A Requiem

Hello on a cold December morning,

The weekend was a difficult one, both personally and societally. The country and the world is aghast at the loss of life from those who lost their loved ones or are praying for the recovery of others on an Ivy League campus or a country immediately responding to strengthen gun laws at the horrific killing of a number of people, targeted because of faith on Bondi Beach down under. Then on Sunday night America and beyond were stunned by the news that Rob and Michelle Reiner were found murdered in their house in the famous Brentwood area of Los Angeles. The number of things noted on Facebook or other social platforms is innumerable.

It reminds me of some almost 30 years ago when I was coming out of a church service in Mass City, Michigan, where I was just beginning what would be a lengthy supply position at three little parishes in the Upper Peninsula. We heard for the first time that the Princess of Wales, Diana Spencer, the former wife of the present King of England, had lost her life in a car accident. For the next week, the entire world became British, at least for a bit. as we watched, somewhat with a morbid sense of care for the loss of such a dynamic and notable human. The outpouring of global grief was unlike anything I had ever seen, nor have I witnessed anything like that since. I remember trying to prepare my sermon the next week, perhaps the third week I would be preaching at those three small, aging parishes, realizing something needed to be noted, but still wishing to speak to the texts and the needs of those people, a wish to be exegetically aware and appropriate. While looking back at the lectionary for that Sunday, which was a Labor Day weekend, what I remember was trying to address the proverbial “large item in the room” honestly, but I noted that there were also people who were not as well-known, people not making headlines, and loved ones of those lesser-known to the world, who also lost loved ones that week, who hurt and mourned as deeply. And the God who in the week’s lessons that noted our need for community in even difficult circumstances (the Gospel lesson of the day) cared as deeply about those as God cared for those loss of the Princess of Wales. I remember working with even more diligence than usual, wanting the sermon to resonate, and when a parishioner said to me at the end of the day. “We’re glad you are here; that was a great sermon. We were worried because you are a doctoral student you might be boring.” I knew the Holy Spirit was alive and well.

The world around us, even as we are shocked yet again by the scope of violence, continues to occur, but as much as focus is on Providence, Bondi Beach or Los Angeles, my heart is aching for the loss of one of the gentlest, strongest, and most caring of men I have ever met. A remarkable friend, someone I admire and love beyond words, and someone I did not get to see the last time I was in Menomonie because of his decline, passed away from his battle with cancer. It was a battle that he and his wife chronicled, both in their own incredible ways. It was a battle he faced with the same grace, thoughtfulness, and wonder as he seemed to do with everything. As I told one of them recently, together they created the most amazing couple I have ever met. I was blessed and honored to officiate their wedding about 15 years ago, and over the years their presence, friendship, and care meant more than I think they ever began to understand. The love I have for them as a couple out distanced the love I had for them individually, snd that says a lot because I loved them both deeply. I think that might be the most profound and precious thing I understood over these past years. I do not know of any other couple that affected me in such a manner.

Carl was an incredibly deep thinker, a pondering and observant person, a master with words, and unparalleled in his ability to create and build anything out of wood. In his quiet, but ever-present manner, he was always able to understand and manage any circumstance with a simple manner that comforted anyone around him; he and Amy were a match that was meant to be, something I believe to be divinely connected and that was and is something I believe deeply. While never one to make much noise, his Dutch Reformed pietism never left him, he was tall and slender, and his steady presence would bring a sense of calmness to any situation. I remember with great appreciation the last time he and I spoke by phone and we shared some of our common thoughts and experiences. I remember his gentle and always warm or affable way of sharing his thoughts and his love about people or life in general. Somehow he had two first names (Carl and Charles), and I referred to him as Charles. I am, to this day, not sure how that happened. From working on projects for the house to building things to support Amy’s work, from working in the garden to doing things that supported friends or Simon, Carl was always ready to make difference, and that difference was always profound in some way.

He epitomizes the life one would hope to lead. His ability to change the lives around him always for the better made (and will continue to make) him someone to admire and revere. The important liturgical verse “well done good and faithful servant” seems too little for such a profoundly good person. While the news of most places will be focused on others, Carl in your gentle manner you affected the world from the Western side of lower Michigan to all of Western Iowa, and from Menomonie to Bloomsburg. We mourn today your loss, and I will miss you beyond words.

Thank you always for reading.

Michael