At my desk chair, moving the baffle a few more inches down the fabric in my machine, I see purposeful footsteps arrive at my cubicle. My coworker and good buddy gave me the news of Chester Bennington’s death. In the weeks that would follow in tribute covers of Crawling, Numb, and Points of Authority by esteemed musical counterparts, and even by Coldplay, the world seemingly devolved further into chaos with Texas, Florida, and the Caribbean swallowed in the literal undertows of record breaking hurricanes. Between those events, lions at the gate in the current political coliseum foamed at the mouth over the events of Charlottesville, and my old high school experienced an explosion that caused two deaths and multiple injuries. Culminating in the events of last weekend, a close family member of mine tragically passed in an accident. As I’ve had the time, particularly in the intentional silence of that same cubicle, to process it all, I can’t help but feel the heaviness of these events.

I don’t write this touting a bulleted list of resolutions that rest the aforementioned events and circumstances peacefully, it’s more of a memorial, observing the antinome between good, evil, joy, peace, good times, and bad times.

When I was in high school, my confirmation classmates and I were given Bibles with our names stamped in gold on the bottom left corner of its imitation blue leather with a date penned on the inside of receiving. Ephesians was accidentally ripped out, is stained with root beer and has seen a lot of wear and tear. Between the inroads of its aesthetic imperfections lies all my notes scribbled within one of the most celebrated yet confusing books of the Old Testament…


This (seemingly) despondent epistle is a collection of grievances that air out Solomon’s tension between a world where we can simultaneously enjoy the ingots of meals, friends, laughter (3:22; 8:15) and the malfeasance of unexplained suffering and inevitability of death (2:22; 7:15-18). By the time its 11 chapter run time takes a bow, Solomon never arrives at a triumphant conclusion on the matter. Instead, he’s okay with understanding that trying to reach such conclusions is, “vanity.” As if he’s saying that holding the tension is healthier than trying to dissect meanings beyond our human intellect and heart capacity. Similarly, his exhortation reminds me that my finite consciousness and understanding of God is unable to adequately explain why Linkin Park’s lead singer left behind a wife, six kids, and his band at the hands of his own suicide. It cannot rationalize natural disasters or demonstrations of racism. It cannot anymore undo my high school’s tragedy or bring back my Uncle Morgan’s jovial personality, laughter, and his Forrest Gump impression.

My mind asks a question that Chester Bennington sang near the end of his life… “Why is everything so heavy?” On an album that polarized long time fans of their previous work, Heavy, takes a sharp musical departure from its nu metal roots, but with Bennington’s passing, it has the ambiance of a funeral dirge when you listen to his musings about a life down-turned. Much like Solomon, Bennington never reaches a peaceful close in this song, giving it the smack of a personal lamentation.

I’m sure we’ve all cogitated a similar thought of why is everything so heavy when our worlds begin to show signs of buckling (as tragedy has its tendency to do) when reason arrives nowhere near our desired destinations. I have in the last week and especially when I hear the chorus echo those thoughts like a call and return. Yet, when I think back on how Uncle Morgan’s lively personality made family gatherings that much more vibrant, how Minnehaha Academy is moving forward with confidence into this school year, the humanitarian response to the said natural disasters, and the legacy of Bennington’s art on a generation of musicians, I remember once again that my explanations will ultimately draw blanks when I try to put a punctuation at the end of it…

And that’s ok with me.

My conclusion that I can confidently draw is that God’s ways and thoughts are higher, perfectly developed, and good in contrast to mine (Isaiah 55:8-9). Putting those verses through the parallax of my family’s recent turn of events, I am resolute that I could spend time bargaining somehow to hear Uncle Morgan talk about the Pittsburgh Steelers or help polish the heads on his Alfa Romeo one last time, but Solomon would tell me that time is better spent acknowledging that life is what the original Hebrew word for vanity, hebel, translates as “vapor.” It’s short enough, but life can be truncated by tragedy. I will carry the memories with me in suitcases, through photographs, and stories shared with family as the best of ways to celebrate a life lived passionately. In the mean time, Solomon does give us counsel to relish the tokens of joy we can tangibly experience through fellowship with other people… I feel like things such as a good meal with friends around the table, laughter, sunsets, early morning coffee, and a good walk are places to start to honor his life and honor the God who loves. If there is any conclusion I can draw in all of this, it’s knowing that when tossed and fro by the waves that James paints in his New Testament letter, I have that same resolve and confidence that his brother Jesus is in the hull of the ship calming the swells (Mark 4:35-41), ferrying me through to the peace that transcends all understanding (Philippians 4:7).



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