George Herbert Walker Bush died on 30 November, 2018.
On 2 December, I was hospitalized with my very first scare involving a cardiac event of some variety. Doctors still aren't entirely sure what happened. But what we do know is that I had an event that night that brought me face to face, yet again, with the spectre of death. Only this time, it was in such a way that remains -- even days later -- not entirely explained. The lack of explanation frightens me. Will it happen again? Will the second episode be considerably worse than the first?
Readers here will know that I have been critical of every American presidential administration of my lifetime. That criticism hasn't changed. Policies and procedures of every President cross moral boundaries -- many into things that, for any other nation, would result in war crimes internationally. And domestically, those policies find ways to dehumanize and disenfranchise scores of fellow Americans. I was in high school and early college when Mr Bush was president. I am quite familiar with the deeds and misdeeds of his administration, and even the scrutiny of his personal life that inevitably arose amid the indignity that is public life in our nation.
What has bothered me since my own cardiac episode just a couple of days after Bush's death, though, has been the way I and others like me speak of him in death. Again, there is much to criticize of his policies and practices over a lifetime. Hagiography is a dangerous thing, even when talking about genuine saints. So hagiography of a former president is doubly difficult.
But I want to repent of all the ways I have felt toward George following his death, and the way I spoke of him publicly in the immediate aftermath of his death. Here I want to speak not as an American, but as a Christian -- and more importantly as a priest of the church Mr Bush called his own.
When I opened the Facebook app on my phone on December 1 and saw the news that our former president had died, I did not do what I stop to do every time I hear something else has died: That is, I did not pray.
For nearly every death I have known over the past thirty years as a Christian, I stop and pray the words from the commendation prayer in our burial rite firmly in my heart. As a priest I have buried more people than I care to count, and I have always prayed that God would look with mercy upon a fellow sinner who had breathed his last.
Today I realized that I did not pray that George H. W. Bush would rest in peace and rise in glory. Instead, I did what nearly every one of my friends did -- at least those friends who hold the same theological views about America that I hold. That is, I engaged in public expressions of outrage, intent on trashing a man on the day of and the day after his death.
As I have realized that today, I have become disgusted with myself. "You are a leader in the Church", I've thought. So today I ask for forgiveness -- from God, from my brother George, and from all those in and out of the Church who have seen me say disgusting things about a dead man.
That's it: A dead man.
I should instead be a Christian -- and, what's more, a priest. I should pray for God's mercy and the repose of the dead. I should pretend for a moment that I actually believe in repentance and reconciliation, and that I'm a sinner in need of, and saved by, God's redeeming love. I must pray for those who mourn. I will also pray that when I die, other people will show more grace toward me in their words than I have about our dead brother, George.
Of course, saying this publicly is going to open me to criticism. I did not lose any friends to AIDS in light of Mr Bush's actions and negligence. I am not the descendant of Iraqi families exposed to irradiated weaponry and suffering its effects for generations.
But here's my only response: Clergy, if we are anything, are embodied agents of the proof of the Gospel. Our examples of grace -- not vengeance, wrath or condemnation -- may be the only example of grace some will ever see. "Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching", Paul adomonishes minsters, "continue in these things, for in doing this you will save both yourself and your hearers" (1 Timothy 4.16). That is the vow I took in my ordination.
My vitriolic public comments about the dead, online or offline, are indefensible.
It's entirely possible -- even probable -- that George was a sinner.
But here's the thing: So am I.
In fact, the degree to which I think he deserves punishment from God should directly influence the fervor with which I pray for him. To believe otherwise is bad. To do otherwise is a crime against the very Gospel I claim to preach and practice.
When I die -- as this past weekend proved to me will happen someday -- I can only hope that someone will pray for me the way I should have prayed for George. He is a fellow sinner washed in the blood of our crucified and risen Lord:
On 2 December, I was hospitalized with my very first scare involving a cardiac event of some variety. Doctors still aren't entirely sure what happened. But what we do know is that I had an event that night that brought me face to face, yet again, with the spectre of death. Only this time, it was in such a way that remains -- even days later -- not entirely explained. The lack of explanation frightens me. Will it happen again? Will the second episode be considerably worse than the first?
Readers here will know that I have been critical of every American presidential administration of my lifetime. That criticism hasn't changed. Policies and procedures of every President cross moral boundaries -- many into things that, for any other nation, would result in war crimes internationally. And domestically, those policies find ways to dehumanize and disenfranchise scores of fellow Americans. I was in high school and early college when Mr Bush was president. I am quite familiar with the deeds and misdeeds of his administration, and even the scrutiny of his personal life that inevitably arose amid the indignity that is public life in our nation.
What has bothered me since my own cardiac episode just a couple of days after Bush's death, though, has been the way I and others like me speak of him in death. Again, there is much to criticize of his policies and practices over a lifetime. Hagiography is a dangerous thing, even when talking about genuine saints. So hagiography of a former president is doubly difficult.
But I want to repent of all the ways I have felt toward George following his death, and the way I spoke of him publicly in the immediate aftermath of his death. Here I want to speak not as an American, but as a Christian -- and more importantly as a priest of the church Mr Bush called his own.
When I opened the Facebook app on my phone on December 1 and saw the news that our former president had died, I did not do what I stop to do every time I hear something else has died: That is, I did not pray.
For nearly every death I have known over the past thirty years as a Christian, I stop and pray the words from the commendation prayer in our burial rite firmly in my heart. As a priest I have buried more people than I care to count, and I have always prayed that God would look with mercy upon a fellow sinner who had breathed his last.
Today I realized that I did not pray that George H. W. Bush would rest in peace and rise in glory. Instead, I did what nearly every one of my friends did -- at least those friends who hold the same theological views about America that I hold. That is, I engaged in public expressions of outrage, intent on trashing a man on the day of and the day after his death.
As I have realized that today, I have become disgusted with myself. "You are a leader in the Church", I've thought. So today I ask for forgiveness -- from God, from my brother George, and from all those in and out of the Church who have seen me say disgusting things about a dead man.
That's it: A dead man.
I should instead be a Christian -- and, what's more, a priest. I should pray for God's mercy and the repose of the dead. I should pretend for a moment that I actually believe in repentance and reconciliation, and that I'm a sinner in need of, and saved by, God's redeeming love. I must pray for those who mourn. I will also pray that when I die, other people will show more grace toward me in their words than I have about our dead brother, George.
Of course, saying this publicly is going to open me to criticism. I did not lose any friends to AIDS in light of Mr Bush's actions and negligence. I am not the descendant of Iraqi families exposed to irradiated weaponry and suffering its effects for generations.
But here's my only response: Clergy, if we are anything, are embodied agents of the proof of the Gospel. Our examples of grace -- not vengeance, wrath or condemnation -- may be the only example of grace some will ever see. "Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching", Paul adomonishes minsters, "continue in these things, for in doing this you will save both yourself and your hearers" (1 Timothy 4.16). That is the vow I took in my ordination.
My vitriolic public comments about the dead, online or offline, are indefensible.
It's entirely possible -- even probable -- that George was a sinner.
But here's the thing: So am I.
In fact, the degree to which I think he deserves punishment from God should directly influence the fervor with which I pray for him. To believe otherwise is bad. To do otherwise is a crime against the very Gospel I claim to preach and practice.
When I die -- as this past weekend proved to me will happen someday -- I can only hope that someone will pray for me the way I should have prayed for George. He is a fellow sinner washed in the blood of our crucified and risen Lord:
Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant George Herbert Walker Bush. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.Forgive me, George, for failing to do that sooner. May God have as much mercy on my soul as I hope he has on yours.