Last week I stopped off for lunch with my old friend and mentor, Dieter Zander. I first met Dieter 12 years ago when he was speaking at a Willow Creek Conference at Bethel Seminary in Minneapolis– and I was instantly smitten by his articulate gentleness and urbane creativity– qualities I had rarely encountered in the Christian leaders I had met. Dieter spoke of generational and societal shifts and the importance of chasing down the connection between the ancient ways of Jesus and the dynamics of a rapidly changing culture. Lisa and I walked out of his session stunned and convinced we had heard from God. In a small courtyard we quietly committed the next 15 years of our lives to wrestling with what had just been jawakened in us. Through a series of curious twists and serendipitous events, Dieter, Val and their children ended up moving to San Francisco two years after we did, and together with a few others we founded ReIMAGINE in the year 2000.
Last year Dieter had a sudden stroke that left him significantly disabled with a speech impediment and some physical paralysis. Known and loved for his ability to teach and inspire, with an exceptional gift for making people aware of God’s presence through music, this stroke, as you may well imagine, has been simply devastating.
“What does the second half of life look like when so much of what you have known and been identified with has taken from you? And how do I comfort a friend who has suffered and lost so much?”
I pondered these questions as I drove up to Dieter’s home. When he got into my car to go to lunch he turned to me and said, “Mark. Talk slow. We go slow. Talking with me will be relaxing– we take our time O.K?” I took this as a gentle chastisement for my hurry and wordiness– and as an invitation to be present and still.
I reflected to Dieter that I am now the age that he was when we met– and that I spend a lot of my time with people much like I once was–young, ambitious and idealistic. Over the years my respect and appreciation for Dieter has grown as I move through the various passages of adulthood.
We sit across from one another at a local brewpub, talking slowly, sometimes eating in awkward silence and with eyes full of tears. Even with his limited capacity for speech Dieter finds ways to convey his love, concerns and affirmation. I’ve come here today to pay my respects to a mentor, to receive his wisdom about the struggles and seasons of life, and maybe to offer some encouragement and comfort. “Mark, I’m in the winter, ” he says, “The spring. The summer. They were new and exciting. The fall was still colorful– even when you feel the chill of winter coming. But the winter, here it is dark and cold. You are in the fall, headed towards winter, where I am. We don’t know when or if spring and summer will come again.” I tentatively ask Dieter how he is learning to make sense of the unfolding story of his life. “It would take a long time for me to explain,” he says, “Its hard to talk about. Maybe you and I will go on a retreat someday and I will tell you. For now I will say– I know that God loves me more than I ever knew before– and that my family and my friends are so important– and I love the small things– the food and drink, sunshine, sleep, and walking with my dog. To love and be loved is what really matters to me now. It took me along time to learn this.”
On our way back from lunch Dieter asks me to stop by Costco so he can pick up some photo prints– a new way he has discovered to capture the beauty he finds in God’s world and the faces of people. Back in the car he flips through the small stack of pictures with great delight. And they are simple and lovely scenes. At great cost, Dieter and Val are teaching me, and many others, how to embrace hope in the seasons and sufferings of life.
