A few years ago, when Ben and I first moved to Philadelphia in the summer, I was still enthusiastic about running outside. Jogging is one of my favorite ways of getting to know a place and I tried scheduling a different route for each run. I'd wear the lightest attire possible, don my headphones and little iPod, battle the heat and humidity for as long as I could stand it, and take in West Philadelphia. We had decided to take a little break from attending church for the summer so it became my habit to download the podcasts from our old church and listen to them on my jogs. Not only was it a way to continue learning from the wisdom and craft of our former pastor, it made me feel connected to the community of people I loved and missed (and still love and miss).
One day I decided to take a longer jog along the Schuylkill River (one of the rivers that carves out West Philly from Center City...if you follow it 20 miles from Philly you eventually get to Valley Forge). I hit play on the iPod and the first sermon began. Maybe it was a milder day or maybe I didn't have class that day or maybe it was just a really captivating sermon...but either way, after the first sermon ended, I just kept jogging. The second sermon started. I was one of the only people out on the river trail that day and the solitude and serenity of my scenery coupled with Mark's steady stream of words made me forget about my muscles for a while.
As I neared the end of the second sermon, I figured it was probably time to turn around (now that I had two sermon's worth of jogging to get back home in front of me). The second sermon ended, there was a brief pause, and then a different voice filled the silence, beginning the third podcast. It caused me to stop jogging. I smiled and sat down in the grass. I didn't want to miss a word.
I first heard Steve Aurell speak at a 20's group, maybe 6 years ago. He gave his testimony. I remember his slow pace of speaking, his slight drawl, his honesty. It wasn't so much the drugs or the prison time or the car wreck and injuries that nearly took his life that intrigued me, although he's a captivating storyteller. It was his humility that I remember well. His way of framing his failures and successes and pain and relationships in such a way that spoke so eloquently of a battered life restored by God's perfect grace. It was his voice and eloquence that caused me to stop jogging, sit down, and take in whatever he had to say.
Each time I heard him speak after that initial meeting, I was moved by what he had to say. One Friday Ben and I even had the privilege of attending a Higher Power service. This was a ministry that he led for recovering addicts. I'm pretty sure that everyone of us is addicted to something and could benefit from his ministry. I'll never forget sitting in the back and watching as people streamed in. It was like watching a huge family gather at a dinner table. Everyone who entered got bear hugs and was looked in the eye. Some people were crying. Others were guffawing. No one really cared if they stood out. The next Sunday at church I was struck by how stiff and proper the hugs appeared compared to the embraces of that crowd on Friday night. I think that it takes the humility and embrace of a leader like Steve to create that sort of atmosphere among a group of people.
I appreciated the few times I got to talk to Steve at the staff Christmas parties. He was just the same one-on-one that he was in front of a congregation. Still the slow pace of speaking, the subtle sense of humor, the genuine conversation.
A few weeks ago, a good friend called Ben to let him know that Steve had died the night before. I always knew that he had pancreatic cancer. It was always evident he was in pain though he never complained. It was easy for me (and maybe others) to ignore the diagnosis, to assume it would go away (though it rarely ever does) as a way of believing he would always be around, that there would always be one of his sermons sprinkled into my podcasts, that we'd get to talk to him again when we come back for visits. We've been gone for a while now and out of the loop, and didn't hear many updates on the situation. I didn't realize he had been very sick for close to a year.
Ben got to attend the memorial service this evening, on a Friday night. I imagine him embracing people that we haven't seen for a while, that we love and miss, that gathered together tonight to honor the life of a man so many of us will miss dearly. You know someone has finished well when the pain felt by his absence is soothed by the image of his restoration. It brings great peace knowing that he has been drawn to his resting place, fully complete now and no longer in pain, embraced by his loving Lord and Savior, the One who fashioned his life into a powerful image of grace that each of us will carry until we too are finished here.
I'm so thankful for Steve and his life, thankful that Ben and I got to know someone like him in the early years of our marriage, thankful that the timing worked out so that Ben could join dear friends in honoring him tonight, thankful that his sermons are archived and I can continue listening to them (even though in my West Coast weakness the jogs have moved to the gym). We pray for his family that they will be comforted. We look forward to meeting him again.
