Winging It

Today's column for the church bulletin, based on our Gospel reading from Luke 20:27: 2

Some of the Sadducees, who say there is no resurrection, came to Jesus with a question. “Teacher,” they said, “Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies and leaves a wife but no children, the man must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother. Now there were seven brothers. The first one married a woman and died childless. The second and then the third married her, and in the same way the seven died, leaving no children. Finally, the woman died too. Now then, at the resurrection whose wife will she be, since the seven were married to her?”

Calling all angels

My first thought after reading today’s Gospel passage is thank goodness we don’t live in Biblical times. That story about that widow who outlived those seven brothers? What if it was the other way around and the man was the widow who had to remarry and remarry and so on and so on? I can’t imagine my husband would follow the law if he was forced to marry the seven sisters in my family. Uhm, no.

I used to tell him how lucky he was that he got the “normal” one. That argument doesn’t carry as much weight anymore. Not sure why. He says I’m an angel – always up in the air, harping about something.

Full disclosure: He’s a wonderful man. I just don’t always get his sense of humor!

Thankfully, we can find comfort in knowing that God isn’t going to judge us as a married versus non-married person. Or as a harping wife versus a loving wife. Those who have gone before us “are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection.”

Last Sunday, when we lit candles for the loved ones we’ve lost this past year, we considered them saints. Maybe they didn’t live perfect lives. Maybe they were far from perfect individuals. But we know in our hearts that they are saints. They are loved children of God. And they are in the arms of the angels.

We still cry when we think of them because we miss them. We miss the light they brought in our lives. A light that could outshine those little candles a hundredfold.

Thanks, God, for keep their light. For holding them in Your tender care until we see them again.

Thanks, too, for being my wing man when this angel’s harp gets a little out of tune.