“Who are my mother and my brothers? Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother.”  Mark 3:33,36

“That’s called making memories”  Jean Patrick

Who are you close to?  Who do you consider a kindred spirit, a bosom buddy, the closest of friends?  What family members do you keep in touch with?  How often do you see them?

These questions are prompted by the trip I took this past week to my home stomping grounds of Northern Wisconsin.  It was a trip down memory lane.  In addition to visiting the home where I grew up, my old school, some old woods where I used to hunt, and numerous other locations that are forever etched in my memory, I also saw old friends and family members. 

It began with a stop in Chicago to see Ernie and Karen.  I first met them in 1988 when I started out as a pastor in their congregation.  Ernie is salt of the earth, and Karen an artist. Their house is a collage of collectibles, a smattering of kitsch covering walls, cupboards, and other flat surfaces.  They were incredibly gracious and hospitable to my family while we lived in Chicago, providing an oasis for us to escape to from the dangerous inner-city neighborhood where we lived.  Ernie, an avid hiker and climber, introduced me to the Wind River range in Wyoming, and the wonders of meeting God in the mountains.  They’re getting old now and have begun to have health problems.  And so, conversations revolve around the weightier matters of life . . . and death.  In fact, Karen asked this time, “Why don’t people talk more about death?”  Why Indeed?

I also spent part of a day with Aunt Lucille.  She’s 103 years old.  Yes, not kidding!  She’s spent most of her life living in and around the small town of Exeland, Wisconsin, where she’s still regaled for her excellent pie-baking abilities.  The last survivor among her five siblings, she has lived through a world that has gone from horse and buggy to cars, from no electricity to cell phones, and weathered the storms of World Wars, threats of nuclear holocaust, pandemics, and countless personal tragedies.  We spent part of the afternoon taking a drive past some of her childhood haunts and her first house on Nail Creek.  Her memory is as sharp as a tack, and she recalled stories of her father Joe cutting wood at his sawmill, being baptized in in the river by “I’m Alone”—the name of the nearby town, honest to God!–and of course playing with her sister, Viola and Jean (my mother).  Being with her is like having a living, human, Comforter placed over you.  She lives and breathes the Spirit of God.

That night I stayed at the home of Cousin Jim and his wife Candy.  Jim used to hunt with me and my dad, and so we usually spend time telling and re-telling stories of what that was like.  Indeed, hunting deer has changed.  Back in the good old days (You know you’re getting old when you start using phrases like that), we used to spend everyday walking through big woods.  I mean REALLY big woods!  The kind you could legitimately get lost in—and people did. Now they have elevated platforms upon which is perched a small cubicle, big enough to sit in, from which one picks off the unsuspecting deer.  Not too sporting, in my opinion.  But I digress.  Jim and Candy are super hosts who hearken back to the day when hospitality meant feeding a guest with as much as they could ingest in one sitting. 

Saturday morning, I stopped and surprised my old friends Ted and Pam.  Being with them is like slipping back into a pair of comfortable shoes.  We pick up right where we left off—though with age it’s getting much more difficult to remember where exactly that was.  Ted was like the brother I never had.  He moved to Sheldon, Wisconsin in the 7^th grade from Indiana, and we quickly became bosom buddies.  I tried my first chewing tobacco with Ted and got sick in his barn as a result.  I think he was there when I tasted my first beer as well.  We drove his tractor into town, only a couple of miles away, to buy soda and sweets at the small corner convenience store.   Ted and Pam were high school sweethearts and are celebrating their 40^th wedding anniversary.  We spent a few hours reminiscing about their wedding and reception and retelling stories about growing up together.  We’ve done it countless times before.  It never gets old. 

The purpose of my trip was the wedding of my sister’s grandson Jaden.  For whatever reason I have an affinity for him.  I had promised him last year at my daughter Molley’s wedding that I would come to his.  My four sisters were there, all of whom I love, two of whom I genuinely like, as were several nieces and nephews.  It’s hard to go beyond the surface niceties at a wedding, “How have you been?  What are you doing now?  Where are you living?”, but nonetheless it was a stimulating experience on several levels, and a reminder that I’m getting older.

So what’s the faith connection to all of this?  I’m not sure exactly, but here are some possibilities:

Sometimes friends are as close if not closer than family. 

Loving and forgiving your enemies can be the most challenging when they are family members and those who are closest to you.

God blesses us with incredible life experiences, some of which we’ll remember for our lifetimes, and invites us to cherish every  one of them.

Somehow, I believe that there is going to be a life after this one in which we are reunited not only with our earthly friends and family, but with our heavenly one as well.

I’ll have a chance to reflect more on it during the 15-hour drive home.  Maybe you’ll hear more about it in weeks to come.  But for now, I hear some of the family members stirring at the home of my niece Kelly, where I spent last night.  She has four lovely children with whom I get to go to church and spend part of this day.  I’m sure it will be memorable.