In yesterday’s post, I mentioned a “gem” of a story I’d read that was going to get me motivated to write again. While that post is percolating away, something came to my attention today that I must address, if only for the sake of my own resilience and faith. I’m going to say this one time only:
The following post is *NOT* my “gem”.
Onward.
My heart is strangely broken tonight. It’s best to start at the beginning to explain why; clarity, in this case, comes in heaping draughts of hindsight.
They aren’t many people who frequent this space - a select few close friends, my wife, and several acquaintances that have been made in the virtual world - i.e. Twitter, Facebook, etc. And I’ll admit, I’m not a prolific writer, or someone whose points make much sense beyond my own experiences. I don’t take it personally. I’ve discovered that blogs, for many of us that write them, are completely self-serving. As I mentioned yesterday, this is the training ground for the “physician, heal thyself” ideology.
I value the virtual community, though. I’ve made a point to find people on Twitter and Facebook that challenge my thought processes with their understanding of faith, politics, science, and sociology. I do this because I am slowly realizing that I don’t possess all of the answers. I’d go so far as to say that the answers I’ve had before were constructs of higher thoughts, expressed by smarter people, repackaged for plebes like me. That leaves me with nothing more or less than a simplified Gospel, still incredibly powerful to save the weak and crush the proud.
In this mission to be challenged, I’ve made a few acquaintances that have touched me with their kindness and compassion for the world they engage daily. One of those people was Gideon Addington. Gideon frequently contributed to some deeply theological sites, his own blog, and his random opinions on Twitter. It was through Twitter that I first found this man who sought for nothing more than to care for the least of the human family. He purposed to work for non-profit agencies helping the poor, he was actively living out a Gospel-centric life of that true religion James talks about. I had the awesome privilege to speak with him over Twitter, then email, then chat, as he was trying to navigate his way through career prospects that were going to require a larger understanding of network technology than he had. We talked about music (we had similar tastes), and books - he was a fan of Neil Gaiman, like me. He became someone I respected. He was a bright light in his world.
Several days before Christmas, Gideon took his life.
I am at a loss. With the crush of the holidays, family, travel, and that awkward falling back into step with work, I hadn’t noticed his silence. But today, on my way home from an out-of-town job, I thought of Gideon, and wondered where he had been. I was missing his input, his inspiration. I was sure that he would have fantastical stories to share about what he and God did together during the holidays. I pulled up his profile on Facebook, and there began reading eulogies, dedications, and memorials to this great man. I was desperate for details. The more that I read on his profile, the more I read between the lines. Posts to his page were suffused with language that betrayed everyone’s shock - no one knew how much he had been hurting to say such an abrupt goodbye to us all.
I barely knew this man. If we passed each other on a street corner, neither one of us would recognize the other. And yet… I feel this obtuse sense of loss. It’s all so out of place.
This is where connectivity matters. There is a community (one that has always existed) emerging now that has been limited in times past by distance and ability, but no longer. While pundits decry the viability of social networks, we are finally able to reach across the miles and fellowship with people we would have scarcely known before. If you can’t see the value in that, I urge you to try to stop emailing, SMSing, tweeting, posting, chatting, writing. You’ll soon realize how close we’ve all become. That’s exactly how I feel about Gideon. I’m going to miss him. I will never match the sense of loss that his family and close friends will feel, but I found him. A person. Someone God values. And for a little while, I had the honor of engaging in his life.
God bless you on your journey home, Gideon. The empty seat you left at the earthly table pales in comparison to the one you sit in now, at the Great King’s feast.
Grace and peace, my friend. Grace and peace.
