On Sunday morning, an avalanche took the lives of two young and vibrant members of the Jackson Hole community, Luke Lynch and Stephen Adamson. Two others, Zahan Billimoria and Brook Yeomans narrowly escaped. Their families, friends and associates, and the entire community are stunned and grief stricken. St. John’s caring clergy, staff, and communicants have reached out to the families and offered our ongoing support.
Two of Luke’s three children attend Bright Beginnings Episcopal Preschool. His wife, Kathy, participated in our mission to Cuba and shared her story with worshipers after their return. Stephen represented several of our members in legal matters and was involved in civic causes with others. He leaves behind his wife Sara and their two children. All of their lives are woven into the fabric of the Jackson Hole community in so many ways.
When something like this happens, especially to people who are in the prime of life, we are compelled to ask, “Why?” The simple answer is that there are no simple answers. Pastors and theologians have struggled for generations to answer such questions and we are never quite satisfied with our efforts.
But we do have the profound promise that in death life is changed, not ended. There is more to life beyond the grave. That conviction is not a matter of logic or scientific fact, but a matter of trust in our Savior who promised, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19).
When I celebrate the Holy Eucharist in St. John’s Chapel, I lift the silver chalice and can read the inscription memorializing Robert McLeod, the son of Dr. Donald McLeod, who was killed in a snow slide in the Pass in 1946. It is a reminder that this is not the first time sliding snow has claimed the life of a beloved member of this community or visitors to it.
It won’t be the last time. It possibly could be if we played it safe from now on. But we won’t, because we can’t. The impulses to adventure, to explore, to pioneer, and to master the elements, were planted in humanity by our Creator in the beginning. The account of creation in the first chapter of Genesis tells it this way:
"God blessed them, and God said to them, 'Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth'" (Genesis 1:28).
I do not want to minimize the danger. But let us not forget that those uniquely human qualities and abilities that led those men up Mt. Moran are among the things that make us human and permit us to be partners with God in the ongoing process of creation. Every significant advance in human society has been accompanied by risks, natural obstacles, limitations, and failure of others who went before.
One of the contributions of the Judeo-Christian heritage is the assertion that the human creature is at the top of the order of creation and not subject to it. We don’t pray to the god of the wind, the god of the moon, or to an array of agricultural deities. Instead, we pray to the God who is above all gods, the Creator and Sovereign of the entire universe who created us for himself, loves us as the apple of his eye, and who has more in store for us when this life comes to an end, whether early or late. God gives us amazing resources with which to live this life to the fullest and to be stewards of this planet. Abundant life is God’s desire for all of us. And that is why in this life and in the life to come, our whole trust is in God alone, for he has promised to watch over us and provide for us no matter what. It is not answers so much as promises that give me a perspective on tragedies like this.
These reflections may not make it any easier. But I share them because I do believe the promises on which they are based to be true. When Episcopalians are faced with tragedies and crises, our response is prayer and action. This response is prompted by the Great Commandment, to love God and our neighbor with everything we have. So we pray for those who have died and for those who mourn, for in prayer we place our trust in God. And we surround those who mourn with our steadfast compassion and care because together God makes us stronger.
Father of all, we pray to you for those we love, but see no longer: Grant them your peace; let light perpetual shine upon them; and, in your loving wisdom and almighty power, work in them the good purpose of your perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Almighty God, look with pity upon the sorrows of your servants for whom we pray. Remember them, Lord, in your mercy; nourish them with patience; comfort them with a sense of your goodness; lift up your countenance upon them; and give them peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
I’ll see you in Church!
P.S. On Tuesday, May 26, at the conclusion of the memorial service for Luke Lynch, this song was sung a soloist with everybody joining in on the chorus. I thought it kind of echoed my thoughts about answers and promises, especially these lines,
So when there's music all around you and you just can't seem to hear
When the answer's just around the bend, but it never shows up clear,
And when there's darkness right above you, it's hard to know and understand,
But there's a heart out there that loves you, and there's a promise in your hands.
Click HERE to listen to "Spirit Song" by Bill Staines.
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