When I’m asked to write the Friday Log, you could almost bet I’ll talk about the preschool or music. Those are, after all, my two favorite topics when it comes to our beautiful church. This week I’m going to shock you, and instead I’d like to talk to you about death and the phrase “in memory of.”

I know that just took an alarming turn, but I needed to grab your attention. I am a deeply feeling person, and loss impacts me tremendously. I think it does most, but you know that friend or family member who sheds a single tear and seems to move on, or the one who’s silently devastated, and then the one who sobs uncontrollably at the silliest things, like a tube of orange-red lipstick left atop a vanity, patiently waiting for its owner to return and apply it carefully (because one should always dress the lips, according to my late grandmother). That last one is me. The feelings are deep and wide, if you will.

I have found myself contemplating the concept of doing things “in memory of.” A few weeks ago, I had an opportunity to share a story with some gal pals about a wonderful friend of mine, Stephanie, who tragically passed away eight years ago in a small plane crash. She was one of those people who was an angel on Earth, and her early passing feels like it might’ve been a call back home for her, while a deep loss for those of us left behind. When I run long road races, I often dedicate them to her. I know she’d be that friend on the sideline, yelling, “Go, Chels, go!”—wild and untamed in her joy and encouragement for another.

My grandmother passed in the fall of 2018 (yes, the very same year as my friend) and took a piece of me with her. With that, she also left me with the greatest gift: the challenge of living how I saw her live. She had that essence, that true joie de vivre, the kind that, after suffering so much personal tragedy in her own life, felt a little generous, in my opinion. We honor her memory in our home frequently, most often by making what we call Shirley bacon. It must be nearly burned to a crisp to be made properly.

When I visit the 9/11 Memorial, or each year when that day comes and goes, I sit with the stories of those who were lost that day. It’s a deeply harrowing place to be mentally, but it by no means compares to what they went through on that unassuming day 25 years ago. On the Sunday after the 25th anniversary, Pastor Jennie talked about a photograph of two people holding hands as they decided their fate rather than wait for it in the ash and embers behind them, and wondered aloud who they might’ve been to one another. At that moment, a friend reached behind her to grab my hand, and we both silently wept in the pew. I like to think we were honoring that couple’s memory by wondering about them, taking each other’s hands, and shedding tears for them.

And if you’re reflecting on your own “in memory of” moments, remember we share one together when we come to the table once a month to honor the memory of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Luke 22:19 (and 1 Corinthians 11:24-25) says:

“Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’”

So here is my point. If we do things in memory of others, what are we doing today that will shape the memories that come after we’re gone? Jesus lived knowing where He’d meet His ultimate earthly end. While we may not know our exact day, we know that we too shall leave this earthly plane at some point. What will our “in memory of” look like for others? It might not be for us to tell, as we each hold memories differently, but surely, it’s a guidepost for continuing to attempt to walk the path Jesus laid.

Sometimes I think of myself and what my “in memory” legacy might be. Do you? Maybe it’ll be your singing (good or bad, they’ll remember, eh?!), the garden you kept, or the way you showed up for people, even crossing state and country borders to be there for them. Maybe your legacy lies in a silent work of tending to the dead once they’ve passed, giving their loved ones one final glance at their mortal bodies, perfectly frozen in time. Or maybe your legacy will be loving work with preschoolers your entire life. Perhaps, with any luck, it’ll be something you’ve yet to do in this life, because hopefully we all get that long life we’ve been praying for, and we have time to establish many more memorable moments. For me, and at the rate I’m going, who knows what kind of hobbies and quirks I’ll amass in my third act (really praying I come around to that orange-red lipstick my grandma loved so much).

I do my best each day to live my life cognizant that someday I will be but a memory here on earth, and I keep that thought tucked in the back of my mind as I go about my life. Not in a painstaking way, but in a way that keeps my edges a little more rounded and my heart a little softer.

In every case where I’ve lost someone, all I am left with is the essence, the “in memory” phrase we’re talking about. When you lose someone, or even something, it’s as if a quick summary of who they were rushes in, quickly followed by a hole in your heart and on the earth, and there’s an unintentional filter applied to about 98% of their life. We’re just left with a feeling.

This is true of a place, too. Like our church. What overall feeling are we left with when we leave? If our church went away, what essence would it leave behind? Is it a place of love and acceptance of all? Is it a place that helps children feel welcome and included? Is it a place where we recognize the value of having four-, five-, seven-, and eleven-year-olds who recognize our campus as a home, a safe place?

And then how are we, in our human condition, adding to that essence or overall impression? Are we mimicking Jesus’ warm embrace when we welcome others? Are we singing His praises, loudly and proudly?

Our church just hosted Preschool Sunday and World Communion Sunday, a fitting pair if there ever was one. What a beautiful day to honor our Lord and Savior and the sacrifice He made, and to come to the table in His memory alongside so many young, impressionable families and children. Those little ones are learning what it means to remember, and someday they will carry the essence of this place and the people in it.

“One generation shall laud your works to another and shall declare your mighty acts.” Psalm 145:4

Lord, let us be a place worth remembering. Help us keep welcoming these little ones the way You welcomed them, and let what they remember of us be Your love. Amen.

And look at that, I made my way back to music and preschool.

In memory of Stephanie, Robyn, and Shirley,

​Chelsea Spits
Director of Children's Music
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Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. (1 Cor. 12:4-7)

“The Prairie Home Companion” was a long running, radio variety show that was hosted by master storyteller Garrison Keillor. The show’s central piece was a weekly report about the people and events of the fictional town of Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, known as “the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve.”

I can’t help but imagine Lake Wobegon was a lot like Roswell was 50 years ago, except with a lot more snow, a lot more Lutherans, and a lot less traffic.

Each week at the close of the show, Keillor signed off with his famous tag line: “THAT’S the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” 
It all sounds so idyllic. Who wouldn’t want to live in a place like Lake Webogon?

Whether we realize it or not, most of us do live in such a place. Studies have shown in cultures like ours that stress individualism, there is a tendency for people to over-estimate their abilities and achievements in comparison to others. In other words, we all tend to see ourselves as above average, a phenomenon is sometimes referred to as the Lake Wobegon Effect.

The good news is that as members of the body of Christ we ARE, in fact, all gifted, 100% of us! As Paul tells the Corinthians, “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.”

But this giftedness is NOT for our own success and aggrandizement; it’s for the upbuilding of God’s kingdom. The Holy Spirit gives each of us particular gifts to strengthen the body of Christ so that it can fulfill of its mission in the world.

“A demonstration of the Spirit is given to each person for the common good,” Paul said—not just to some but to ALL. The church needs everyone to be employing their gifts in ministry both inside and outside the walls of the church in order to impact the world for Christ.

We need…

• gifted guitarists and faithful choir members,
• inspiring teachers and committed youth counselors,
• prayer warriors and compassionate listeners
• technology wizards and creative videographers,
• good cooks and experienced builders…
• The list could go on and one.

No one is more valuable than another. ALL are essential to the church faithfully fulfilling its ministry. AND the offering of each and every gift by each one of us is cause for the church to celebrate.

See you this Sunday when we will celebrate at one combined service at 11 a.m. the gifts of our Northbrook Preschool and Teachers and gather at the Lord’s Table on World Communion Sunday as part of God’s gifted and sent people.

Rev. Jennifer Andone, Senior Pastor
P.S. Chad’s preaching!

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