Luke’s Story

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Journal entry by Beth Childs

For those who were unable to come to Luke’s service yesterday, this is the message delivered by our pastor, Scott Gilliland, and the eulogy I wrote for Luke:

Today, we 

One interesting note about the Scripture passage for us today: Beth and I both felt led to this text independently of one another. Out of all the thousands upon thousands of verses in the Bible, these are the two we each somehow found. Whether or not you believe in the Holy Spirit, I think we can trust that these words were meant to be heard today:

Ruth 1:16-17
16 But Ruth said,
“Do not press me to leave you
    or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
    where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
    and your God my God.
17 Where you die, I will die—
    there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me,
    and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

We are here today, because of a little boy named Luke Childs.

That might sound like an obvious statement, but it’s an important acknowledgement today, because the reality is, I don’t know the fullness of why each of us has come to this place this morning.

Some of us are here because you are part of the Childs family. Luke was your son, your brother, your nephew, your grandson, your cousin, and he filled each of those roles as best as any boy ever could. 

Some of us are here because you are that “family-we-choose” group of friends. The late-night backyard crew, the coven, the sisters and brothers that Beth and Derek couldn’t live without, the ones who would take Jacob and June into their homes in a heartbeat (and likely fight over it).

Some of us are here because you are part of our church family, and you’ve cooked meals and prayed prayers and done whatever you could to live into the promises we make when we say we belong to each other as the body of Christ.

Some of us are here because you are part of the larger community, the pockets of family we find throughout our life, in school and sports teams and coworkers and clients and maybe you knew Luke, or maybe you just love someone who loved him desperately, and so you are here to bear witness to that love.

I imagine many of us are here holding our anger and our questions, angry with cancer, angry with God, looking for answers or simply wanting to scream. As a pastor and person of faith, I’m holding the same anger and questions as you.

Some of us are here looking for hope, some of us are here looking only to lament, some of us are here to find comfort in belief, some of us are here with no expectations that faith can help in a time like this, some of us are here to sing, and some of us are here needing silence.

I don’t know the fullness of why each of us are here this morning, but the one thing I know without doubt is this: We are here today, because of a little boy named Luke.

And today, that is enough.

The book of Ruth is a story about a woman who, in the midst of deep grief, chooses to love in a way that invites the pain and the joy that find us when we find “our people.”

Ruth is a Moabite woman who marries into a Hebrew family. The opening of the story tells us that her father-in-law, her husband, and her brother-in-law all die, so that only Ruth, her sister-in-law Orpah, and her mother-in-law Naomi remain. Naomi tells Ruth and Orpah to leave her, knowing that their best chance in life as young widows in those days would be to remarry and have families of their own. At first both of them protest, but eventually Orpah listens to Naomi and follows her advice. But Ruth, the text tells us, instead “clings to” Naomi.

It is here in the story that we find the passage read a moment ago, a passage commonly read at weddings, but rather than a covenant made between spouses, here it is a covenant made between widows of two different families and two different tribes, a covenant born beyond reason and only of love:

“Do not press me to leave you
    or to turn back from following you!
Where you go, I will go;
    where you lodge, I will lodge;
your people shall be my people,
    and your God my God.
17 Where you die, I will die—
    there will I be buried.
May the Lord do thus and so to me,
    and more as well,
if even death parts me from you!”

The kind of covenant that Ruth makes here is echoed by the pen of the Apostle Paul when he writes: “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God.” The love that Ruth professes to a woman whom she has every reason to run from, this love is quite literally divine.

It’s a love that perhaps can only be born from a place of deep grief, the kind of grief that each of us feels in different ways today, the kind of deep grief that has stared all of the evil that death has to offer in the eyes and still cries out, even so I still choose love.

Ruth’s story continues beyond chapter one, as you might imagine. Eventually Naomi helps Ruth to find a husband, a partner, worthy of the kind of love that Ruth is willing to offer. It’s a story of how through choosing her family in Naomi by a covenant of love, Ruth discovers her family in the redemptive love of God.

I believe that Luke is held in this moment by that same redemptive love of God, that he has been restored and renewed, that resurrection has liberated him from cancer and chemo. I also believe that the redemptive love of God is not just for Luke, resurrection is not reserved for those who have died. Because I believe in the faith of Ruth, and I believe in what the love of Luke has made evident today.

Take a moment to look at someone near you. Maybe you attended together, maybe you were strangers until just now. If you feel comfortable or able, hold their hand in yours or simply hold their gaze for a moment.

So many people feel alone in this world, we may feel incredibly alone in this moment. As widows, Ruth and Naomi knew this feeling all too well, and they found redemption in sharing love with one other person. And then another. And then another. Again and again.

The love of Ruth is the love of Christ is the love of Luke is the love that I pray we take comfort in, draw strength from, find hope in, and step forward holding. A love that holds a neighbor’s hand and calls them family. A love that looks into the stranger’s eye and sees a sibling. A love that refuses to let death separate love from our life, and so we choose each other as Ruth chooses Naomi, again, and again, and again.

I don’t have many answers today, but I do know what resurrection looks like as we grieve, and continue to grieve, Luke in this life.

Resurrection is the living protest that says, “not even death can separate us from love, us from God, and us from each other.”

Resurrection is the way each of us will leave this place committed to a covenant like Ruth, a promise made to our family and the families we choose, an undying bond that trusts through choosing each other, choosing the pain, choosing the joy, choosing the tears and the laughter and the late-nights and the complications and the unanswered prayers and the beautiful burden of it all, what we really choose is love that lives eternal.

We are all here for different reasons, and we are all here for a little boy named Luke. I pray we leave here prepared to live as a witness to what this kind of love, a Ruth and Jesus and Luke kind of Love, can do in the world.

In closing, as we consider what it means to choose love and each other in the Spirit of Luke, I offer this eulogy written by Luke’s mother, Beth.

"Losing Luke makes no sense. I have read many passages and books in an effort to cope and make sense of this senselessness, tragedy, and loss. I came across this passage by Rabbi Steven Leder that has helped me realize a way I can honor and remember Luke.

'Was she kind? Then let us be kinder. Was he strong?  Let us be stronger.  Was she generous? Let us give more. Was he forgiving? Then let us forgive. Was she Courageous? Let us find courage and not be afraid. Did he love laughter? Then let’s lighten up. Did she reach out to help?  Do we?  If death gives meaning and purpose to life, which of course it does, then the expression of meaning is crystallized in a simple yet profound idea. We should live as good ancestors.'

If we can remember and live the way Luke lived, I believe we can live in a better world. Luke possessed a joy, a lightness of heart, and bravery that we could all learn from, even in his short six years.

Luke loved music, dancing and singing. If a good song with a catchy beat came on, Luke could not help himself but start dancing or singing. Even when his body was full of cancer and he did not have any energy, he would find a way to dance with his fingers, or sing along to the tune. Let us be like Luke and seize the opportunity of bringing more joy into the world by singing and dancing.

Luke had an incredible lightness and presence of heart. Through his entire diagnosis, treatment, transplant, and relapse, he was never worried about the outcome. Rather, he lived in the present where he could enjoy his family, his food, his toys, or his shows. He laughed easily and found joy in the darkest moments. His attitude made the last year of his life a pretty good year, considering the battle he was fighting. I was always surprised to hear him bark out a laugh at a somewhat funny part of a show. During his time at home on hospice, he was not concerned about what would happen next with his sickness, but finding and accumulating more gemstones for his gemstone collection or picking the next cool Lego to build. Let us be like Luke and find joy and light in the dark. Let us be present and enjoy the life we are living in the present.

Luke was brave. I believe that is why he was able to endure his last year of life with so much joy and contentment. He had faith that his family and medical team would keep him safe and comfortable so he could pursue what brought him joy instead of worrying over himself. Any time he had to do something scary or hard in the hospital (a poke, a dressing change, a surgery) he faced it with stoicism and grace. Because I was witness to many children going through similar challenges, I know that Luke was very unique in how he bravely faced his trials. I don’t know where he got his bravery from but he was easily the most courageous kid I have ever known. Let us be like Luke. Let us confront adversity and injustices like Luke confronted adversity and injustices. 

When Luke relapsed and I knew the likelihood of him surviving was very low, I was crying, and he asked me “what’s wrong, mom?” I told him the cancer is back and I am so sad, and he said very nonchalantly 'That’s fine, we're just going to fight it.' What a remarkable child. I am a better human for knowing and loving him for six years. My hope is that we all live our lives like Luke lived his.”

Amen.


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