is no suffering, no tears, no death. But we ought not to glaze over the fact that Rachel's body has gone to dust. Until the resurrection of the saints in the New Jerusalem, her bodily presence on this earth will be no more. Her family will never see her again, her friends will sense her absence, her children will not grow up to know her, her readers will not wake up to more of her words, and the Church will proceed with a tangible void. And this is something to mourn. The crucifixion comes before the resurrection - the death of the Friday and the waiting of the Saturday must precede the celebration of the Sunday. We can wait through the pain before claiming we are completely at peace and hopeful. We must face the fact that death was not the way world was supposed to be- and that this loss was not God's intention for the world He created in Genesis 1. Though we know and take comfort in the glory where Rachel Held Evan's soul lays, we can lament and weep - as Jesus wept - the death of a saint. Because it's not supposed to be this way.
But we also ought to remember the ways RHE parted dead seas, broke down walls and built arches for the wandering. She was in so many ways an ambassador of the Kingdom of God. And may this remembering lead us to action, to fight for what she fought.
When Christ Jesus thrice asks Simon Peter"do you love me?" and Peter acquiesces, Christ continues with the call to feed and tend my sheep. Such is the way RHE exemplified the incarnate life. Her profound, sincere love for her God-Almighty led her to the hard places and the vulnerable people that others systematically avoided. I will always be thankful for the way she unapologetically challenged gate-keeping in the Church, and described an inclusive Kingdom.
As a young Christian woman who was told at the age of sixteen that "God would never give a woman the spiritual gift of leadership or teaching," I applaud this woman who challenged the evangelical establishment and perpetually used her voice to amplify that of those at the margins, knowing all too well that Jesus defended and loved the least the of these, and was right there with them at the margins.
RHE used words - with humility, humor, prophecy - to break down barriers and build bridges. In doing so, she reminded me that writing (blogging!) could be approached as ministry and as a Kingdom mission. This profoundly impacted me and was a motivator for this blog. Watch her share about this here- she has such a pastoral way about her.
RHE's advocated for the Church - both celebrating and challenging it. Two things she wrote about Christ's bride which I will forever nestle in my heart are these:
“Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable. Imagine if every church became a place where we told one another the truth. We might just create sanctuary.”
and
“The Church is God saying: I’m throwing a banquet and all these mismatched, messed up people are invited. Here, have some wine.”
RHE reminded the wandering evangelical that he or she could ask questions and have doubts. She graciously walked alongside lost sheep back to God and to newfound appreciation of His Word. She encouraged the disillusioned believer to remember liturgy and sacramentality as tangible reminders of God's grace. She repeated again and again that there was always more place at the table, a prophetic image of the banquet feast of the Lamb described in the book Revelations.
Her death is an unspeakable loss.
So, for now, we mourn and we lament she who has crossed over into the great mystery of death. But we remember that her witness and legacy will long survive her life earthside.
Eshet chayil, woman of valor.
As many as you know, this beloved author died unexpectedly following health complications earlier this month. She was 37, married and a mother to two young children. Her passing utterly shocked the Christian community. And, truth be told, I have found myself grieving an author I have never met for the first time in my life.
Rachel, known as RHE, was a storyteller, a warrior of truth, and an emblem of generous Christianity. Since the end of her life earth-side, I have reread parts of her books, dug into her blog and watched her teaching through the screen. More often than not, I surprise myself crying over her words - truths spoken with such authority and courage.
In writing this post, I am not interested in speaking of the egalitarian-complementarian debate, nor am I willing to discuss the hermeneutics in RHE's books. This is not the time nor space for such dialogue. Rather, I want to express gratefulness for the writer who has pointed me to the embrace of God again and again.
I would surely love to make sweeping statements about her being in a better place, having gone Home to be with God. And while I believe this to be true, and while I know the Christian faith grants me hope that death is not the end of all things - I do not want to approach such tragic loss with spiritual abstractions. Of course we know her soul is in the presence of the God she loved and served - a place where there is no suffering, no tears, no death. But we ought not to glaze over the fact that Rachel's body has gone to dust. Until the resurrection of the saints in the New Jerusalem, her bodily presence on this earth will be no more. Her family will never see her again, her friends will sense her absence, her children will not grow up to know her, her readers will not wake up to more of her words, and the Church will proceed with a tangible void. And this is something to mourn. The crucifixion comes before the resurrection - the death of the Friday and the waiting of the Saturday must precede the celebration of the Sunday. We can wait through the pain before claiming we are completely at peace and hopeful. We must face the fact that death was not the way world was supposed to be- and that this loss was not God's intention for the world He created in Genesis 1. Though we know and take comfort in the glory where Rachel Held Evan's soul lays, we can lament and weep - as Jesus wept - the death of a saint. Because it's not supposed to be this way.
But we also ought to remember the ways RHE parted dead seas, broke down walls and built arches for the wandering. She was in so many ways an ambassador of the Kingdom of God. And may this remembering lead us to action, to fight for what she fought.
When Christ Jesus thrice asks Simon Peter"do you love me?" and Peter acquiesces, Christ continues with the call to feed and tend my sheep. Such is the way RHE exemplified the incarnate life. Her profound, sincere love for her God-Almighty led her to the hard places and the vulnerable people that others systematically avoided. I will always be thankful for the way she unapologetically challenged gate-keeping in the Church, and described an inclusive Kingdom.
As a young Christian woman who was told at the age of sixteen that "God would never give a woman the spiritual gift of leadership or teaching," I applaud this woman who challenged the evangelical establishment and perpetually used her voice to amplify that of those at the margins, knowing all too well that Jesus defended and loved the least the of these, and was right there with them at the margins.
RHE used words - with humility, humor, prophecy - to break down barriers and build bridges. In doing so, she reminded me that writing (blogging!) could be approached as ministry and as a Kingdom mission. This profoundly impacted me and was a motivator for this blog. Watch her share about this here- she has such a pastoral way about her.
RHE's advocated for the Church - both celebrating and challenging it. Two things she wrote about Christ's bride which I will forever nestle in my heart are these:
“Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable. Imagine if every church became a place where we told one another the truth. We might just create sanctuary.”
and
“The Church is God saying: I’m throwing a banquet and all these mismatched, messed up people are invited. Here, have some wine.”
RHE reminded the wandering evangelical that he or she could ask questions and have doubts. She graciously walked alongside lost sheep back to God and to newfound appreciation of His Word. She encouraged the disillusioned believer to remember liturgy and sacramentality as tangible reminders of God's grace. She repeated again and again that there was always more place at the table, a prophetic image of the banquet feast of the Lamb described in the book Revelations.
Her death is an unspeakable loss.
So, for now, we mourn and we lament she who has crossed over into the great mystery of death. But we remember that her witness and legacy will long survive her life earthside.
Eshet chayil, woman of valor.
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