This week, nine years ago, my dad died. At 74 he lived longer than his father, his mother, his brothers, his sisters, many of his male cousins, a few of his nephews, and some of the females in his family. The gene pool leaves much to be desired.
Later that summer, our older son Michael married the former Lauren Sparkman at a beautiful ceremony near her New Hampshire home. My recently widowed mother was in attendance. Surrounded by her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren, she appeared lost. Her broad smile hid a sense that she was out of place among all her descendants at a glorious family event. I cannot recall anytime prior to that moment where I observed this gregarious and extroverted woman so lost in the moment.
The curse of death delivers many blows. There is nothing glorious about death. Until the day I die, I will stand in opposition to the mantra “Death is a part of life.” Death is a villain, an enemy, and an intruder into the most joyous moments of life, like it was for my mom that warm July day nearly nine years ago.
God warned our first parents that death, an entirely preventable reality for Adam and Eve, would bring separation, and that it did. First, God expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden, separating the creation from its creator. Then, death separated families. Abel was the first taken from those who loved him, creating an open seat at the table, a vacancy in the field, and an emptiness at any joyful family gatherings. In time, death passed on all men because all have sinned. The universal reality prompts individual consequences. Some, like my mom, experience a sense of lostness, a feeling of uncertainty about what to do on a given day or how to function at a gathering. Left to itself, the feeling produces isolation, anger at God and people, sinful coping behaviors, suspicion, or foolish decisions. Death has an insatiable appetite that will devour the living as it consumed the dead.
While we rest in hope of the resurrection, Christians acknowledge the lingering consequences of death, including, for some, a sense of lostness. The Bible teaches us that the complete victory over death occurs at the return of our Lord and not before (1 Thessalonians 4). Even those who have died in faith (like my dad and mom) have not yet attained complete victory over death. They and all like them await the resurrection of their immortal bodies (1 Corinthians 15). It follows, then, that we who are alive and remain experience ongoing effects of death. The effects may diminish over time but are not likely to end until we are with the Lord or until the Lord returns.
How might Christians respond? A few pastoral suggestions:
You’re not likely alone in your feeling of lostness. Knowledge that others who are walking the same road as you will not eliminate the feeling, but the knowledge can help you when you’re thinking, “Am I the only one who feels like this? What’s wrong with me?” There’s nothing wrong with you. You are experiencing a consequence of death, a painful and confusing consequence shared by many others (1 Corinthians 10:13).
Weep with those who weep. When my dad died, life went on for me. I still had my wife and children. My social functions did not change. I hurt, but I was not lost. Little was the same for my mom as it was during her nearly 50 years of marriage. She drove alone to the church building for Sunday gatherings, walked alone from her car to the front doors, and sat alone in her familiar pew. When not with my sister, she drank her morning coffee alone and ate meals alone. Widowers and suffering parents can relate. Admonitions to care for widows and orphans are financial but do not end at finances. Our Lord directs us to “visit orphans and widows in their trouble” (James 1:27). The necessity to care for one group of the bereaved is true for all who grieve death. How one individual cares for another will vary widely depending on age, distance, finances, and responsibilities. What cannot happen is that we forget that the bereaved are in trouble and need the help of other Christians even if the sufferer says, “I’m fine.”
Pray and pray again. When we read the gospels, we see Jesus slip away into isolation to pray (Matthew 14:23). Wisdom suggests the saftest place when isolated is in the presence of God (1 Corinthians 7:5). If death brings a sensation of lostness or the reality of aloneness, the believer finds her greatest comfort in the presence of the Lord (Job 38-42). Open Psalm 23 and pray it back to God. Do the same in Romans 8 or 1 Corinthians 15. Position yourself in prayer to receive the warm presence of your Heavenly Father.
Until the Lord makes all things new…
As always, thanks for reading, and I welcome your feedback and any suggestions you might have for an upcoming Lunchtime Musing.