On Thursday morning Scott Becker died. He was my former associate pastor at my church in Seattle, Sunday school teacher at our church in Los Angeles, a scholar and colleague of mine at Fuller, a fellow musician of the worship team, and most importantly, he was my friend. Over the last several days I have poured myself and my grief into preparations for his memorial service that was held yesterday, but today the world feels more empty as I sit and absorb the real depths of both our loss as a community, as well as my own loss.
Scott had been a rock for me, ever since I first met him in 2001. His incredible ability to think through faith, grace, justice, and Christian ethics always challenged me in my own faith. He was one of the first people in my life that showed me how to think critically and with a keen balance between grace and truth. He was one of the church's most honest critics, but he always spoke with humility and spoke with the intent of helping others to grow closer to God. His progressive ideas and mind challenged me and inspired me as he demonstrated what it meant to live in the tensions of life. He did that better than anyone I know; as long as I've known him, he's never tried to underplay what that looks like, something I even observed in his last emails to me just two weeks ago while I was in Africa. Scott's faith- seen in his heart, actions, and sharp mind- have left a mark on my own life. I am grateful to have known him these last six years, and even more blessed to have been so close to Scott and Karla over the last two years here in Pasadena. I hate that I have to speak about Scott in the past tense and I hate that the dangerous Porter/Becker combo will never grace a worship platform again. I hate that I didn't get to see him one last time since I've been back in the country and I hate that I will never be able to seek his advice again. Nevertheless, it brings me deep joy to know that he'll never have to go through another round of chemotherapy again. His pain has been abolished and although ours begins as we say goodbye to our dear friend, I know the Lord is present in that pain.
"For a few hours after coming home, I had this strange feeling of being divided against myself, going about tasks around the condo, looking and moving as I normally would, and feeling as if something inside me was screaming to be heard. I guess that's exactly it. Being in the chair for two hours of chemo treatment calls forth someone inside me that I haven't listened to much over the last month, the person who badly, badly does not want to die. Along with the side of me who really is at peace and finding unexpected joy in the midst of this situation is another side wounded by the knowledge that there is no someday after I'm all done with treatments, no more hikes up Nevada Falls, no more bike rides up Whidbey Island, no more vacations with Karla. I can't allow this to be the voice that determines how I live out the time God gives me, but if I ignore it, it might at some point explode with a force that tears me apart. I have to listen to it, to hurt with it. Perhaps there's a way to make peace between the two sides; I can't really say that I've done so yet."- Scott Becker, December 21, 2006
http://aufhebung1.blogspot.com/
Scott, we miss you.
1 comment:
Amen to everything you said. Scott was truly one of a kind and he will be missed greatly. I too am thankful for having known him and for the ways he challenged me in my spirituality , comforted me in my time of need and inspired me to find peace with myself and God.
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