Pastors Edge

A few days have passed from time as Tim Russert, the seventeen year host of Meet the Press, has passed from this life on to the next. There is a real sadness in my heart and hopefully sensed in my words for several reasons. First, Russert died two days before Father's day, a tragic irony in the fact that he was known as a son who had a great relationship with his own father-a relationship chronicled in his New York Time's bestselling book, Big Russ and Me. Moreover, Russert was equally close to his own son Luke, and had just returned from Italy where he and his wife of twenty five years had gone to celebrate Luke's graduation from Boston College.  He was without question a fine family man and, as President Bush put it, "a good and decent man."

Like me, you probably rarely saw Meet the Press; our big work day is Sunday. Still, I was a distant admirer of Russert and his craft. One could not help but notice that there was none better at interviewing politicians in a way that forced honest answers and candid dialogue. (Sorry Mr.O'Reilly, but Russert invented the "no spin zone.") Russert was always prepared, knew his subject and his interviewee, and was from all indications truly "fair and balanced."  So I am saddened at the loss of a good father, steadfast husband, committed son, and world class journalist who brought dignity and breadth to an industry often maligned for a lack of both.

In a broader sense, I am somber as well. Like the shock of an unexpected cold shower, I was jolted out of my daily comfort zone and reminded once again of both the fragility and the brevity of life-and the fact that death is not impressed by fame, notoriety, influence and does not discriminate on the basis of creed, color or gender.

Russert was only 58-young by today's standards for sure. He was at the top of his profession and just entering the prime of his career and life. Every Sunday, 4 million Americans tuned in to Meet the Press, and he had just been named to Time magazine's "100 most influential Americans." Russert had received 44 honorary degrees and other honors too numerous to mention He was under medication for a diagnosed coronary condition, had just passed a stress test two months earlier, and was exercising regularly.  

Then, as Tom Brokaw so movingly said, "...my friend Tim Russert collapsed and died...." Just like that-he was dead and gone. Little if any warning, little if any time to realize he had completed his last broadcast, taken his last trip, eaten his last meal, asked his last question. So it is with all of us.

Pastors, we may not be the hosts of a hard-hitting news show, but one day we too will meet our Creator at the time of His choosing. When we breathe our last, we will have to account for every sermon (Did you communicate the Gospel message?), we will be questioned about our family lives (Were you the husband and father God desired in the face of the relentless demands of the pastorate?), and we will have to give an answer for every moment (Did you live the pure and clean life you asked others to live?).  If any of us were to drop dead right now, we better be even more prepared than Russert was for every Sunday-morning interview.