memories, all alone in the moon light

I am sixty one now, memory of a life lived is as important to me as life yet to come. The word remember is full of power and yearning. I watch my father in law descend into the pit of dementia where there is no memory, only the present. It is painful to see him lose the remembrances of a rich and meaningful life. And it is the liturgical season of remembrance, Lent.
Driving home last night after teaching my class, the moonlight grew brighter as I drove into the darkness of the countryside, leaving the reflected light of our city behind. Everything familiar was transformed, frosted with a light that softened the hard edges revealing a different reality by moonlight. Memory is a moon lit walk that can both remind us of our past and show us the way of our future.
In Barack Obama’s voice I hear echoes of Martin Luther King and John Kennedy. Hillary Clinton speaks and I hear Bobby Kennedy speaking . John McCain’s voice awakens the memory of his voice when he returned to our country after years spent in a Viet Nam prison. Our past in this country and our future are connected in ways we can not always name. New faces and voices come. Those of us who remember, who were there, carry a reservoir of feelings and experiences that can only be accepted on faith by those who were not yet born.
I am a member of a church that has changed drastically in the past five years. We have moved twice, membership has been a revolving door of those leaving and those coming. We do not look or feel like the community we once were. Our worship is different and we are not yet fully staffed to meet the needs of our growing congregation. Many of the folks I loved when I came to this community are gone now and with their leaving, we have lost much of our institutional memory. John Gatling died and with him died his fervent desire for our community to provide services for the children in our city. Virginia Long is no longer able to attend worship. Many other of our older women have died, are in ill health or moved away. We no longer have our widow’s row that was renamed wisdom row. Only Dorothy Smart, Henry’s wife and widow, remains as a reminder of the depth of memory that once graced those pews. Some of the young families that were a part of our beginning again have moved to other churches. Ted Schoonmaker died and Hazel moved to be with her children. Their humor and grace filled presence are remembered by those of us who knew them. For all the richness and possibilities of the new, we are the poorer for the loss of our memories.
I can’t help but wonder if this is how the disciples felt after Jesus death and resurrection. How can I be the memory bearer for those who never knew what came before? Is there any way I can tell the old story so that those who are new can taste the tears and feel the joy of those days long ago? Does the old story matter at all in light of a changed community? How can Jesus and Ted and John and Virginia and Henry be remembered not just for their presence among us, but for the meaning they gave and continue to give to our lives? How can the rich past of my Baptist heritage be remembered for the patchwork quilt it was and not the angry, tattered and torn coverlet it became? I still hear Grady’s giggle and Carlyle Marney’s growl and Claypool’s benediction and feel Mr. Coody’s gentle pat and Brother Kannon’s handshake. Can I remember, give thanks, hold fast to all that was true without settling in the land of once upon a time?
The early church began to remember by observing the last supper Jesus shared with the disciples. It became a universal ritual shared by all Christendom that jogs our memory, reminds us to whom we belong, reminds us where we came from and calls us to our future. Ritual... a power full ceremony that puts us in community with our past, present and future. This Lenten season I will spend time remembering those in my life who have been Christ bearers for me. I will call their names, remember their lives as gifts to me, give thanks for their presence in the world and in my life. I remember so many now, many no longer in the land of the living, many still here. They are an honor guard in my life, those who stand and call my attention to the movement of the Spirit, the brotherly love of Jesus and the encompassing availability of God. I am grateful for memories in the moonlight, memories of the past and memories not yet made. Thanks be to God.