I listened to a dead man speak today.
He spoke words of wisdom. He spoke about many things. He spoke about suffering.
He spoke about how bad things don't happen because "they were meant to happen", as if everything happens for a reason. No, bad things aren't meant to happen, said the dead man. But they do. Like when this dead man was living and he decided to go paddling out in the sea but didn't follow safety precautions. I wish he had. It wasn't meant to happen.
I watched as this dead man shared Holy Communion with the church he pastored. He shared this meal in a way I have never seen, but a way that looked so right. He challeneged ideas of silver cups and an individual approach to this sacrament. He showed how it is meant to be about family. He said we are meant to do this together, putting our arms around those that are hurting, those that are broken.
Broken.
He said Jesus said: we are all broken. The Bible says Jesus once took bread and said "this is my body, broken...". The dead man explained that the bread is not just Jesus, it is us, the body of Christ, the Church. And we are broken.
He said the church is broken. He said that is the point.
A man once said of this dead man, that what was significant about him when he was living was not so much what he said, but that he said it. I am so glad, so glad, I got to hear him say it again.
Love.
If I dead man can have so much influence on a living man, how much more influence can a living man like me have.
I miss this dead man. I miss him being alive. I miss Barry Marshall.
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