Pause

So, I'm in the middle of a series writing about Jesus' grief and his experience of sorrow when today happens.

One of our students from GCF passed away this morning.

I met Granvil through a Small Group during his freshman year.  He was a genius, but very quiet and humble about it. 

He and Luke were the only ones who were able to make it out to that Group, but we had a great time.  We wrestled with the book of James, applying it to our lives and thinking through the real, deep call to "be not merely hearers of the word, but doers also."

Granvil applied his faith to his life, his free time, his academics, his relationships.  Everything he did was infused with an awareness of God.

Even basketball.

Granvil loved racing up and down the basketball court.  He didn't have a lot of weight on him, but he always fought for the ball.  But he never threw tantrums, never committed an angry foul, never lost his cool.  If Jesus played basketball, he'd probably play like Granvil.

Can someone really be consistently a Christian?

What I mean to ask is "Can someone live the way Christ calls us to every minute?"  Granvil probably didn't.  He probably messed up, probably stumbled.  Everyone does.  I don't mean to overinflate him.  But few people pursue holiness the way Granvil did.  And I really admire that.

More than his musical or athletic or linguistic or physicistical prowess, I admire Granvil for his dedication to living and loving like Jesus.

So what do we do when our lives (and theological, strategic musings) are interrupted by tragedy? 

We should ask questions.
We should grieve.
We should doubt.
We should reach out, to people and to God.
We should comfort.
We should pray.
We should console.
We should examine our own lives.
We should pause.

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