A friend of mine died last week. A close friend. Mike. A man with whom, along with his wife, Evan and I spent a lot of time.

I was in the midst of putting together humorous readings for the church Cabaret when I got the call. Blessedly, I am not closely acquainted with death, personally, and wondered, after speaking with his wife and our Elkhart minister, and a quick call to Evan, just what I should do next. I wasn’t needed at home; his service won’t be for several weeks, and his wife was being well tended. So what was I to do?

Experiencing the death of a loved one takes practice, I thought wryly, at a loss. When does one tell people? How does one tell people? When is it appropriate to go on about one’s life? Continuing to work on humorous readings didn’t seem appropriate. Laughter didn’t seem appropriate, nor did those things I’d just been chuckling over now seem funny. Was lunch appropriate?

I knew what I would tell a parishioner: that whatever she decided she needed to do was the appropriate thing to do. If I needed to laugh, laughter was okay. If I needed to cry, that was okay too. If I needed to finish work on the Cabaret, and could do so, I should press ahead.

I went and told Thomas. He needed to know, and I needed his support. Then I participated in a three-hour long poverty simulation exercise, part of a national training workshop occurring throughout the week at our church. It was a rugged and revealing experience. Then I went to a Circles dinner with those same folks, and a number of people active in this effort from our church. At the end of the day, I felt bruised, battered, and fragile, but somehow more thickly ensconced in the bowels of life than I had been before.

Thursday I drove home and spent some time with his wife, Moxie. After the initial hugs and tears we sat down, at a loss for words. After a moment I said, "Well, we are both very different people than we were the last time we were together." Experiencing the death of a loved one does that. It changes us, just as their lives changed us.

Many of us here were similarly changed by the death last week of long time friend and church member Tony Tovatt. We were changed by his unique and powerful presence in our lives, and we are changed by his death. That is as it should be. We touch each other, we move each other, we change each other.

I will miss my friend, Mike. He was a tireless worker for the poor and a relentless teller of bad jokes; he would have approved of my participation in the poverty workshop and my work on the Cabaret.

He also was one of those guys who made the world seem safer just by his presence. I will miss him. And I wanted you to know.

Beth Lefever, Student Minister