They Have Come Into It

They have come into it
That state without a name
Whose closest allies are
Widows and orphans
Yet is only parents
Who now are

They must learn the way
To express how it feels.
In ancient days they
Tore their clothes and
Poured ashes on their heads
Sharing what was

They have no recourse
Nothing can help
Simply stay and witness
Their substitute, their grief
And in doing so give
Power and grace


This Blessed Advent Morning

That pew
I occupied it again
This morning
That pew
Often hard and stiffening
Did soften and ease
This blessed Advent morning.

The songs
We sang them again
This morning
The songs
Recently more breathless noise
Resonated deeply
This blessed Advent morning.

My sins
We confessed them again
This morning
My sins
Which accuse and condemn
Were justly silenced
This blessed Advent morning.

The news
We celebrated it again
This morning
The news
Which has never come to me in dreams
Came in the story of a dreamer
This blessed Advent morning.

The Word
I heard it again
This morning.
The Word
Often passé is now anticipated
A babe born in the House of Bread
This blessed Advent morning.

Great Grandfather

B McClain, listening to the radio

In the photo, maybe seventy years old,
He widely sits, slumped into a parlor chair
Nestled near the corner.

Arm on the rest, he holds his ancient head
And cares not that his wire-rim glasses
Have ever-so-slightly slid.

Beside him stands the radio cabinet
On which sits a rack of phonograph records
And an inconspicuous trophy.

His neck just overflows his buttoned shirt collar.
His tie, thin and tight, matches his lips.
He is listening, looking to the right.

Whether it be the news, filled with desperation
Or the music of that era, spinning, skipping
He has heard it all before.

PHOTO: William “Bea” McClain (1882-1963)

Big Mountain Jesus

Photo By CarleyJane
Photo By CarleyJane

Big Mountain Jesus, why so sad?

It cannot be the view.
For surely Northwest Montana is just as beautiful
As it was the day you arrived
Over 50 years ago
Commemorating the 10th Mountain Division
Men who skied the Alps for the Allies
Who in Italy and France found solace
In numerous shrines.
I guess things seemed grim, and yet
they found perspective.

It cannot be your powder blue toga.
(Though I do wonder if that is the best choice, given the climate)
True, some flannel-lined pants, or maybe
A wool sweater would better trap the heat.
But then they’d possibly restrict
Your out-raised arms and
Your bleeding heart.
And a toboggan! Don’t get me started,
that would have given you hat head.
All in all, a robe is not a bad choice,
Blue looks good on you
The tourists note it compliments the sky.

It cannot be the Constitution.
It’s true, those bickering over it
And its several clauses
Seem to miss the point.
Your baby-blue eyes
With their soul-searching power
They have rights too.
So you go right ahead, please continue
Establishing and
Subjecting each skier
vacationing on the hill
To your sovereign will.
Each descends
In sprays of fresh powder
To do your mighty bidding.

Really, Big Mountain Jesus, why so sad?
I mean, transfiguration happens?


NPR 12/3/12: ‘Big Mountain Jesus’ Statue Divides Montanans

Eulogy For Joel

Twilight at Waterfront Park (Beaufort, SC)

Delivered February 5, 2012 at Grace Presbyterian Church

Joel Whitmire McClain

July 6, 2007 – February 3, 2012

Today I find myself in an uncomfortable position. I am in unfamiliar territory. I have crossed a line that I had hoped I would never have to cross. Many of you see us every Sunday and know that I and my family, The Clan McClain, are strictly “back pew” kind of people. The back pew is nice, comfortable. The angles are a little softer; from the back pews you don’t have to strain your neck so much to see the overhead. Back pews are especially nice for those of us who are not really good at small talk. When you sit near the front of the sanctuary you have to navigate through a crowd of people; you have to talk to people. I love church, and I love this church, but crowds just about anywhere can be overwhelming for introverts like me. But because the back pew is closest to the doors, they make it easiest to slip in and out. They are closest to the boundary of being in church, and make it easiest to cross the line. I think on a few occasions, when we have been running late, The Clan McClain has lost the competition amongst the other “back pew” people of this church and reluctantly taken a seat closer to the middle of the sanctuary. Today, however, is different. A different line has been crossed and I unwittingly find myself on the front row.

Earlier we read Psalm 16. It is my favorite Psalm. It is the song of someone who finds themselves in an uncomfortable position, in unfamiliar territory. There is grave danger. How will they survive? Some call it a song of Lamentation, others call it a Psalm of Confidence. I would call it a Psalm of Shalom. If you know me or go to this church, you have heard of Shalom. It is a uniquely Biblical concept of well-being. It means “universal thriving”, or “relational wholeness”. It is a picture of true community, of everything flourishing together. Shalom is a vision of how things were made to be, how they are suppose to be, of how things can be. You can detect the vision of Shalom in Paul’s letter to the Romans when he writes “all things work together for good for those who love God.” Psalm 16 strikes me as the words of someone who has been taught by God the lesson of Shalom, and it is a lesson of three parts: Of Community, Of Boundaries, and Of Resurrection.

I will confess that when Joel was born four and half years ago, I had not yet grasped the full significance of Shalom. The reality of Joel, and of his genetic disorder, did not seem compatible with my thriving. Many of you may recall the Cosby show. One of the funny things about that show was the way the Father, Heathcliff, made it very clear that he longed for the day their children would grow up and move out. Then he and Claire would have their money, their time, their house, their very lives, back to themselves. I think this is a very typical dream of Dads. A dream of no more diapers. Of the ability to travel and spend time alone with one’s wife. A dream of some quiet. Joel’s arrival into our family, however, threw a cold cup of water on this dream. And for the first year of Joel’s life, I am ashamed to say I resented him and God. Joel seemed incompatible with my dreams of independence and a life of ease. I was willing to sacrifice some things for children, but only for a reasonable number of years. I knew becoming a father meant postponing my pursuit of happiness, but why should I have to give my dreams up entirely?

I am very blessed to have a wonderful wife, who is much wiser than me. It was Brea who worked so hard to demonstrate that Joel and his disorder were not incompatible with our family. Rather, he was breath of fresh air into our lives. This is not to say the last few years have not been a challenge. Rather, it is to say that as a family we worked hard to do what I thought was impossible, experience joy. Joel was a delight and his presence enhanced our lives and our dreams. This often involved thinking outside the box, and pushing the boundaries. It meant learning medical facts and talking to others using terminology that I struggled to pronounce. It meant special diets and medicines. It meant wheel chairs and sign language.

It also meant needing help. And humbling ourselves to receive it. And help we did receive, from doctors and therapists. Online from other CDG parents. From Aunts and Uncles. From you all. In the nursery you accepted Joel. You held him, and played with him. And when he was sick, you prayed for us, you fed us, took in our other children, shuttled us about. You comforted us, when we spoke of the realities we faced. And in the short time Joel lived, new dreams had emerged. And while they shared some things with the old, they were not stunted versions of the old ones. Rather, they were wonderful and glorious and they included you all. We experienced our Joel making advancements only a few CDG children make. We saw him communicating. We saw him crawling and pulling to a stand. We celebrated with him his victories over his disorder. We saw him filled with joy and us joyful with him. We experienced a taste of the beautiful mystery that is Shalom.

The third verse of Psalm 16 says:

“I say of the holy people who are in the land,
They are the noble ones in whom is all my delight.”

Another translation says:

“As for the saints who are in the earth,
They are the majestic ones in whom is all my delight.”

But one of my favorite renderings is by Eugene Peterson, who translates it as:

“And these God-chosen lives all around— what splendid friends they make!”

I want to Thank you all for the love you have given my family, and especially Joel. You are a testament to the goodness of God; a true community.

Verse 6 reads

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.”

This verse strikes me as incredibly profound. Boundaries lines mark the edge of something. Something significant. The boundary line of a fence, the space between neighbor’s yards. The curb marks the boundary between the safety of the sidewalk and the danger of the road. On the calendar, the boundary lines mark the beginning and end of days.

My dear son Joel died Friday morning at 4 am, in his mother’s arms. He had been hospitalized for month, battling pneumonia. One aspect of Joel’s genetic disorder was that his immune system was comprised. Last July, he battled pneumonia and was hospitalized for three weeks. He won that fight. He was a fighter. Until early this week, we were fully confident he would win this fight as well. But another aspect of Joel’s genetic disorder was that his organs were vulnerable. And in the end, it was his liver that failed. On Wednesday morning we learned the awful truth. The Ammonia levels in his blood were continuing to rise, and were poisoning his brain. His blood could no longer clot. He could be kept alive on machines, but he would never come home. He had crossed a boundary from which there was no return. His mother and I then were faced with the decision of despair; His mother and I decided Joel had fought and suffered enough. Joel was made as comfortable as possible.  His siblings visited with him, and he was able to give them hugs. On Thursday morning he was unconscious and unresponsive.  We are told he will soon pass.  We are joined by close friends and family.  We held him, told stories about him, we celebrated his life.   Throughout the day, his breathing slowed, but his heart, the strongest part of his body, continued strong. The evening came, and all was quiet; his mother and I alone were with him.  And in the stillness we held him as he peacefully crossed over the final boundary.

The possibility of Joel’s early death has always been us. The statistics on CDG survival rates are startling. Online, we have come to know other CDG parents and their stories. From afar, we have watched the tragedy of an illness unfold. We offered love and support, all the while holding our breath. We compared strategies and worked hard at staying alive. It was a boundary line that we did not want to approach. It was too scary. But Joel’s final moments were not scary. Rather they were a profound spirit of peace. God was with us in the room. And he received Joel. Afterwards, his mother and I placed him on the bed and washed him, cleaned his wounds, combed his hair. With the help of the nurses we made handprint and footprint mementos. He had the most beautiful look on his face.

Don’t get me wrong, his Death is hard. His mother and I see him everywhere. It will take time. But God has placed this boundary line of Joel passing in a pleasant place. We, his mother and I, and now you all, have received a great inheritance.

But Brothers and Sisters, Community and Pleasant Boundaries are NOT enough. They help ease the burden, but they do not lift it. I cannot help but wishing for more. I WANT to see my son again. I WANT to see him whole. I WANT to speak with him, and walk with him. I WANT to hold him. Death should not have the final word, the final embrace.

Psalm 16 is significant for Christians for it prophetically speaks of Jesus and his resurrection. It is recorded in the second chapter of Acts that on the day of Pentecost, Peter cited Psalm 16 as evidence that the risen Jesus was the Messiah. Verse 10 says:

“you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, nor will you let your faithful one see decay.”

The Psalmist was being prophetic, he was speaking about the realities of the Messiah, but he was also talking about the realities of Shalom. He was talking about the benefit that he, and all those who place their trust in God, will receive. My son is dead, and we will soon place him in a grave. There are moments now that I hurt so much, so sad and heart- broken, that I feel as if I am decaying, and might as well be dead. But friends, we who are in Christ have not been abandoned. We will not decay. No, we will rise again. We will live. And so will Joel. He will be made whole. We who are in Christ will all be made whole together. Shalom is true, because the resurrection of the Christ is true. God the Father temporarily placed a boundary between himself and his Son, on our behalf. But then he removed it, and the pleasant place that is his Creation became all the more so. The community of which Christ is the King and we are full members is here.

God has only temporarily placed a boundary between me and my son.

It will one day be removed.

And the thing which separates us now will be no more.

I believe it.

I believe it.

I believe it.