My thoughts in writing have been very much focused on what was. How did God create a place of worship and community out of an old ramshackle farm? I have marveled in His presence and His gifts and His transformations.
Today I am forced to take a deeper look at what is, and perhaps a little of what is to come. The present is heavy upon us, but God is present. The future is behind a curtain, but God is there, also.
This past week we lost Charles Bascom, in a sense the “pastor” of our community. His life blessed us in ways that formed much of who we became. He was the wise patriarch who continually pointed us to Scripture, prayer, and celebration. His life was a gift, given in time but now continuing in eternity. We will celebrate that gift at his memorial service this Saturday. And in the future we will continue to celebrate through our lives that have been enriched and changed because of Charles.
The loss of Charles’ presence will be felt deeply by us all. But there is also celebration in the fact that he is no longer weighted down with infirmities, the result of our fallen world. We have lost others here at the farm: a grandmother, a still-born granddaughter, a grandfather, and a teenaged son. Yet the loss is only temporary. We will see them again when we step into the “what is to come” of Heaven. We celebrate the promise of that gift.
People are gifts. Each person who has entered our lives has brought the gift of who they are. Those gifts have come from the Giver, and through the years we have received those gifts and been changed through those gifts. We have unwrapped them and celebrated His presence.
This is a beautiful tribute to an exceptional man! We all loved Charles Bascom! We will see you soon Charles!
I’m reminded of a line in an old hymn, “When in that place we shall look on His face, Oh that will be glory, glory for me!” Until then we endure this light momentary affliction.
Truly a celebration of his life, and best of all the life he is now living! Thinking of you all and praying for comfort this week as we especially remember Charles and Alex.
In all that your writings have been focussed on the farm and what God did there, the people are such a huge part of it, and their stories are what is so encouraging and gripping about the whole thing. As you say, Charles’s life brought so much to that community, without him it wouldn’t have been (and still wouldn’t be) the same at all. I am so thankful for how he lived and loved Jesus here on earth, what an amazing thing to think he is standing before his Savior now, rejoicing!
Dear Kay,
As life in this world marches on, I am increasingly impressed by the remarkable courage and enduring love of Christian elders like Charlie. Oh, how we need more men and women like him! He was one of those rare oaks of righteousness who illuminated our fallen world. Though I know he was not from the South, he was in the best sense a true Southern gentleman because he was focused on God’s grace and love. As I write, I find myself celebrating my friendship with both of you, and I hope that some of my memories of him will bring a smile to your face and comfort to your soul.
Though I had a wonderful father, I did not know any of my grandfathers except by reputation. But when I came to Christ, the Lord provided, as Janet Taussig might say, a quiver full (though Janet was, of course, referring to children) of remarkable grandfathers: most recently, 90+ year-old Jim Houston, mentored by C.S. Lewis, knew J.R. Tolkien, authored 40 books, was founder of Regents College; 88 -year old David Simpson, Reverend, Presbyterian evangelist, ardent Alabama football fan, widower, well known in Tuscaloosa because he drove his sports car perpetually in 2nd gear so that it was forever shaking to and fro and holding up traffic; 87-year old Charles Davis, missionary, part Baptist – Pentecostal and rescuer of two young missionaries held by the Taliban. To that list of “grandfathers” from whom I learned so much spiritually from their incredible walk with our Lord and with whom I shared some of the most important moments of my life, I surely add Charles Bascom.
Though two of these dear grandfather-figures remain active in this world, I know that Charlie has joined the other two who have passed from this world to the next. How I hope they meet each other and, perhaps, my parents. And their union should remind us to look forward to our future reunions with them as the circle remains unbroken in Christ. Though we mourn Charlie’s passing, and though we will miss him terribly, we can take eternal comfort in our Savior’s provision for us.
I remember Charlie… I watched as he conveyed the gospel to a prodigal son of mine before his spinal cord injury and the love of Christ after his injury. I marveled at his resilience in helping us search for “Butter,” my Isabelle’s little yellow and white pet bunny who “went missing” from her cage on our way through Kansas as we moved to Heidelberg. I watched your sons grown up strong, and I remember Tim’s playing “The First Noel” on a snowy Christmas Eve where invited Israeli, Egyptian, Iranian students broke break together at your home and several other Kitten Creek homes. I watched Charlie’s loving tenderness toward you. Your last photo speaks powerfully to me of your mutual love and devotion. In my home library, on my quiet-time desk, is a valued photo of Charlie, Jud and me… we are arm in arm, Christian brothers to the last trumpet, brothers in Christ forever!
So when I heard of Charles’s passing, I found myself rejoicing in the grand reunions occurring on the other side, particularly with your grandson. Imagine them together in heaven, where there is no enemy!
Charlie was one of those rare individuals who consistently gave more than he received. Intellectually engaging, humble beyond measure, always the evangelist, he was forever engaged in spiritual conversations. He saw each of us as eternal beings. As a life-long learner, he was always receptive to the lessons of life. I never saw bitterness or despair on his face. As a physician, Charlie reminded us of the historical link between medicine and faith, echoing the famous Johns Hopkins physician Sir William Osler, who wrote “Nothing in life is more wonderful than faith—the one great moving force which we can neither weigh in the balance nor test in the crucible.” Yes, “Dr. Bascom” taught us to hook ourselves into God’s grace-filled promises to receive true healing.
“For the Lord God helps me; therefore, I have not
been confounded (taken off course); therefore, I have set my face like
flint, for I know I shall not be put to shame; He who vindicates me is
near.” (Isaiah 50:7).
Charlie taught us that God’s grace is realized in part when we believe that each of us has a unique, eternal mission, “the hope to which he has called you” (Eph. 1:18). What is that calling? Though I believe each of us receives a
unique call from God, the mission statement for all seniors can be
found in Psalm 71:
For you have been my hope, O Sovereign Lord,
my confidence since my youth.
From birth I have relied on you. . . .
Even when I am old and gray,
do not forsake me, O God,
till I declare your power to the next generation,
your might to all who are to come. (Ps 71:5-6, 18)
“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have
peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I
have overcome the world” (Jn. 16:33).
Charlie’s presence in our lives will be remembered by Lane and me as one of those rare relationships that has impacted and stunned us in the ways in which he so simply and powerfully shared our Lord’s love and wisdom with whomever he came into contact. He took time to just be with people in the truest sense of sharing one’s life moments, one person at a time. As Lane and I look back on our times with you and Charlie, we realize that the actual contact we had with you two was but a small portion of the years in our lives, but the spiritual influence…the Jesus-focused counsel and example set daily by you and Charlie, have encouraged and emboldened us throughout the intervening years since our Kansas days and treasured visits to a cabin on Kitten Creek Road.
Even when we were living on Delaware Drive in Manhatten, the Lord sent the two of you to our spiritual rescue when little Isabelle was having trouble getting a positive start on Sunday mornings…Southern breakfasts before church with the likes of Kay and Charlie Bascom were just what the Lord knew Isabelle needed to get a loving start on the Lord’s Day. Truth be told, those times with the two of you, who got up extra early so you could travel all the way into Manhatten from Keats in time to eat breakfast and still make it to church on time (!), meant as much to Lane and me as it benefited Isabelle. We loved to just be with you…to be influenced and encouraged by your peaceful, assuring presence.
When our world was shaken to its core when Mike’s accident changed all of our lives, it was yours and Charlie’s steady pointing to the Lord and His loving care of us all that got us through those initial, unbelievable months of adjustment. Over the eleven years since, we have run to you both for still-needed grounding in our reliance on the Lord and our trust in His plan for our lives. Yes, we have needed Charles and Kay many times over these many years, and you have both always been the rocks that the Lord knew we needed when our hearts were broken and we needed someone with skin on to assure us of the love and faithfulness of our Lord Jesus.
Kay, Lane and I look forward even more now to reaching a heaven in which Charlie Bascom resides. It will be a grand reunion, to be sure! In the mean time, we look forward to being with you in every sense that we can…hopefully, in person from time to time, but surely keeping up through messages and phone calls. You are one of the few ladies in our lives whom we consider a spiritual mentor and friend. Our love for you and your importance in our lives is immeasurable. Kay and Charles have always been a team…now one has been given his reward and one is still waiting…We count it our honor to be waiting with you, Kay. Our glory days are still ahead!
Love,
Lane and Mike