Written on July 11, 2008

[For the JULY 20, 2008 lectionary: Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43]

DON’T MESS WITH MR. IN-BETWEEN by Larry Patten

I read the obituaries.

My wife does Sudoku. Not me. I shudder at all those numbers. But my reading is not personal, it’s professional.

As someone who writes fiction, the “obits” are a treasure trove for names. People ask authors: where do you get those “made-up” names? Some names I blend and borrow from friends and family. Apparently one successful novelist holds a contest for a character’s name. Bid high, have your real name in a best-selling book, and all the money goes to charity. But I’ll claim the “obits.” There are always details present—at least a birth date—confirming that name was used fifty or ninety years ago.

As a minister the “obits” also represent a Plan B. Usually I knew when a parishioner died . . . but not always. Regardless of how well I visited folks (known as Plan A), I couldn’t read minds or see the future. Visiting Jane Doe last month never guaranteed I’d hear about her sudden heart attack two weeks later. Nor did it guarantee a family member would call the church to let anyone know.

Another variation of Plan B, if the “obit” contained details, was discovering a church member’s father or grandmother’s death. And that meant I could gently ask them about a grief they might never mention.

Nowadays, since I’m on leave-of-absence (but living in the same community where I’ve served churches) the “obits” provide second-hand information. I don’t want to interfere in my “old” congregation’s ministry. Let the current pastor be the here-and-now pastor. But still, I want to know. Sometimes I open the newspaper and weep.

Of course, sometimes I laugh.

Sometimes I know the person and a word or phrase was used that’s really a secret code. Maybe there’s a brief mention of John Smith’s Little League coaching experience. And the next line noted he was a Rotarian, a veteran, and so forth. But I know that John hated Little League and suffered through ten years of losing seasons because of how deeply he loved to spend time with his children. Mentioning Little League was always an inside family joke.

Sometimes I don’t know a person but wonder how could anyone be that perfect? Line after line is all about how great, respected, and unique he or she was.

But that’s just it. Obituaries, or eulogies at funerals, never ever tell the whole truth. It’s just the good stuff for public consumption.

In a recent writer’s workshop I attended, the group leader cautioned the participants: “For our critiques, please have two positive comments for each negative.” In other words, when I read my work-in-progress I’ll be given feedback that wasn’t all nasty. Having been in many critique groups over the years, negative criticism is the norm . . . and it can be invaluable. But John Updike or Toni Morrison could bring in their Pulitzer-prize winning material and most critique groups would hammer away at the crummy adverbs or underwritten characters. Wake up and smell the run-on sentences, Mr. Updike! Learn from your mistakes!

And yet there are no “mistakes” in an obituary.

And yet . . . I also understand. When a person dies—whether tragically young or after a long, lovely life—there are always regrets and failures. But, as Johnny Mercer’s old song goes:

You've got to accentuate the positive

Eliminate the negative

And latch on to the affirmative

Don't mess with Mister In-Between

And also make sure that everything in the “obit” makes perfect sense between the date of the birth and the death.

I think it’s like that with many of Jesus’ parables. Too often the Gospel writers include a summary that helps everything make sense. It’s all perfect! For example, in Matthew’s “sower sowing seeds” parable, the story has seven enigmatic verses about weeds growing in the midst of wheat. Among many interpretations, I believe that particular parable challenges us to see how unsettling life can be.

But those seven verses are followed by seven more verses that explain “everything.” Jesus’ demanding, perplexing parable was explained in easily understandable words. Disagree with me if you will—and you probably should!—but I think Jesus told many of his parables so that people would walk away scratching their heads. What did he mean? How does this apply to my life? Why does another see or hear those words differently than me?

But I believe the writers of the Gospels wanted to make the interpretation easy. This is bad, that is good. Do this, don’t do that. Or, quoting theologian Mercer, “don’t mess with Mr. In-Between.”

Our messy lives aren’t like that. Faith contains moments of joyous clarity and long stretches of slogging through marshlands of doubt and complacency.

No, the “obits” reveal little. Only the positive is accentuated. But once or twice a month, I read them and weep. And also laugh. Because I knew the person, and knew the hard truths, nagging failures, and simple beauties of their life.

Please God, deliver me from easily and safely summing things up.

in Peace,

Larry