For me, this was far from a non-descript Synod Assembly. This gathering of people represented the Body of the risen Christ when I desperately needed to hear the words of resurrection hope and promise.
What led to this revelation? On June 2nd, I was on my way to Reno, NV with one of my pastoral colleagues (who also happens to be one of my good friends from seminary). We decided to drive from the Bay Area to Reno to have the freedom of mobility in case we wanted to explore Reno in our free time (and honestly, to have a car to have absolute control to leave Reno as soon as we were able... no offense to Reno, we just really like being at our homes). We also had to depart a day early from the Bay Area since we were both attending the Synod Council meeting that preceded Assembly.
We were joking in the car that we had a bag of grapes, a pack of Mentos, and a bottle of water between us, and that hopefully we wouldn’t be stuck in the infamous Donner Pass and have to resort to the cannibalism of days past. We were listening to satellite radio and I was singing my heart out to many a 1980s hair ballad. The trip was off to an uneventful start, but that changed in the high Sierras. It was in that infamous Donner Pass that I received the phone call that I had been dreading; my spouse, who was keeping vigil at his father’s deathbed, called to let me know that the hour had finally come. His dad slipped from this side of the eschaton to the other.
My spouse is a calm and collected man, and at the same time, quite loving and caring. He is also very close to his parents and his older sister. When I heard his voice on the phone, it was a voice from him I never heard; if there was ever a time that I could audibly describe what ashes and sackcloth sounded like, it was deeply entrenched in my spouse’s sobs and lamentations that day.
Because we were in Donner Pass, I lost reception on my cell phone. I looked at my friend driving the car, and about a million thoughts filled my mind to the brim. I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know how to feel; honestly, I was emotionally and psychologically preparing myself for the anniversary of my own father’s death which was going to happen the next day, the first day of Assembly. I wasn’t prepared to hear of my father-in-law’s death. Even though I had left St. Louis days before saying what was my final farewell to my father-in-law, I had tricked myself. I had somehow entered into the land of denial. I had convinced myself that there should have been more time.
I burst into tears and started yelling obscenities, especially the one that starts with the letter “f” and ends with the letter “k”. I yelled that word repeatedly as my friend drove down the Sierras and closer to Reno. I then started to laugh and cry simultaneously, convinced that I was going insane and that the circumstances of the timing of deaths in my life as of late have been eerily tied to regional and national church functions. My father went into a coma when I was in Sacramento at Synod Assembly the previous year; I left Assembly early to fly cross-country and made it to his deathbed in time. While working at the National Youth Gathering in Detroit a month and a half after my father’s death, my spouse’s aunt died. Upon my return from the Youth Gathering, my spouse and I were on a plane days later to attend the funeral in Illinois. And now this year’s Synod Assembly was marked with the death of my father-in-law.
I texted the Assistant to my bishop since cell phone reception was still spotty. When my friend and I arrived in Reno, I was half out of my mind and in a daze. I somehow functioned enough to get everything out of my car and check into the hotel. I was met at the hotel’s reception desk by my synodical bishop, who heard the news of my father-in-law’s death from the Assistant to the Bishop. They were both aware that the anniversary of my own father’s death would be the next day. He asked if there was anything he or the synod could help with; I told him that I had no idea, that I knew I needed to leave for St. Louis but I just didn’t know when. I somehow sat through the Synod Council meeting later that afternoon; honestly, I was still in denial. I thought I could lead a totally normal existence for an afternoon in a Council meeting, but as the afternoon crossed into evening, I knew where my heart was and where I physically needed to be. I booked my flight to leave Reno Friday afternoon with hopes of reaching St. Louis in the unholy early morning hours of Saturday.
There were many things I was supposed to do at this Synod Assembly. I was supposed to introduce a video made at the 60th anniversary of the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women to the greater assembly. I was supposed to present a workshop about intersectionality through the lens of the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women. I was supposed to toast my dad and smoke a cigar with a company of good friends. I was supposed to vote on synod business. I wanted to encourage discussions on #decolonizeLutheranism.
Schedules were rearranged and I was given the opportunity to give my report to the greater assembly on the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women. As I approached the dais to give my report, one of the assembly chaplains (a pastor I respect and enjoyed working with in my previous call) was called up as well. After I gave my report, after the video was shown, the bishop told the assembly that I stayed to give the report but was headed to the airport to be with my spouse and his family to grieve together. The assembly sent me off in prayer, the prayer that I experience resurrection hope in the midst of grieving. Prayers for traveling mercies. Prayers for peace and love. To be sent off with the assembly’s prayers was both humbling and powerful.
To profess the resurrection of Christ crucified... this is the business of the church, and I experienced that fully during my short time at Synod Assembly.
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