The Pastor’s Piece, Pastor Kevin Cernek – FCFI Chaplain

FCFI

January 12, 2025

As I sit at my desk and write these words, a good friend is in his last hours of life here on earth. I’ve only known him for about five years, but what a blessing he has been over that time. He was the type of person whose brain never stopped working. When there was chatter around our church about plans for a new addition, he showed up the next Sunday and pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. Written on it was a drawing of his idea for the new fellowship hall. He knew what we needed.

We also have several useful household wood products he crafted in his shop and gave us as gifts. We cherish those pieces as I know they came not only from a heart of love, but from bloody fingertips and other body parts that got too close to the saw. I’ve seen the bandages.

My friend was known for working construction his entire life. He was a master with the backhoe. He and his wife lived all over, but spent most of their years in this area. He was one of 16 children. After he retired here, they moved up north and it wasn’t long until he came out of retirement to work in the cranberry bogs – fixing, forming, and maintaining the bogs with a D6 Caterpillar and a backhoe. Then when he retired again, they moved back here to spend their last 20 years or so. I would sit in their house and listen to their stories for hours on end. I can’t recall most of them, but one thing I know, they were fascinating.

One Friday afternoon just after my friend had been diagnosed with deadly cancer, I called and asked if I could stop by for a few minutes. The last time I’d been there, he was pretty much out of it. He slept most of the time and needed help in every aspect of his life. He couldn’t even roll over without assistance. But on this day, when I showed up, he was sitting in the living room in a comfortable chair, ready to tell stories. His wife asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. I obliged and we were off. I don’t remember what we talked about but I remember arriving that day feeling like a dark cloud was hovering over me and him. I was so sad. But when I left it was a whole different story. I felt encouraged. Relieved. Encouraged. And happy. We laughed so much we cried. That’s how he let God use him. When I got ready to leave he gave me a big hug and said, “I love you.”

As I sat in his room at the hospital with his family the other night, though he didn’t open his eyes, he knew everyone who was in the room with him. He wiggled around a bit. Wrestled the covers off a couple of times, thanked us for coming and then just laid back and rested. I watched as his dear wife (who is loved as much as he is) drew in close and peered into his face. We didn’t have to ask, but we knew what was going through her mind – 73 years of continuous companionship. Always together. So much so they didn’t have to read each other’s minds, they just knew. Life will be different now for her. Way different. A life she isn’t asking for nor does she want, but must take it anyway.

I’ve seen that look twice before in my life. The first time was when my wife’s grandfather lay dying on his bed. Grandma drew up close and stroked his rough cheek and didn’t say a word – just stared into his face with her silent tears dropping down on his face. Same thing – 66 years of togetherness. Laughing, teasing, disagreeing, and loving each other to the very end. Then, one day death changes it all. We don’t want to let them go, but we don’t want them to stay either  – at least not like this.

The other time was when my own dad passed away two years ago. I sat in the chair in the living room and mom sat next to dad’s bed as the Lord prepared him and us for his departure. There were long periods of time when she just stared into his face and stroked his forehead, thoughts too many and too precious to verbalize filling her mind. 69 years of togetherness. Married at 18 and growing up together while raising a brood of children. Now the cruel enemy of death has caused a bitter separation. I suppose we all have experienced this in one form or another. Death interrupts our lives and drives home the brutal truth that nothing stays the same and we too need to be ready.

It will all come out in the funeral service, but my friend was loved by everyone who knew him. He made us feel special – like we were the only ones in his life that mattered to him. I’m glad I got to feel that way. Thanks for a life lived well. God speed my friend. Good bye for now.

(Kevin Cernek is Lead Pastor of Martintown Community Church in Martintown, Wisconsin).