Our faith is in a God who has come to rescue His creation from the absurdity of sin and the emptiness of death, and so we are permitted to hate these things with a perfect hatred.” David Bentley Hart, The Doors of the Sea

Don Lewis died this week. Most of you won’t know that name, but if you’ve attended a newcomers lunch or essentials class or heard me talk about my journey into Anglicanism, you’ve heard me refer to my dear friend Don. He’s the seminary professor who grew up in the same Pentecostal tradition as I did and then worshipped in Anglicanism in his adult decades. Conversations with Don were a significant part of why our family found a home in the Anglican tradition. 

In addition to being an excellent scholar, loving husband, father, and grandfather, Don was a remarkable friend to many throughout the world. His consistency and care have been celebrated this week in numerous remembrances and commiserations. I was on one call this week where an Asian scholar commented that Don was the only person who visited his family on three different continents. Such was Don’s steadfast friendship. 

Conversations with Don followed a predicable formula. If I had the opportunity to talk to him one more time I know that he’d affirm God’s work in my life and thank God for me. I know that he’d gently but forthrightly inquire about the state of my soul. He’d ask direct questions about sin in my life, and I’d be grateful for it. We’d close with prayer together. If in person, he’d sit next to me, and pull me close in a one-armed bear hug. The knit of his wool sweater, a Don trademark, might well rub on my face as I rested my head on his shoulder. 

Remembering the warmth of Don’s embrace has been a comfort as I’ve mourned his loss these last few days. It’s been reassuring to reflect on the truth that he now experiences a warmer and more complete version of it in the arms of Jesus. The remembrance of his friendship more generally has also been a challenge. I’m not able or called to be a church historian like Don was (though that would be very cool), but I can be the kind of friend he was - steadfast, gentle, and courageous, always pointing others toward Jesus. All of us can be such friends. We’re called to be. 

Death stinks. We’re right to hate it. I will sorely miss Don. I feel robbed of more time with him. Even so, the gift of his friendship and the example of it are a gift to me. I don’t intend to waste it. 

In Christ, 

Peter+