On the Cross My Debt was Paid

“No words.”

I hear this phrase every so often, usually in the wake of a surreal or sad situation. Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you it’s not a phrase I use with any regularity. I have never been short on words–this upcoming long blog giving evidence to that. They have always been quickly available in my emotional pocket and are often found swimming, churning, twirling and linking themselves together in my mind, sometimes to my complete distraction.

I won my first writing competition in sixth grade and over the following 44 years have found myself in multiple positions that require speaking and writing. From sitting at the breakfast table as an 11-year-old and reading the Wheaties box like a newscaster, to standing in the front of a fifth grade classroom, to spending months preparing for hour-long presentations for women’s groups, my reasons for using words has run the gamut. I would feel lost without this easy relationship with and appreciation for this wonderful tool called ‘words.’

But, recently, I’ve found myself with ‘no words.’ And this has felt very peculiar, indeed.

My 90-year-old dad died on April 30th, in the middle of my 5-hour trip to visit him for the weekend. Knowing that his death was imminent, I predicted the occasion would spur in me some deep emotions that would eventually work their way out of my mind into thought-filled, pining sentences that would capture my sadness and put a frame around the stellar life of the best man I’ve known and how his absence would affect me. But, three weeks later, no such sentences had accumulated. Three weeks later and I had still not been moved to compassionately describe the loss of my dear loved one. For me, very odd.

Until today.

I realized in full force, while designing a greeting card to honor Dad’s memory, that I’m not sad. And I’m not affected by Dad’s absence. It was his presence and perpetual, focused message, lived out in both his words and deeds, that has and will continue to affect me.

Like an admiral of a ship, charged with sailing in one direction and completing one central mission, my dad fulfilled his most important mission–pointing me to the Cross. Throughout my life, no matter our proximity, he prayed for me to remain in the faith and to regard the two wooden beams of Calvary as my most treasured possessions. Always having lived more life than I, he also knew that family, fame, success and health would draw my attention away from these two wooden beams. Yet, without preaching, assigning guilt, or portraying a hint of self-righteousness, he simply continued pointing me to the cross, with Bible passages at the end of his emails, and a devotional life that would be hard to replicate.

BACKGROUND

Choosing a background for this special sympathy card was simple. It had to be a cross. When I found this one I stopped scrolling. The elements of this photo captured me. It is far from glorious and beautiful, and blessedly devoid of rays of sunshine and Easter lilies at its base. In fact, it was the pre-construction phase of the beams that drew me in. Growing up in a Lutheran church, I have always seen the cross constructed, upright and empty, signifying Christ having died and risen from the dead.

This particular cross, however, brings to mind Christ’s life–the cross awaiting Him–while he preached, healed, taught, cared for and lived without sin for everyone that would ever be born. It’s likely that, with crucifixion being the punishment of the day, there was a storage area with cross posts and beams at-the-ready, equipped with a drawstring bag of the appropriate number of spikes. If there was such an area, Christ knew about it and also knew exactly which beams would be his. But that didn’t deter him from his one, central mission–pointing people’s hearts toward Him.

HYMN VERSE

Choosing a hymn verse was simple, too. Dad chose select verses from “Like the Golden Sun Ascending” as the first hymn for his funeral. Verse 5, displayed on this card, is one of the most beautiful expressions of Law and Gospel that I’ve run across in a hymn. Its simple message is akin to the Law and Gospel passage, “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus.” Straight to the point, with no wasted words. This hymn verse achieves the same end with powerful doctrinal brevity.

FONT

This was the tricky task. And, it often is. I played around with so many different fonts until I landed on this one that immediately paired with the rustic nature of the beams. Christ’s work for us is all in CAPS. Any mention of ‘me’ is in small case letters. And the script font is nearly an exact copy of my Dad’s handwriting–heartwarmingly illegible. I might be dinged for it by someone else’s artistic eye, but I went with the font anyway for its imperfect, human quality that pairs well with the messages it conveys.

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Dad was buried in a simple oak casket, lovingly constructed by the Trappist Monks from the New Melleray Abbey near Dubuque, IA. He had a choice to have a cross engraved on the top panel or not. He didn’t bat an eyelash over the extra expense. He would have a cross.

Life goes on now, even though it’s still a little surreal to have had both of my parents taken to their eternal home. My period of ‘no words’ is over. I’ll cherish the memories of both my mother and father who so lovingly exampled for me what it looked like to live a Christ-centered life.

If you never met him, today’s new card sums up my dad pretty well.

Blessed be his memory.