Dressed in layers of flannel and wool to ward off the autumn night’s chill, the grieving faithful gathered along the riverbank for a farewell ritual that bore trappings of a good, old-fashioned Irish wake.
They bowed their heads as a clergywoman offered prayer. They raised bubbling flutes of champagne in tribute to auld lang syne – days gone by that have come to their perhaps untimely end. Through it all, they laughed heartily and shared fond memories – in this case, treasured recollections of an iconic, soon-to-be-lost-forever landmark.
Then, somewhere, someone flipped-on the secret switch that illuminated the ceremonial lights of Lansing’s famed Black Hawk Bridge one more time. But unlike decades of prior evenings in all kinds of weather, the glowing display pierced the darkness not in support of a struggling neighbor, not in cherished remembrance of a lost friend or family member, but in honorable recollection of the Black Hawk Bridge itself. Come Monday, tomorrow, the old, timeworn span will close for good. And within weeks, its once-rock-hard iron trusses and girders will be disassembled and their concrete piers demolished.
Thus a community grieves, and I sense their pain.
In 1888 the Kimberly Clark Paper Co. purchased a vast tract of undeveloped land along the Fox River at a place in northeast Wisconsin known to locals as “The Cedars.”
It was there at The Cedars where Kimberly Clark built a sprawling paper plant, around which sprang a mill town aptly named “Kimberly,” the very-much Dutch village where I grew up. The mill employed several generations, including my father, stepmother, grandfather, and a handful of great-uncles.
The mill was the economic engine that fueled the community. Its weekly payrolls established comfortable, middle-class lifestyles for hundreds of families, including mine. The mill further infused the village with a sense of identity and purpose above and beyond tulips and wooden shoes. Thus the intimidating mascot of my high school was a paper wasp, and Kimberly’s athletes remain known as the “Papermakers.”
Then, in 2008, the mill shut down – an innocent victim of corporate scheming. The closure left the community fighting for its very survival, and by 2014, the mill was gone – literally! The merciless swings of a wrecking ball reduced the once-teeming paper mill to rubble and ruin. Visiting the site not long after, I stood behind a security fence slack-jawed and dumbfounded, staring out at the forlorn emptiness that lay before me –likely similar to the dreaded feeling of community death and loss for those friends and neighbors gathered along the Lansing riverbank that Saturday night.
Even so, those of us whose faith is in Jesus Christ are a people of resurrection. We are a chosen lot of believers who trust in our risen Lord’s promise to come again, a holy nation that leans hard on his promise to wipe away every tear of fear, loathing, and death. Riffing on the affirmation of cherished lyrics, our living hope really is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness! Listen for that Good News in a New Testament letter from the apostle Peter –
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ!
By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who are being protected by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith – being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire – may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.
Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1:3-9 NRSV)
In Christ, by the Spirit, without a doubt, our lot in life is blessed – come may whatever trial and tribulation, regardless of the lousy hands we’re dealt. Suffering will at times come upon you, me, and others in the Good Shepherd’s flock. That is the paradox of our faith and belief. Which means that we together live in already-but-not-yet times: a people swaddled in the Kingdom of God that Jesus first brought to earth, a people so also abiding in awkward, uncomfortable, oftentimes painful places. For the moment, we live, move, and have our beings in spaces of in-between what was and what will be. And by grace the possibilities for what might be here on middle earth are as vast as heaven itself: healing even when there is no cure, resurrection even when death is inevitable.
Back in northeast Wisconsin, the good people of Kimberly, staring across the rubble of their esteemed paper mill, caught a glimpse of what might be, and the work that lay before them became clear. From the rubble would rise something new: a development of single-family homes, condos, townhouses, and apartments.
Perhaps an encouraging lesson in economic and community revitalization isn’t exactly the illustration that St. Peter intends the reader to draw from his letter. Then again, the Lord does promise to make all things new. And for those Kimberly Papermakers, theirs was the individual and community work of resurrection, creating life where once only was death – in advance of the final, even greater resurrection of the dead that is to come.
Behold then your living hope for these your in-between days: New life comes in any number of small ways even as we await Christ’s return, and the final fulfillment of God’s promises, and the fullness of God’s eternal Kingdom. Without question, the only constant in life is change. And amid such disruption, we take heart knowing that the Holy Spirit of God in Christ is at work doing new things, while we wait in patient hope for the coming return of our Savior. Through it all, we are not alone. We never were alone; we never will be alone – truths each as undeniable as the next, thanks to the presence of the Holy Spirit.
In the eyes of the apostle Peter, what we know and what we experience – what we hear from the pulpit and what we rehearse in Sunday worship – are all so precious and dear that even angels themselves love gazing upon Gospel and its Good News of resurrection (1 Peter 1:12). The Gospel is the comforting lens through which we see ourselves and our world such that we enjoy peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:7).
Earthly living surely can be rough and tumble, at times downright brutal and unfair. And you don’t always see the splendor of the Gospel on display on your average Tuesday morning or Thursday afternoon. But you nonetheless do have the Gospel: the words of God’s prophets fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth. And when that Gospel becomes the lens through which you see the whole of yourself and your world, well, then, you have nothing to fear and nothing but blessed assurance to enjoy. “Don’t ever forget that,” Peter urges. It’s as clear and bright as the view from your living room window.
Through my living room window, one testament to the living hope of Gospel resurrection literally is my view.
A couple times a week, a roving farm stand of fresh bakery sets up shop in a neighbor’s driveway. The goodies are the handiwork of Rhonda Stock and her “Church Lady Bakeshop” in Rossville.
A few years ago, Rhonda and her husband, Kent, bought the former Presbyterian Church in Rossville and remodeled it into their home. The Stocks, who long dreamed of doing just that, have been faithful stewards of that holy ground, even unto ringing the church bell on Christmas Eve and Easter morning. But what really attracted the Stocks to the church property was its basement kitchen. What once was the province of beloved “church basement ladies” is now “world headquarters” of Rhonda’s bakeshop and the source of deliciousness that regularly appears in my neighborhood and others.
The closure of Rossville church understandably opened the floodgates of tears for the saints who worshiped there – some of the same saints who now worship here in this very place. But look what happened, behold the living hope of resurrection: a sanctuary and its basement continue to provide comfort and nourishment for a family and an entire community. That seems pretty darn Jesus-y to me!
Never forget your living hope, Peter sings! Never forget the Gospel of beauty that transforms everything – even an old church of blessed communion, even the grounds of an old papermill, even an old bridge named for a Native chief – into something similarly capable of nourishing the body and soul, something likewise very appetizing to town pride and spirit. Never forget about resurrection in its many forms, and never forget that you have been baptized with Jesus through death and into such newness of life.
Indeed, Peter! Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ!
And now that I think about it – while we await the ribbon-cutting on the new bridge, a short ferry ride across the Mighty Mississippi might just turn out to be a thrilling adventure! If nothing else, leaving the driving to someone else affords a few moments of downtime to give thanks for the living hope of God’s resurrection goodness and mercy.
Amen, and amen!
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message during worship on Sunday, October 19, 2025, at First Presbyterian Church in Waukon, Iowa, USA.