The past seven days have been marked funerals. One, a young boy nine years old, Rhett Warman, who battled a brain injury for the last two and a half years. The other, an older man seventy five years old, Bill Collins, who was in a hospital or an extended care facility for the last three months or so. Weeks whose beginnings and ends are marked by death are never easy. Families, individuals, and communities of faith maneuver their way through the pain and grief of death. It is that maneuvering that is remarkable as it unfolds.

I flew to Dallas, TX early last Monday morning to attend Rhett's funeral. His dad, George Warman, and I are close friends. We went to college together and settled for a time in neighboring towns in North Texas with our families. We haven't stayed in constant communication with each other ? you all know how that unfolds. Kids. Activities. Jobs. Moves. Still, nothing is powerful enough to or separating enough to erase a friendship that is rooted in mutual care and concern. I was heartbroken, devastated at word of Rhett's death. This was a pain too deep for expression, too close to my own parental role.

Bill's death was different, but no less painful. Watching the slow deterioration of physical life is never easy. People who have been used to doing what they please and serving as they choose often struggle with the impact that sickness or disease puts upon them. Bill did. He didn't like the fact that he couldn't help at the church or work in his garden. Those activities were significant to Bill's understanding of dignity and value as a person. There was not much to be done to help him with that. His wounds of dismay were too deep for words to heal.

Thank God for the church! The faithful family of believers at Custer Road United Methodist in Plano, TX provided the comfort and support necessary for George and Kathy to survive Rhett's death. I've no doubt they will provide the support for their grieving and healing. The faithful family of believers of the Elliottsville Church, likewise, gave the support and encouragement for Bill's family to cope. They, too, will give help and assurance as Bill's family grieves and heals.

As I look back at the past week with its hurt, its bruising, its pain, I am reminded that even when there are no words to express what we feel, how we hurt ? there is a power to do that for us. I've retreated to the eighth chapter of Romans many times. I'm there again. For help. For comfort. For inspiration. For assurance.

What would we do if not for the gift of faith? The comfort of grace? The communion of Spirit?