I write this week with a heavy heart.
I am confused, angry, and in shock.
Saturday, October 31, 2009, Charlie Matthews passed away. Charlie was the lead pastor at Mason Vineyard Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. He served in various roles at Vineyard Community Church for many years. One of those roles was Director of Alpha. I was a speaker at Alpha. While in that position, I worked with Charlie for over a year.
But I knew Charlie long before that. He was a star volunteer many years ago when my ex-girlfriend helped lead outreach at the Vineyard. That was Charlie—he loved the church; he loved people; he loved serving.
I was incredibly conflicted this week. I had planned on visiting Mason Vineyard before hearing the news. Charlie had been sick for about a month, and I was curious how a relatively new church was functioning without its leader. But I also didn't want to exploit Charlie's tragic death. No matter where I ended up, I knew my thoughts would be with Charlie, his family, and the Mason Vineyard.
Bottom line: Charlie's death has rocked me in ways that took me by surprise. We weren't close friends, but Charlie was a part of my Vineyard family. I talked to him just a few months prior. Honestly, I needed to be with “family” this week. I needed to see people from the Vineyard. I needed to hug old friends. I wanted to celebrate Charlie's life and mourn his death with those who knew him best.
Charlie Matthews was a good man. He is survived by his wife and two children. And, in whatever platform I have been given, I want to speak about Charlie's legacy.
There are no easy answers when someone dies long before his time. When that person leaves behind a wife and two young children, it’s infuriating.
God, seriously, what the f@#k?
This makes no sense to me. Saturday night, I screamed at God … a lot. I dropped many f-bombs. An army of Christians prayed for his recovery. You’re telling me God heals headaches and sore elbows, but he allows a father of two to die just as his church is launching? Ridiculous.
I am incredibly confused, so I went to the Mason Vineyard on Sunday to look for answers. I followed that up with a visit to Vineyard Community Church. A number of things happened:
First, I was able to laugh and cry with some folks who love Charlie dearly. It was quite therapeutic.
Second, I had a hard time worshipping God. “God is great, God is holy, God is amazing, God is so loving, God is awesome.” I don’t want to be blasphemous, but I felt none of that this weekend. What is awesome about letting Charlie die? There may be some bigger purpose that I can’t see, but on the surface, it seems like a really stupid plan.
Third, I was challenged by Kent Odor and Dave Workman to really consider the rest of my life. No one is guaranteed anything. Not one more minute. How will I spend the rest of my days? Kent spoke about Charlie’s character. Am I living a life of integrity? Is my character strong?
Fourth, I was surrounded by my spiritual family. I got to hug a handful of folks, shake hands with many more, and process with some old friends. It was especially good hanging out with Duane, Shirkie, Sean, and Suzanne.
Through it all, here’s what God taught me:
I said this way back in week thirteen, but I really felt it this week. Church is family. Yes, there are other reasons for going to church, but as I’ve mentioned before, a lot of the functions of church can be met elsewhere. What you can’t reproduce in a vacuum, or find online, or get from reading a book, is the sense of community that happens in church.
Unfortunately, churches are dysfunctional, but whose family isn’t? There are freaks, and jerks, and flawed human beings, but that’s what makes the experience genuine. I’ve never met a perfect family, but when the shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
Similarly, I’ve never met a perfect church, but when the spiritual shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
God, I’m really pissed off that you took Charlie long before his time. I’ll keep processing, but your ways make no sense to me. What’s the point of prayer? Why heal some people and not others? Do you heal anyone, or do people just pretend? So … freaking … annoying.
Charlie, you left quite a legacy behind. I saw it in the faces of your friends and family. You have already inspired me to become more of the man God created me to be. You will be missed.
To everyone else, I am guilty of taking my life for granted. I assume I can goof around for a while and always put off living until tomorrow. I waste time. I allow my character to slip. I ignore significant relationships. I get angry about the wrong stuff and remain apathetic about the stuff that truly matters.
I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and be perfect. I’ll still struggle with everything I mentioned above. But I’m going to get better. I’m going to keep fighting.
This is mind-blowing, but a few weeks before Charlie got sick, he planned a series at Mason Vineyard called the, “One Month to Live Challenge.” Charlie died a little over a month later. Mason Vineyard is currently in the middle of that series. Are you freaking kidding me?
When someone like Charlie dies, it forces everyone to take a step back and ask, “Am I really living?” I hope we can all take some time this week to ask ourselves that question.
The lyrics from “When I Go,” by Brett Dennen, seem appropriate to close:
Oh, the thought of death has yet to make me afraid, ‘cause I will march right off of this world into the next like it’s a grand parade. But if you feel lonely just like you want to run and hide, then I’ll wrap my wings around you and give you strength, and I won’t leave your side.
Please keep Charlie's family in your thoughts and prayers.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
I am confused, angry, and in shock.
Saturday, October 31, 2009, Charlie Matthews passed away. Charlie was the lead pastor at Mason Vineyard Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. He served in various roles at Vineyard Community Church for many years. One of those roles was Director of Alpha. I was a speaker at Alpha. While in that position, I worked with Charlie for over a year.
But I knew Charlie long before that. He was a star volunteer many years ago when my ex-girlfriend helped lead outreach at the Vineyard. That was Charlie—he loved the church; he loved people; he loved serving.
I was incredibly conflicted this week. I had planned on visiting Mason Vineyard before hearing the news. Charlie had been sick for about a month, and I was curious how a relatively new church was functioning without its leader. But I also didn't want to exploit Charlie's tragic death. No matter where I ended up, I knew my thoughts would be with Charlie, his family, and the Mason Vineyard.
Bottom line: Charlie's death has rocked me in ways that took me by surprise. We weren't close friends, but Charlie was a part of my Vineyard family. I talked to him just a few months prior. Honestly, I needed to be with “family” this week. I needed to see people from the Vineyard. I needed to hug old friends. I wanted to celebrate Charlie's life and mourn his death with those who knew him best.
Charlie Matthews was a good man. He is survived by his wife and two children. And, in whatever platform I have been given, I want to speak about Charlie's legacy.
There are no easy answers when someone dies long before his time. When that person leaves behind a wife and two young children, it’s infuriating.
God, seriously, what the f@#k?
This makes no sense to me. Saturday night, I screamed at God … a lot. I dropped many f-bombs. An army of Christians prayed for his recovery. You’re telling me God heals headaches and sore elbows, but he allows a father of two to die just as his church is launching? Ridiculous.
I am incredibly confused, so I went to the Mason Vineyard on Sunday to look for answers. I followed that up with a visit to Vineyard Community Church. A number of things happened:
First, I was able to laugh and cry with some folks who love Charlie dearly. It was quite therapeutic.
Second, I had a hard time worshipping God. “God is great, God is holy, God is amazing, God is so loving, God is awesome.” I don’t want to be blasphemous, but I felt none of that this weekend. What is awesome about letting Charlie die? There may be some bigger purpose that I can’t see, but on the surface, it seems like a really stupid plan.
Third, I was challenged by Kent Odor and Dave Workman to really consider the rest of my life. No one is guaranteed anything. Not one more minute. How will I spend the rest of my days? Kent spoke about Charlie’s character. Am I living a life of integrity? Is my character strong?
Fourth, I was surrounded by my spiritual family. I got to hug a handful of folks, shake hands with many more, and process with some old friends. It was especially good hanging out with Duane, Shirkie, Sean, and Suzanne.
Through it all, here’s what God taught me:
I said this way back in week thirteen, but I really felt it this week. Church is family. Yes, there are other reasons for going to church, but as I’ve mentioned before, a lot of the functions of church can be met elsewhere. What you can’t reproduce in a vacuum, or find online, or get from reading a book, is the sense of community that happens in church.
Unfortunately, churches are dysfunctional, but whose family isn’t? There are freaks, and jerks, and flawed human beings, but that’s what makes the experience genuine. I’ve never met a perfect family, but when the shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
Similarly, I’ve never met a perfect church, but when the spiritual shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.
God, I’m really pissed off that you took Charlie long before his time. I’ll keep processing, but your ways make no sense to me. What’s the point of prayer? Why heal some people and not others? Do you heal anyone, or do people just pretend? So … freaking … annoying.
Charlie, you left quite a legacy behind. I saw it in the faces of your friends and family. You have already inspired me to become more of the man God created me to be. You will be missed.
To everyone else, I am guilty of taking my life for granted. I assume I can goof around for a while and always put off living until tomorrow. I waste time. I allow my character to slip. I ignore significant relationships. I get angry about the wrong stuff and remain apathetic about the stuff that truly matters.
I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and be perfect. I’ll still struggle with everything I mentioned above. But I’m going to get better. I’m going to keep fighting.
This is mind-blowing, but a few weeks before Charlie got sick, he planned a series at Mason Vineyard called the, “One Month to Live Challenge.” Charlie died a little over a month later. Mason Vineyard is currently in the middle of that series. Are you freaking kidding me?
When someone like Charlie dies, it forces everyone to take a step back and ask, “Am I really living?” I hope we can all take some time this week to ask ourselves that question.
The lyrics from “When I Go,” by Brett Dennen, seem appropriate to close:
Oh, the thought of death has yet to make me afraid, ‘cause I will march right off of this world into the next like it’s a grand parade. But if you feel lonely just like you want to run and hide, then I’ll wrap my wings around you and give you strength, and I won’t leave your side.
Please keep Charlie's family in your thoughts and prayers.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
