#52 Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 28, The Reunion/Communion of Saints

#52  Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 28,

#52  Ancestor Challenge 2019, Week 28,

The Reunion/Communion of Saints

By the Rev. Dr. Cynthia Forde

“Dad died this morning, “ said the low voice on the California end of the phone.  It was early Sunday morning, the first day of November 1977.  The phone call from my mother was anticipated; dad had been in a coma for several weeks.  We were silent for a minute or two until we cried and then said good-bye.   What do you door say when someone you love so much dies, and you have such a hole in your heart knowing you will never see their face again?   I arose and prepared for worship with a heavy heart; I had no idea that the news, and the morning, would be life-transforming. 

Dad was diagnosed with incurable wild oat cell lung cancer mid-January of 1977.  If anyone had time to prepare to die, it was dad, but it’s never long enough to say good-bye.   

Ervin Gelnor Vold was born 7 March 1915 in Worth County, Iowa to Carl Otto and Sithone Turvold Vold.   It was only later in life he learned his name wasn’t spelled Irving, but Ervin.  He was the fifth of six children welcomed into the home of first-generation Norwegian immigrants.    The family spoke only Norwegian, so Ervin had to repeat kindergarten because he couldn’t speak English.  He earned his nick-name Paul from neighbors who delighted watching the small seven-year-old galloping his horse to school, “There goes Paul Revere.”  Growing up with a grandpa named Ole, and a big brother named Ole, it was only natural that friends nicknamed Ervin/Paul, Ole, too.   

Irving/Ervin/Ole/Paul Vold was a well-liked, respected member of Worth County, Iowa. He graduated from high school with the class of 1934.   He loved hunting, fishing, and woodworking.  And he fell in love with my mother, Rose Arlene Miller! 

Rose was the daughter of Coy Clifton Miller and Ruby Anna King.   On 5 September 1937 dad and mom eloped.   On that lovely Sunday afternoon, with friends, Gilmore and Delores Halland, they drove to Cresco, Iowa to be married.  

Rose was born in Northwood, but her parents moved to Texas shortly after her birth; she lived there until her thirty-two-year-old mother passed away leaving twelve-year Rose and two younger sisters.   Rose and her sisters returned to Northwood to live with her maternal grandmother, Anna King Painter.   With a marked southern drawl Rose responded to all adults,  “Yes, Ma’am,“ which frustrated her teachers who considered it highly imprudent,  She graduated at age 17 from the Northwood High School class of 1937; she turned eighteen in June.   

Mom and Dad were described as a cute young couple fully embraced by the Northwood community.  Three daughters were welcomed to the family.  Dad said we looked so much alike at birth we could have been identical triplets.  We were especially alike in our love for dad.

Dad’s first job was working for his step in-law grandfather J.L. Painter; he also worked for Urdahl and Vold grocery store. He joined his father-in-law Coy Miller, working on the railroad as a fireman, in El Paso, Texas, then Tucson, Dunsmuir, California.   He wasn't happy away from Northwood.   Mom and Dad, plus  three-month-old Bonnie and I returned to Iowa in 1942.  Dad bought a tank wagon service to bring fuel oil and gasoline to farmers.  In addition to the fuel business, he did custom cabinetry and remodeling.  Evidence of his fine cabinetry is in many homes and First Lutheran Church in Northwood.  By 1956 he decided propane gas was going to put his fuel transport out of business.  He sold his business and moved the family to Glendale, California.  He worked briefly for Wilson Packing Company, and then the Los Angeles School System as the Air-Conditioning Superintendent.

It is any wonder that dad contracted lung cancer.  Dad was a lifetime cigarette smoker.  Cigarettes, plus, years of inhaling fumes from fuel oil, linoleum glue, varnish, and paint were enough to cause lung cancer; in addition, he worked refinished sister Merrilee's fiberglass motorboat.  The cancer was acute, the wild oat cell was incurably giving him less than a year to live.  He wanted to go home.  Home was always Northwood, the home of his heart; he wanted to say good-bye to friends and family.  He prepared for his death with this important trip to tell the people he loved, just how very much he loved them.  Claire Shaw, his lifelong best friend, told me about the emotional good-bye.  They shared memories through a long night; they and hugged they wept.  He visited me in Elk Horn, Iowa and told me good-bye.  How do you say goodbye, but cry? 

I wanted to say good-bye with a special gift for my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary.  I painted a pastel portrait of our nuclear family, the five of us.  The Northwood Anchor News published the image of the painting as a surprise to my subscriber parents.  I shipped the portrait to them, and I flew to California to say good-bye again.  

Saying good-bye is a forever challenge, whether it was two weeks or a lifetime.  It did not get easier.  While there, my sisters and I took dad for his appointment with a substitute oncologist, his regular doctor was out of town.  The doctor coaxed him to try chemotherapy, promising him “You could be out golfing again!”  Dad didn't golf, but he reluctantly agreed to try the new chemotherapy procedure; he almost died that night.  

 I returned home to five children in Iowa.  It was once again heartbreaking to say good-bye.  My sisters and I visited him in the hospital; but he waved us away saying, “You are taking up my air to breathe,” then he said, “be good to your mother!”  I turned for one last look at dad.  The sunlight from the window cast a beam across his forehead.  His head was bowed, his hands were folded in prayer, and as he struggled to breathe, he prayed out loud. “Our Father Who Art In Heaven, my heart wept, “Good-Bye Dad.”

A few weeks later, the early morning phone call came from mom, dad is gone.  I went to worship.  And my life changed forever.  God called me into ministry during the Apostles Creed with the words, “I believe in the communion of saints" (Latin, communio sanctorum) when referred to persons, is the spiritual union of the members of the Christian Church, the living and the dead).   I grasped the deeper meaning of the Eucharist.   It was a transforming moment. My mind and my heart were opened to the mystical reunion of all who have died in Christ now caught up with Him, and with those of us in the pew as we commune. We are all part of a single “mystical body” with Christ as the head, in which each member contributes to the good of all and shares in the welfare of all. 

 The earliest known use of this term to refer to the belief in a mystical bond uniting both the living and the dead in a confirmed hope and love is by Saint Nicetas of Remesiana (335–414); the term has since then played a central role in formulations of our Christian creed. Belief in the communion of saints is affirmed in the Apostles Creed.   

As my life unfolded, I accepted the call to ordained ministry, to presiding over the Eucharist.  I remain in awe, gripped by the vision of the mystical, incredible reunion/communion of the Saints in every Eucharist, “This is my body given for you; this is my blood shed for you!"  For YOU!  For ME! Amen!