Sometimes things happen in such a sequence that I can’t believe it’s just a coincidence.
Just the other night I was in Colerain for Springboro’s football playoff game. When the game was over, I was struck by a brief gathering of the team members who make up the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, a totally voluntary association. They were praying near midfield, celebrating life and all that goes with it, even though the Panthers had lost the game. It was their way of saying God is God, even when things don’t turn out so well.
I thought to myself as I took a photograph, “I needed to see that.”
Sometimes I view God as a vending machine. Sure, I’ll put my dollar in. Okay, I’ll show my faith. I just want to see something in return.
I was reminded my view is a limited view. I don't always see the big picture.
But then, not twenty-four hours later, Springboro was rocked by the news that one of its former student-athletes, a great kid by the name of Michael Tepe, had been killed in an automobile accident in Cincinnati. This was an awful shock, and for two days there were tributes and condolences shared all over town and here on Facebook, letting Michael and his family know how much he was loved.
A funeral is planned for Friday evening. On a night and hour when young people should be socializing and going out on the town, young Michael will be memorialized. I feel so badly for his family and his close friends.
This seems so unfair to me. Why should anyone lose his life while so young? If there is a Grand Plan, how could something so tragic possibly bring about anything that is good?
I was inclined to go right back to the vending machine. After all, I live each day in the legal world, where facts and evidence rule, not faith.
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the night we had my dad’s funeral. For hours that evening there were people lined up – out the door even – and then 300 people stuck around for the service. My dad came from a humble beginning and worked hard for everything he had. If life can be compared to Notre Dame football, my dad was “Rudy.”
I have hoped and believed he left this world for a better one. But we don’t know for sure, do we? Maybe this world is all there is, and when we leave it, that’s it.
We’re left to faith, and faith can very often be a roller-coaster, especially when bad things happen to good people.
So let me connect all of this.
Tonight I’ve been reading a book that just came out yesterday. Mitch Albom is the guy who wrote “Tuesdays With Morrie” several years ago, and since then he has written some other inspiring and thought-provoking novels.
But he’s clearly outdone himself this time, at least with me, especially right now. The new one is called “The First Phone Call From Heaven” and in it, some people in a small town in Michigan are shocked to answer their Samsung cell phones to hear the very real and very much alive voices of loved ones they lost a long time ago.
They are in heaven, where everything is love. There is peace and harmony and family reunions, and no one there has a single care in the world. Talk about comforting. This book is unbelievable.
The end is not the end. No matter when or how or why our life here comes to an end, that end is actually just a new beginning.
Like what I witnessed with the Springboro football team the other night, there is room for faith and worship, even when we think things don’t turn out so well.
I thought to myself as I temporarily put the book down, “I needed to read that.”
Thanks, Mitch. Thanks, Dad. And thank you, Springboro football.
Faith really is like a vending machine, but a much bigger and better vending machine than I can imagine. I put in a dollar. And, whether I always realize it or not, I get more than I ever asked for in return.
Just the other night I was in Colerain for Springboro’s football playoff game. When the game was over, I was struck by a brief gathering of the team members who make up the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, a totally voluntary association. They were praying near midfield, celebrating life and all that goes with it, even though the Panthers had lost the game. It was their way of saying God is God, even when things don’t turn out so well.
I thought to myself as I took a photograph, “I needed to see that.”
Sometimes I view God as a vending machine. Sure, I’ll put my dollar in. Okay, I’ll show my faith. I just want to see something in return.
I was reminded my view is a limited view. I don't always see the big picture.
But then, not twenty-four hours later, Springboro was rocked by the news that one of its former student-athletes, a great kid by the name of Michael Tepe, had been killed in an automobile accident in Cincinnati. This was an awful shock, and for two days there were tributes and condolences shared all over town and here on Facebook, letting Michael and his family know how much he was loved.
A funeral is planned for Friday evening. On a night and hour when young people should be socializing and going out on the town, young Michael will be memorialized. I feel so badly for his family and his close friends.
This seems so unfair to me. Why should anyone lose his life while so young? If there is a Grand Plan, how could something so tragic possibly bring about anything that is good?
I was inclined to go right back to the vending machine. After all, I live each day in the legal world, where facts and evidence rule, not faith.
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the night we had my dad’s funeral. For hours that evening there were people lined up – out the door even – and then 300 people stuck around for the service. My dad came from a humble beginning and worked hard for everything he had. If life can be compared to Notre Dame football, my dad was “Rudy.”
I have hoped and believed he left this world for a better one. But we don’t know for sure, do we? Maybe this world is all there is, and when we leave it, that’s it.
We’re left to faith, and faith can very often be a roller-coaster, especially when bad things happen to good people.
So let me connect all of this.
Tonight I’ve been reading a book that just came out yesterday. Mitch Albom is the guy who wrote “Tuesdays With Morrie” several years ago, and since then he has written some other inspiring and thought-provoking novels.
But he’s clearly outdone himself this time, at least with me, especially right now. The new one is called “The First Phone Call From Heaven” and in it, some people in a small town in Michigan are shocked to answer their Samsung cell phones to hear the very real and very much alive voices of loved ones they lost a long time ago.
They are in heaven, where everything is love. There is peace and harmony and family reunions, and no one there has a single care in the world. Talk about comforting. This book is unbelievable.
The end is not the end. No matter when or how or why our life here comes to an end, that end is actually just a new beginning.
Like what I witnessed with the Springboro football team the other night, there is room for faith and worship, even when we think things don’t turn out so well.
I thought to myself as I temporarily put the book down, “I needed to read that.”
Thanks, Mitch. Thanks, Dad. And thank you, Springboro football.
Faith really is like a vending machine, but a much bigger and better vending machine than I can imagine. I put in a dollar. And, whether I always realize it or not, I get more than I ever asked for in return.