So much can happen in one week. I flew to Seattle unexpectedly at the end of a quick trip to San Francisco because my grandfather was not doing well. As it turned out, I was able to be by his bedside for the last few hours of his life — he passed away shortly after 7:00pm last Tuesday. It was the first time I had ever seen a body that has just had it’s soul depart. At first I tried to make sense of the event, but death is precisely that part of life that resists a production of meaning that is calcified, hardened, final. And it is because we live in a state of mystery that the meanings of our lives and of our deaths can be continually re-signified. It is this state of mystery that seems to both come from and produce grace.
The earthquake in Chile bears much the same lesson for me. For all the toil we put into building up and dominating this earth, it takes just a moment for the hills to shrug their shoulders and undo our work. In that moment, we are rendered powerless, we are put out of our homes, our cars strewn across roads like toys on the nursery floor, we are laid out on the ground, ever vulnerable, ever humbled. It is amazing.
Creation and decreation, life and death, happening all around us all the time. Grace is what links these two elements of the cycle: it is because of grace that they are entwined and continue to give over, one to the other. And grace preserves the mystery of the cycle, even as we determine to pull out meaning after meaning, like rabbits from the magician’s hat.

