grandpa, god, and stuff: a story of redemptive generosity.

a member of the greatest generation (on steroids)...
About a year ago my grandfather passed away at the age of 84. I grew up with my grandparents frequently visiting, staying in touch, and, particularly in the case of my grandfather, conveying their life stories so that they could be passed down. My grandfather grew up in the depression, dealt with an untimely death of his mother, took care of both his alcoholic father and blind sister, started his own business, and served in the pacific theater in World War II all by the time that he was my age. To sum it up, just imagine a Tom Brokaw "greatest generation" story on steroids and you have my grandfather. Grieving my Grandfather took on a unique shape. Usually death is made hard to deal with because of a sense of untimeliness, or an undue amount of suffering, or some sort of unfinished business. I can say that, for my own part, I had none of these things. My Grandfather took heaven for granted and spoke of it quite candidly, was at an age and health which made an imminent passing something that was expected, and he spent his retirement nearly constantly visiting his seven children and twenty-eight grandchildren. (I did say seven children and twenty-eight grandchildren. My grandfather, like many WWII vets, was a proud shareholder in the baby-boom.) None of the above issues, for me, presented themselves in the stages of grief. The difficulty I had is learning how to remember him. How could I remember and tell his story in a way that was relevant to people like me who are in a generation in which values, affects, sensibilities, and culture has been inverted from the time in which he grew up?

Essentially, my grandfather was a hero. World Mythology expert Joseph Campbell defines a hero as someone who chooses to act based on the authentic demands that are in his soul and psyche at the expense of things that their culture has deemed as norms. They risk, and indeed face, rejection. They embody a faith and authenticity with a shelf-life that outlasts creature comforts, and upon the birth of this faith return to the world from which they came offering it the blessings which came at great expense. For Campbell, this process that makes a hero mirrors the process of the coming of age to adulthood. Interestingly enough, many young men my age (myself included) would say that both embodying heroism and maturity are the holy grail that lies perpetually beyond their grasp.

Stories of this caliber have existed at all places and all points of history from Jason facing the Argonauts, to Luke Skywalker and the Imperial "Dark Side" to my Grandfather and a hurting, lost world. The odd thing is that my Grandfather's story is true. He really existed. I can show you pictures if you want. For some reason, I did not have the generational empathy to really understand this until after my Grandfather had passed away. While my Grandfather didn't embody the gut-spilling transparency that seems to be the virtue-du-jour in modern Christian circles, but I've began to see that he did embody something more fundamental. My Grandfather understood the heroic identity of what it means to joyfully and contentedly embody Jesus in a world of hurt.

My grandfather's conversion to Christianity came at the end of the war. There were a series of events beginning with a miraculous survival of the attacks on Pearl Harbor, and culminating by an incident with a young, Korean orphan boy at the end of the war. My Grandfather saw this young boy on the street and upon being solicited for help, told him that he would take him to go get some food. While they were walking they were swarmed by an entire group of orphans who unlike the previous boy were asking, not for food, but for whiskey and cigarettes. When my grandfather refused to give him these things, the first young boy asked him if he was a Christian. This was a question that my Grandfather later said was echoing in his head for months. My grandfather articulated this in a very accessible way, being from a blue collar, midwestern background. But in retrospect, I think that he had an existential crisis. He stood at the end of a long, sacrificial, tour of duty and began to ask himself what the underlying motive was for what he did.

This brief season culminated in him visiting a chapel service in which a Presbyterian missionary who happened to share my Grandfather's Swedish heritage, happened to be presenting the gospel. My Grandfather, through the rest of his life, would repeat what this evangelist said. "There are two kinds of people in this world: sinners and sinners that Jesus saves." Upon hearing this distinction, my Grandfather didn't have to put a whole lot of thought into which type of person he wanted to be. It is at this time that my Grandfather began his life as a fanatic Christian. While this has pejorative overtones, there is no other word that seems to quantify his degree of zeal. There was a new Swedish missionary in town, and he had a story to tell.

Upon my Grandfather's return to America he had a bank account that consisted of most of the money that he had been drawing during his different tours as well as an ice business that he had sold upon enlisting in the military. I don't know what the exact dollar amount is, but an uncle of mine explained that it was enough to buy a car, make a down payment on a house, and start a decently comfortable life. In an overture of divine affection, he decided to empty his account out and literally give all of his savings to different Christian missionary and humanitarian organization. My grandfather had a particular soft spot for Korean children and heard about a man named Everett Swanson (another good Swede) who was starting a ministry providing food, shelter and schooling for 35 Korean orphans. He decided to give $1,000 to this man. I found an article on the Web that told about this event:



Evangelist Everett Swanson travels to South Korea to preach the gospel to the troops in the Republic of Korea army. During his visit he encounters children orphaned by the war. Rev. Swanson is challenged by a missionary friend: "You have seen the tremendous needs and unparalleled opportunities of this land. What do you intend to do about it?"

Two checks are presented to Rev. Swanson ($50 and $1,000) upon his return to America to help the orphans of Korea. "This was conclusive proof to me that God was in it," Swanson said.

What was a relatively small but sacrificial gift became a ministry that we are now familiar with as Compassion International. Their website, from which the above quote was taken says that this man's ministry has outlasted him, now helping half a million children in over 50 countries. Interestingly enough, I never heard my grandfather articulate his giving as sacrificial. My grandfather looked at the relationship of his belongings to people in need the way that I would look at receiving a $100 gift card to itunes. It wasn't sacrificial. It was recklessly indulgent. He was a grace junkie looking for another fix. When my Grandfather died, some of my Uncles were going through his checking account records and they said that it seemed that donations were outweighing the bills. My grandmother had never even heard him talk about a lot of the people and organizations that he gave to. I'm sure that many people who face the loss of a spouse discover "little secrets" on the bank ledger of the deceased: fast food binges, online gambling, fishing gear, maybe even something elicit. My grandfather's secret was his generosity towards others. It was more than one would expect--even his own wife.

The hard part about remembering my Grandfather has been in comparing and contrasting his world and mine. He came from a time when expectations were more clear, where there was still the black and white distinction of good guys and bad guys, and where it seems that those in power could be more trusted. Maybe I'm wrong, but I always had an impression of his world that was less fragmented and complex. In the world that I am in, it is much more difficult to be heroic. But when I think about the story that I just told, I am reminded of the heroic virtues of contented generosity, and I know that this is even more possible in the world that I live in. I have not realized this in my own life, but I'm sure that God smiles and Satan shivers at the thought of churches filled with heroically generous people.


Picture of Elmer Rund (my Grandfather) being presented with an award by a man named Colonel Sanders. Not to be confused with the guy with the secret delicious chicken recipe.








































My grandfather on the right with the 1948 James Dean Look-alike champion.






















My Grandfather on far left (half cropped out) , again being honored by someone who is apparently important, as demonstrated by the mismatched hat.