Remembering Matthew

For several weeks now I have been wanting to write more about Matthew, my brother-in-law, who died at the age of 53 near the end of March in Ohio.

At the time of a death, thoughts of the deceased one roil together in a sometimes confusing kettle full of sorrow and gratitude and yearning and gladness.  So which feeling is right?  What is the essence of the right feeling about the life that was lived?  In Matthew's case, he himself, in the months before his death, helped us all make sense of who he was--then and earlier.

I won't pretend to have known Matthew well throughout his entire life.  I did know Matthew very well when he was my student at junior high age.  He was an interesting adolescent.  Full of mischief and in  need of some pretty serious disciplinary measures at times, he apparently didn't hold my teacher-role against me.  His dad told me over the time of the funeral that once when Matthew was in trouble at school, he was trying to deal with Matthew at home on the matter, and Matthew wasn't favorably impressed with his dad's efforts.  Finally he wrapped it up by telling his dad, "Vell, die Miriam heicht mich op, avah du dusht net."  (Well, Miriam listens to me, but you don't.)

I didn't ask a lot of questions about Matthew--ever.  I got my impressions first-hand or not at all.  I realized eventually that a long stretch of years consisted of too much "not at all."  When funeral plans were being made with Matthew's help, Clara asked if I would write something to be read at the funeral.  I agreed to help, but said that I would need a lot of assistance for the huge part of his life when I had limited contact with him.  As I began to jot things down, I realized that it was likely an impossibility for me to write anything complete and/or appropriate.  "I wish Leon would write something," I told my local siblings when we were together around that time.  Leon is my agemate and first cousin, and he and his family lived in Matthew and Clara's home community during the early years of their marriage.  They were close friends.  The very next day Clara emailed and said that Leon would write something, and I was off the hook.  Relief!

In contrast to what I have relied on for information throughout most of Matthew and my acquaintance, what I will write here about Matthew comes mostly from things I heard second-hand since his death.

Matthew's sister told me about a time in recent months when her parents and siblings were together and Matthew spoke to his family about having found peace in placing his faith in God Who was going before him.  I don't know how much of this Matthew articulated then, but his sister told me that Matthew had a habit of waiting to accept something till he understood it, so this choice of acceptance by faith was a huge step in trusting God with his life and future.  The remembrance brochure that was entitled "Gelassenheit" and handed out at the visitation in Columbus contained a record of the conversation between Matthew and the sister who told me of Matthew's insight.  This is what it said:

"Well," Matthew said very slowly, "there is peace, peace in saying 'What is, is good.'  In our culture, we talk of non-resistance.  This is nonresistance . . . People think this transitioning [facing death with faith] is an awesome thing, but if you can say it now--what is, is good--in whatever situation you are, that is just as awesome."

The phrase "In our culture" is more significant than is likely apparent, and leads to another notable snippet of information I heard recently about Matthew.  When our son Shane was asked to help organize and lead the group of several dozen of Matthew and Clara's nieces and nephews in singing at the funeral, he was told that Matthew had requested that some German singing be included "to acknowledge the peace he feels with his background--which was not always the case."  I find a world of comfort in the fact that Matthew made peace with this part of who he was and that he wanted others to know about it.  I think this lack of peace earlier explained a lot of mysteries about Matthew.
Matthew, the son of a Beachy bishop had walked away from any outward identification with his religious and cultural background--eventually finding a church home with others in the Vineyard group.  While I believe he heard much truth in that setting and made a good contribution--and his life reflected some spiritual sensibilities, he also indulged in some excesses that are not considered "best expressions" in any Christian denomination I'm familiar with.  Near the end he apparently laid aside some of this excess baggage.  Those ear studs were very small, but he had to have known that they were big enough to be distracting to a whole host of people in the cultural tradition of his background, and I can't imagine that anyone who noted their absence before Matthew's burial felt that the absence was a distraction.  Removing them was in keeping with his desire to acknowledge the peace he felt with his background.

Friends of Matthew and his immediate family spoke of how well he listened to others and how carefully he tried to affirm them and make them feel comfortable.  This was no pretense, and was truly admirable.  It fits with what I knew of him as an adolescent.  Even then he didn't stoop to ridicule of other students who may have struggled for acceptance.  It also fits with what many experienced when they were guests and Matthew was their host.  To many who interacted with him, Matthew exuded an aura of "class" in every good sense of the word.  He had a wonderful sense of humor and his combination of creativity and intelligence gave him astonishing capabilities.  His perfectionism almost paralyzed him at times, but resulted also in exemplary workmanship in a variety of endeavors--in school--during art class, in architecture projects, and in computer software development.

Things were more complex than "a class act," however.  Not at the beginning, and not near the end, but for a long time in the middle, Matthew rarely brought his family to Kansas.  When he did, he sometimes occupied himself almost entirely with activities that did not include our family.  We puzzled over this.  We liked him, and very few of us had ever had any run-ins with him.  What was wrong?  Why did he avoid us?

In a conversation during his final illness, Matthew addressed his own behavior, and apologized.  He also explained that he felt that we thought he wasn't good enough to marry our beautiful, intelligent, and well-loved youngest sister, and he chose to erect walls to protect himself from disapproval.  When he talked of how he perceived things, my sister (not his wife) assured him that we all thought he and Clara were a good match, and we did not harbor critical feelings toward him.  She spoke well for all of us in this.  What a pity that this was not resolved sooner, and what a mercy that it could be resolved before Matthew's death.

Matthew spent 2? years as a chief at Fair Play Wilderness Camp.  By his own words we know that this time changed his life--in a good way.  When he married soon after that, it looked as though he and Clara were headed for a fairly typical Holmes County Beachy life.  He had a responsible position in the large cabinet shop (factory?) that his grandfather had established and his father and other relatives had expanded.  He became increasingly disillusioned, however, with the "politics" (not American government politics, but power, influence, and relationship matters) present in the work and church scene.  Eventually, he left his job and moved with his young family to Columbus to enroll in an architecture program at Ohio State University.  I knew that profession would be a good fit for his skills, and he persisted until he had earned a master's degree.

Not long after he was hired at his first job as an architect, a slump in the building industry required that the firm downsize, and Matthew lost his job.  He worked at other things for a time--driving a limo among them, but most recently had been creating aps (writing software for computer applications).  I'm guessing that he felt some frustration at not being able to work in the field he was trained and well-suited for, and I feel a lot of sympathy for him in that position.

Our family saw again a very likable Matthew when he and his entire family came for my mother's funeral this past January.  He had lost most of his hair because of chemotherapy, and had shaved off the rest.  His color wasn't good, but hugs we exchanged with him were genuine.  Matthew was full of affirmation for our family, expressing appreciation and admiration for how we planned for the funeral, and clearly standing with us in mourning our mother/grandmother's passing, and joining in celebration of who she was.  He was obviously moved by the singing at the funeral and knew after that that he wanted choral singing at his funeral and that he wanted Shane involved in planning and leading it.  Earlier, even though he couldn't come along (because of chemo), he "sent" Clara and his daughter Victoria to visit Mom the week before she died, and they had some good days together.

I feel exactly as Matthew's sister verbalized--that it would be so nice to have had the "new Matthew" among us for many years to come.  Yet, to have the "new Matthew" so well prepared for heaven is a great joy as well.

Making caskets is one of the things that happens at the Shrock family business, and Matthew and his father had walked among the displays earlier and picked out the one that was to be used when Matthew died.  It was simply designed and made of quarter-sawn oak--the design named, as all of them are, after castles in Europe.

Calling hours took place in Columbus after Matthew's death.  Overnight the scene shifted to Holmes County and Messiah Church, where Matthew used to attend, and where his parents still are.  More calling hours occupied morning hours, and the funeral commenced in the afternoon.  The main message and the graveside committal were delivered by the pastor of the Vineyard church Matthew attended, but everything else was done by family or church people.  Burial high on a hill overlooking Schrock family land, among a cluster of older graves, was not extraordinarily accessible, but a host of people braved the very cold wind and just-thawed mud underfoot to walk a quarter mile or so to witness the procedure.  In digging the grave, so many large rocks had to be removed that there was a scarcity of dirt to fill in after the casket was lowered--something I've never seen in a Kansas burial.

Local people took very good care of all who had come for the funeral, and, in spite of a grueling trip and intense emotions, I came home feeling refreshed.  We'd done all we could for Matthew, and a sense of being finished was a good feeling.

The best part of all, however, was knowing that Matthew had finished his course with joy and had arrived at his heavenly home in peace.  At the funeral, the brochure handed out was entitled "Victorious."  A picture of Matthew raising both arms high, standing at the edge of the ocean appears between the title and this verse:  "As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness.  I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness."  Psalm 17:15.

A cancer diagnosis is never welcome, and in Matthew's case it was decidedly unpleasant to see his body ravaged.  Strokes and pain medication slowed his always-deliberate speech even further near the end.  Watching this was painful, even from a distance.  I can't imagine how difficult these changes were for Matthew.  He navigated this time with dignity--at least when he wasn't regaling others with hilarious accounts of the indignities.

While he was plodding toward death, he was also being renewed inwardly.  On his Facebook wall he had posted this:  "When you die, that does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live."
- Stuart Scott 

Going "home" in a casket doesn't sound much like "beating" anything, but those of us who know the story know that Matthew's "going home" gave witness to cancer having been a very special kind of mercy for Matthew and all who knew and loved him.  Gelassenheit.  Victorious.  Home.  Those are all words that inspire gratitude and gladness and comfort.