Grandma's Dress

I have very fond memories of my Grandma and Grandpa Steckle. Their presence in my life was such a gift to me that it is hard to put into words my appreciation for their presence in my life. But my grandparents lived life very different from how I was being raised. They were Old Order Mennonites who lived their whole lives separated from the world where I lived. They chose that particular life, because they thought that that was they way the needed to follow Jesus. They lived their lives yielded to Christ's path and that submission to God's way was symbolized by the very clothes that they wore.

When I think of my grandma, I think of the dark, plain, buttonless dresses that she wore. Each dress was the same as the last. The only differences among those dresses were the colours. Those dresses may have been black, brown or navy but they were always long sleeved. There was never a puff in that sleeve and the fabric never had a pattern or texture that would draw unneeded attention to the dress. It was a serviceable outfit, but to me, the sound of that skirt swishing was music to my ears. Whenever my grandmother made dinner, took care of her plants or got out the guest book for me to sign, that skirt rustled. My grandmother and her type were always a source of wonder for the many tourists who came from all over to visit that area so that they could get a good look at people who dressed so differently. But for me, my grandma and her dress were intricately connected.

One of the saddest times of my life was the week that my grandparents died. My grandfather died first and I was unable to make it home for his funeral. But when my grandmother died five days later, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I couldn't miss grandma's funeral too. So I hopped on the next redeye flight and flew home so that I could be surrounded by family. After a sleepless night, I arrived at my grandmother's house and got ready for the day of visitation. Upon arriving at the funeral home, you can imagine my surprise when I saw my grandmother and she looked totally different than she had looked all my life.

Her faith community knew that death was a time of transformation, a kind of transfiguration from the old life to a very new life resting in the arms of Jesus. So to symbolize that resurrection, the rule was that the dead were robed in white clothes. Before my very eyes, my grandmother had gone from a down to earth woman who loved God, to a woman who had faced death and was now resting in the arms of God. Her very clothing marked her transfiguration from this life to the life of resurrection as the plain dark dress that I had so associated with who my grandmother was had been changed. Now she wore a bright white robe that spoke volumes about our hope beyond death.

It was disturbing to me to see my grandmother in such a different light. In that moment, I knew that things were irrevocably changed. In that moment I witnessed not only her physical death but the reality that something had irrevocably changed for her. Because I was a person of faith, it didn't just disturb me because at another level I could take comfort knowing that this physical change was not the end but another beginning for her in her life with God. In that moment, it all came together that there was more to all of this than meets the eye. And although there was pain of sorrow at what I had lost, there was also hope in the fact that my grandma coud be entrusted to the God of resurrection and hope.

I think the disciples must have felt much the same way on that mountain with Christ on the day of his transfiguration. It says in Mark that Peter aked if they should build shelters not so much because he felt good about what was happening but because they were so terrified. They knew in that moment when Christ's appearance was transformed that what they had knew and understood before was only the tip of the ice berg.

In Christ there was something more. And in that moment, all those who stood at the top of the mountain top were changed. In that moment of transformation, they began to get a glimpse that the path they were on would lead them to suffering and death. They began to get a glimpse that the sorrow that they would face was not the end because they had also begun to see that Christ held within himself the power of life and death.

And of course they were terrified when they began to glimpse the magnitude of life, death and resurrection in that moment on the mountaintop; however, that wasn't their only response. They also wanted to remain in that place to commune with those prophets of old and the saviour Jesus Christ. They wanted to remain in that moment because they saw eternity and the eternity of that moment was a sign of hope for them.

They of course couldn't remain there on that mountaintop, but that moment would always be with them. That moment would carry them through all the difficult journeys that laid ahead of them and they could tell no one until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. Because they wouldn't fully understand that moment until they had seen Jesus Christ face death. Because they wouldn't fully get it until Christ returned triumph from death. Because they wouldn't get it until the world was turned upside down in Christ's resurrection.

We have our own moments of transfiguration where we glimpse eternity. For many of us, it has been those times of crisis where we have come face to face with those mixed feelings of terror and hope. And those moments of crisis hold the possibilities of transfiguration. When we tremble with fear, we can believe in something that is greater than we ourselves. When we gasp in astonshishment we can live in expectation. When we sob with sorrow, we can be moved by hope.

Because it is in these kinds of moments, that we open ourselves to the inbreaking of God into our broken and hurting world. Because it is in just these kind of moments of terror and hope that we glimpse the possibilities of eternity. Because in these moments, we are changed. And the old, broken ways of being are tranformed into God's new creation.

I myself am forever changed by my grandmother's story. I'm not only transfigured by her life but also by that symbol of resurrection that she wore in her death. For me, her life, her death and the promise of her life beyond death give me hope and remind me of the promise that God isn't finished with us no matter what.

And God is waiting to break into your life and meet you with that hope and promise too! Thanks be to God.