I have been thinking about death lately. Not necessarily being dead, but dying. That sacred moment of transferred reality. The inevitable moment that each of us approaches each day.
REFLECTIONS ON DYING
I am no expert on this subject, though I don’t imagine one could find many who truly are. Nonetheless, I find my thoughts occupied by notions of what it is to die. In some moments, I find dying to be a grand adventure, a sort of stairway to immortality. In others, it appears quite like loss of ability to hear music or distinguish colors. Most often, though, I regard it as being a sort of leaving home or finishing a book.
I recently learned that a man I loved very much, Loren Baker, had taken his own life. It didn’t feel like leaving home or finishing a book. It felt like my home had burned down around me and my book had been torn from my hands. In the aftermath of Loren’s death, my greatest struggle is reconciling the tragedy and violence of his death with the beauty and grace of his life.
MEETING LOREN BAKER
I met Loren on my very first day of college in the fall of 2005. It was a Wednesday night. The class was first-year seminar. From my point of view, Loren will always be the welcoming, Mr. Rogers-like face of the Biola art department. The warmest laugh, the snarkiest wit, the most disarming smile. Today, however, all these lovely memories of Loren seem to be under threat of tarnishing in lieu of his tragic demise.
I’ve come to realize that death forces us to decide who and what a person is. Death helps us forget a person’s shortcomings and celebrate their best attributes. As Christ-followers, made in the image of God and redeemed by Christ’s death, it is fitting to celebrate the good in a person after they have passed. For in their death, they are made perfect, fully restored and seated with Jesus in paradise.
In light of this, Loren’s struggles are difficult to overlook as we celebrate his life. And perhaps there is something right about that. The temptation for us as humans is to either see Loren’s life as ultimately tragic, ignoring and perhaps even discounting the wonderful, life-changing work he did or, conversely, ignoring the reality of the darkness that finally overtook him.
FULLY REDEEMED
The truth about Loren Baker is not easy. This is not a happy ending. It is tragic, and I pray I never, ever minimize the gravity of this tragedy. The reality is that Loren reflects clearly and painfully the paradox of being human — made in the image of God, but plagued by the darkness of this world.
The good news is that Loren is with Jesus now. He has been fully redeemed. He will never again know pain. He will never again know fear. He will never again know loneliness. Let us remember that this story is much bigger and much more complex than we as humans can understand. As Christ-followers, we grieve the loss of God’s gift of life, though not without hope in his promise of redemption. Loren Baker’s is not a happy ending. It is not happy at all, but neither is it an ending. And that truth, dear friends, fills me with hope.
