I was holding my brother’s hand as he lay dying in the memory care facility. As I glanced over my right shoulder, the display on his nightstand made me smile.

There, in the middle of the arrangement of Buddhas, flowers, and a photo of a Buddhist leader whom I did not recognize, was a picture of Jesus. And it wasn’t your typical picture of Jesus, it was an old-fashioned painting of Jesus praying in the garden—the kind you’d see on a vintage Sunday school paper. Somehow, I managed to grab my phone and snap a picture without letting go of his hand.

Those few days when he hovered between life and death were an interesting journey for all of us. Depending on who else was in the room, I would hear sounds alternating between Buddhist chants and quiet praise music. My brother’s wife and stepdaughter had provided all of the Zen items within the room, but had asked me months earlier why I had not purchased a picture of Jesus to display as well. Once I had their permission, I quickly went to the Christian bookstore where my only choice was an old-fashioned Sunday school portrait of Jesus in the garden. I had it carefully wrapped and gave it to him as a gift. When he unwrapped it I asked him if he knew who it was. He quickly replied, “Jesus, I presume.” This remark was only one small step in my brother’s remarkable journey “home.”

Jack was the oldest living son, raised in a strict Dutch Calvinist home. Jack was a thinker; he was sullen and spiritually rebellious. He left home for California before his twenty-first birthday without looking back and it broke my parents’ hearts. Those years of separation and seclusion left us with few details about his life and had earned him an almost celebrity status within the family because of the mystery surrounding him. 

At age fifty, he settled down, married and became a stepfather. He had also immersed himself in Buddhism and taught classes in meditation. The skills he learned during this time were valuable to him, yet it felt like he was on a continual and restless search for whatever was missing in his life. Our brother/sister bond was strong, but our differences were great.

As a family, my siblings and I believed that Jack would remain in that far-off place for the rest of his life. My parents had both passed away, never having the assurance that Jack would one-day return to the faith of his childhood. Then, after many years had passed, Jack began his journey back home.

It started with a phone call to my oldest sister. He asked a very odd question, something that was deeply troubling to him: “Was I ever excommunicated from the church after I left?” My sister assured him that he had probably been dropped from the church membership list eventually, but to her knowledge, he had never been excommunicated. She probed a little deeper and, in her most insightful and assuring way reminded him that church membership doesn’t save anyone, but one’s faith in Jesus provides the best life and a future in heaven. Jack responded quickly, “Well, I guess I’ll see you there then.”

A few years after that phone call, Jack and his wife decided unexpectedly to move back to Michigan. As siblings, we felt alternating emotions of joy and skepticism. Yes, all five of us would be back together . . . but what else was really going on? Why the sudden decision? It didn’t take long for us to figure out that our oldest brother was not okay. He was often confused and struggled to find simple words. Our first Christmas with him went fairly well, but by the following year, Pick’s Disease had taken its toll on him.

One day, early after his return to Michigan, Jack and I went out for breakfast together. He was troubled about many things and seemed to be overwhelmed with remorse. It seemed as though he needed assurance that even though he had made some regrettable choices in his life, he could still look to the future with hope. As I tried to offer assurance, we talked about the end of life and who would be the first to greet us. I told him that I was planning to see Jesus, that I would take his hand and walk into heaven with him, and that I hoped that Jack would do the same. He assured me that he would, and I realized that this was what we had all been waiting to hear. Our window of time, although it was very small, had been just enough. I remember asking him the question, “Jack, are you telling me that this journey ‘home’ to Michigan is more than a geographical journey, but it’s a spiritual journey as well?” Again, he responded that it was. 

Everything that I had believed about what it takes to follow Jesus—the rules, the knowledge, the self-denial, paled in the light of this beautiful admission: “I have come home, and I will take Jesus’ hand when he greets me.” Nothing else mattered. I’m not disparaging Buddhism in any way—my brother found deep beauty there for many years of his life. The meditation skills that he learned were so valuable to him as he processed life’s challenges. But, at the end of his life, he turned back to Jesus and the faith he was nurtured in. 

Jack continued to decline. Eventually he didn’t know who we were, but he was at peace. After a visit from one of my sisters, he said that he “had seen the face of Christ.” My other brother took him to church one Sunday—the same denomination that had once removed his name from their membership. He partook of Communion with no questions asked of him. I will be forever grateful. 

One day, when Jack was still able to speak, he said something rather profound, so I wrote it down. This was probably his last message to us. He said, “Everybody’s going home again. It’s important to say ‘hello,’ hold hands.”

When Jack passed away peacefully, his wife and stepdaughter requested a Christian funeral for him. It was a generous and loving thing to do. We all said our good-byes in the same church that had been so kind to him. His wife and daughter soothed themselves with the gentle syllables of a chant. We held on to the words of Psalm 23 that Jack is now eternally “dwelling in the house of the Lord,” where he was received with open arms.

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12 Responses

  1. Shades of a Marilynne Robinson novel…. Very intriguing….And hopeful. Thanks for sharing. Some of my staunch anti-universalism friends would cringe. Others would give this train-of-thought a second look. As i consider this I imagine myself as Matthew or Mark or John or Peter, even Paul, 30 years after Christ’s death, sitting down to write my personal account of who Jesus was. Never expecting it to be canonized and scrutinized, how would I describe “salvation,” the incarnation, atonement? Would I attempt to describe who is or is not “saved” or what that means? Or would I simply share my profound wonder at the life and resurrection?

  2. “Was I ever excommunicated from the church after I left?” Henri Nouwen and Rembrandt. Thank you so much for gracing us with this.

  3. My dear friend, Calvin classmate, and colleague in ministry, thank you for sharing this sweet and touching story. Was what I needed to read today.

  4. Thank you, Theda. This is thick with meaning and truth… and also a thin place of beauty. I am sorry for the loss of Jack. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.

  5. What I have always loved about the Reformed Faith, and not the current flavor of it being pushed by some elements in the CRC and RCA, is that fact that God is always the caller of us and holder of us. I take comfort in that and even tell God that in my dark hours, that he promised to be my God in my baptism long ago in River Terrace CRC. We are never the final deciders of who gets to take Jesus hand when people like your brother die. And the God we claim has a wider and deeper mercy than we can possibly imagine. Thanks for sharing.

  6. I trust that the Father who opened his arms to Jack was the same father who welcomed his long-lost son in the parable of the Prodigal Son.
    Thank you!

  7. This is so beautiful, Theda. What a gift to hear Jack’s words and feel that peace & assurance. I’m glad you wrote this experience down to share!

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