Inside our living room, tucked behind a chair is a wrapped gift—the lone reminder of the Christmas season we celebrated one month ago. There is a blouse inside, one Jen picked out for Grandma. It was difficult to know what to get a 79 year-old woman who has most everything she needs. With Grandma Lyon though, shirts and sweaters were normally a safe bet.

I've spent a lot of time over the past few days trying to process the passing of Frances Madeleine Brown Lyon. I've spent more time then I should thinking about that gift and it seems to me that that unopened present represents a tension that we hold.

These tensions are everywhere. They're all around us even at this very moment.

It's the tension I felt as I held Grandma's hand at the hospital and weeping into the phone I heard my wife remind me that she was exchanging my hand for Grandad's.

It is the tension we feel as we move from the present tense to the past tense in the stories we share about her.

It is the tension that her legal name has been said and written more times then she ever would have wanted—She always hated the name "Frances."

It is the tension that we feel in knowing that even as John Coy Lyon and Madeline Brown Lyon have left this earth their names yet live in their grandchildren.

It is the tension we feel gathered in a reception room, trading stories, equal parts tears and laughter.

It is the tension between what is seen and what is unseen—a mystery so great that we meet it with awe and wonder.

It is the tension between the life and vitality we knew and the body that lies before us.

The writer of Ecclesiastes knew something about tension. The same author who famously wrote "There is a time and season unto everything, a time to be born and a time to die." also reminded us of the Great Tension—"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end."

Because in the tensions, we confess that we cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

We confess that we cannot fathom the realities of our own mortality and the eternity born in our hearts.

We confess that we cannot begin to give words to being absent in the body, but present with the Lord.

We confess that we cannot help but waver between faith and doubt, seen and unseen.

We confess that we live, as she did—in between the hope of heaven and doing our best to bring heaven to earth.

There is no life in this room left untouched by Madeliene Brown Lyon. Whether it was teaching Sunday School or sneaking lipstick, playing piano at a wedding or answering the phone at Elizabeth Baptist Church, caring for Granddad or providing an endless supply of Little Debbie Snacks, she was a woman who gave her life in service to others.

At these times it's tempting to run to Scripture to find a foothold-a foundation to sooth our sorrow and dispel our unbelief. Most often those efforts yield temporary results as grief lingers in the shadows.

I find Scripture most comforting when it puts words to something I can't—when it reminds me that there are others who have wrestled with the goodness of God in the face of great loss and have providentially shared their story.

I find light for our path in Paul's Second letter to the church at Corinth, Chapter 4:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. 12So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

13It is written: "I believed; therefore I have spoken."[b]With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, 14because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence. 15All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

16Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

Paul understood the tension between the earthen vessel of this mortal body and the eternity in our hearts. He found ways to speak to people who were grieving, fearful—who saw in the death of others their own mortality and all the questions that come with it. He does not solve the tension but names it.

"Death is at work within us, but life is at work in you."

"What is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

"We are being given over to death, that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our physical body."

Playing off Paul's words, Karl Barth once said "The goal of human life is not death, but resurrection."

And we are left with the great tension—that although Grandma no longer lives with us, she yet lives.

That unopened present in my living room was a gift—a simple gift to be offered at a time when gifts are traditionally exchanged.

We give gifts out of generosity, not entitlement. We give gifts with joy and no expectation of reciprocity.

We give gifts to convey the love that we share. We give gifts because we have been seized by the power of a great affection.

And so we celebrate the gift of life we know in Madeliene Brown Lyon. We make no demands for more time, for one last moment.

We celebrate a life well lived—a life that modeled Christ—a life given in service to others.

We confess that all life is gift—that her life was, to her and to us, a gift.

We share in tears and in laughter the gift that we knew and as we do we impart that sacred gift to others.

May we share stories and tell tales.

May we see in her one who understood the tension and who, in keeping with Scripture, believed all things, hoped all things—who knew that love for God and love for neighbor never, never fails

May we set apart Christ as Lord in our hearts, even as she.

May we be given to embracing one another even as she embraced us.

May we celebrate the gift of life known as Madeliene Brown Lyon.

May we long for eternity as we long for the sun to rise.

May we live lives of gratitude to the One who gave her life and, even now, bestows on us that same gift.

For this gift, and so many others, may we have only gratitude, hold only hope, act only in love.

For a life lived in service to others, may our confession always resound.

"Thanks be to God."