Let's get straight to the heart of the matter. That's what Zack and I always did in our brief staccato theological conversations. I might compare our talks with a tennis match in which I'd serve up something for him to consider, but with enough back-spin that I hoped he'd be drawn to the net - and then, maybe, into a pew a little more frequently. Tennis is almost a good metaphor but as active a game as tennis is, the metaphor doesn't quite convey the nature of our interchange without a little linguistic license.

Our dialogues were like a tennis match - but one played with machine guns instead of rackets. For tennis balls are too slow and rackets don't make enough noise to stand in as an image of our conversations. We liked to volley ideas about life while firing off words a mile a minute. If one could see in the infrared and ultraviolet spectra there was probably the human energy field equivalent of fireworks shooting out of the top of Zack's head while we talked.

Zack was a little intense. Do you know what I mean?

He was also extremely earnest. When we would get down to the bottom of something important he was like a gold rush miner peering into a pan full of wet dark sand who suddenly saw the nugget that had been hiding there all along. Even if you add water sand is still sand. And gold does not change whether the sun is singing light all around your spirits or the rain is weeping 'til your heart is full of the blues. Gold is gold, that which has value endures. So let's honor Zack by being earnest and getting down to the heart of the matter, separating the sand and water from that which is precious and true.

No one wants to lose someone they love. What kind of a God, we might ask, would take the life of a vibrant young man who is a doting father and a passionate husband- a man who is brimming with passion and possibilities- and put out that light like a candle casually extinguished in between other tasks? How do we make sense of this sudden loss?

Let's sort out what we can. Let us wash child-like superstitions to the side of the miner's pan, and poke into the scripture we have just heard so that we might find those nuggets of wisdom and truth that are immutable and beyond price.

We have not lost Zack. That is the promise that rang out on the first Easter- a light from the tomb to enlighten the nations, a hope for those who mourn, a rock on which we can stand today. Zack has died, but Zack is not lost. How can this be? In the Gospel Thomas struggled with Jesus' words and Christ was standing right in front of Him, wounds and all. Is it any surprise that our understanding is more like the emerging light of dawn than like a bolt of lightening out of the blue? In some realm we cannot see from here, Zack stands, as energetic as ever, resonant and clear, in the sight and presence of God. Where Zack is now we will be in due season - for love never ends.

The love that God has for humankind never ends- not only did God send His son to redeem us long ago but there are many rooms prepared so that all might find a place when we go to be with God. The love of Christ never ends, not even on the cross, not in the tomb, nor to this day. Easter is the proof of that, and resurrection is the enduring promise extended to us. Can we help each other to believe this? Zack is not lost, he is with God and a place is there for us on the last day.

But we are still left to wonder why God would take Zack? Phrasing the question that way calls to mind a deity that reaches down and snatches people away. That's not the God I know, and it is not the God of the Gospel. God did not uproot a tree and put it in front of Zack's car. There was an accident - which by definition does not have an explainable cause or a sensible reason. It is simply what happened.

But God acts in the face of what is and then moves to redeem it. Neither sin nor death, things done or left undone, can keep us form the love of God. When Zack died, God was there- not as one who caused Zack's death but as the one to receive Zack in that moment of accident, that instant of shifting from this reality to another. God took what was and hallowed it by offering Zack a new and unending life. This is a concrete and specific expression of what our faith proclaims. We can't see it but we can choose to depend upon it. Just as Thomas wanted a map and was instead offered a wise and loving guide, so too God wants to walk with us through the shadows, and this new silence, until we see the sun rise with our own eyes and believe even those things we cannot touch, or hear, or taste.

In my Father's house are many rooms, Jesus proclaimed. It's a metaphor, like my tennis match with Zack. But let's tweak this one a little too. Zack is not in the laundry room of God's house. He is probably not in the garage. Guess where Zack is.

Pick a room…any room…anybody?

The kitchen - the place from which feasts emerge. And this brings us first to the Book of Isaiah, and later to the reception at Amanda's house - but first a small digression.

Many children have asked me about where animals go when they die. These children want to know whether their tiny kittens and cute furry puppies will go to heaven. But I can almost hear Zack in God's kitchen asking questions. The questions are not about puppies. Zack wants to know if lobsters go to heaven, and where are the shrimp.

Love never ends. Food can be a joyous expression of care, comfort and community. Hope is resplendent like well presented entree on the table, and faith will quench our deepest longing better than the finest vintage made from grapes.

First we feast with family and friends. Than we dine with God. In the end we'll all gather at the table for the feast of love that never ends.

God bless you, Zack. Keep the plates warm. We'll be there for dinner, by and by. AMEN