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Tears Are a Language
“God shall wipe all tears from their eyes…” (Revelation 21:4)
Beads of perspiration began to form on my brow as I searched my mind for clues as to what Jean was about to say. When she spoke her words came as a total surprise. She began her remarks by saying, “I appreciate the way you preach a funeral sermon.”
To say I was surprised would be a complete understatement. I had overheard her critique a few of my sermons with which she did not agree. To be honest, I could think of nothing for which she had ever expressed appreciation. After pausing a moment while she wiped away a tear, she continued, “I want you to preach my funeral." She must have read the look on my face as she added: “You do not tell a grieving family not to cry. Here," she said while handing me a sheet of paper, “are some scripture passages that have been important to me." Then she arose and left as quickly as she had come.
When Jean died I was in an awkward position. She had not indicated whether she had told Bob of her desire and I had not thought to ask. If not, how would he respond when I relayed it to him? Would he think I was intruding? He showed little emotion as I told him of Jean’s visit and our conversation. Perhaps I was secretly hoping he would tell me other arrangements had already been made as I offered to step aside if that was his desire. “No," he said with what I interpreted to be a great deal of reluctance, “if Jean asked you, then you can do it.” To be honest, the family took up most of the time for the service and I was given only a few minutes to speak.
In preparation for the service I was faced with a vital question. How can one minister to an outspoken critic who had shown little respect for one and the office one filled? Can one put aside personal feelings? I’m sure I am not the only minister who has faced a similar situation. It was not easy, but when I stood before the large crowd assembled for Jean’s funeral my personal feelings did not enter into what I said. Instead the faith of Jean and her dedicated service to her family and the church was stressed. Hope was offered through the ministry of the Holy Spirit of Comfort. Tears of grief were addressed with the assurance that God would wipe them away.
I did not talk about a glorious home coming and rejoicing in heaven. These may be appropriate topics for one who has lived a long and faithful life. For such, a celebration of life can be comforting, but not for a young mother who left behind four young children and a grieving husband who wondered how they would be able to live without her. Tears were appropriate for them and would serve as a valuable component of the grieving process. They would provide cleansing for emotions.
Tears are a sign of recognition that a loss has occurred. They are not unnoticed by God. In my later years I have often used the lyrics from Gordon Jenson's song “Tears Are a Language God Understands." Jesus cries with us as he did with Mary and Martha.
Often since that day I have had numerous people ask me to officiate at their funeral. I have learned to instruct them to write down their request and make sure it will be available to those involved in making final arrangements. Those requests have not always been honored. But I have learned not to inject myself into the situation. Often there are valid reasons a family may choose someone else. On a few occasions I have been told why and was not bothered by the change.
An Empty Shell
“I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." (II Samuel 12:23)
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In the back of the ambulance a young doctor operated a manual breathing apparatus to keep hope alive in the hearts of two parents. He and I had become acquainted some months before during one of my hospital visits. He had just begun his practice and I was young in the ministry. We had shared opinions on medical care and theology. This morning he had insisted that I ride in the ambulance.
We were on the last leg of a journey that had begun a few days before. A childhood illness that is not considered dangerous had suddenly turned deadly. Will was the only child of a young couple who were steadfast members of my congregation. Ski and Betty had been the second family to join our new fellowship after I came as pastor. They had grown in faith and became dependable leaders. Effie and I had three small children of our own and I was feeling deeply their pain. Sharing their anxiety, I had made numerous visits to the hospital to have prayer and encourage them.
The last two days had tested their faith to its limit. I must admit I had asked some difficult questions myself as they struggled with “why is this happening to us?" The previous night, when their son had failed to make any response to stimuli for the past twenty-four hours, they had requested we go to the church and pray at the altar.
After the midnight devotion, we returned to the hospital where we were told local medical personnel had done all they could do. Slim as it might be, the only hope offered was to transfer Will to the University Hospital in Birmingham.
The arrangements were hastily made. We left Decatur an hour before dawn. When the ambulance rushed into the emergency entrance of UAB hospital we were met by a medical team and Will was rushed into the Intensive Care Unit. In a few minutes, the parents who had been riding in another vehicle arrived and we continued a vigil begun hours before. Through long hours that followed numerous tests, the family waited for some ray of hope. But none came.
Three days later I stood with Ski and Betty by the small casket containing the still body of their son. Although physically and emotionally tired, there was a quiet serenity in their hearts that belied the storm against faith that had so recently assailed them.
As we talked I was reminded of the experience of David as he struggled with the imminent death of his infant son. Dressed in sack cloth he had fasted with downcast eyes in sorrow praying for the life of the infant. But when the son died David put on his regal clothing and lifted his eyes to see beyond the moment into the future. With hope and assurance in his heart, he looked forward to a blessed reunion and his grief was assuaged.
After I had led in a brief prayer for their consolation, Ski turned to me and said, “What we see is just an empty shell left behind. Will is in heaven. We will be united with him there." Three months later they became parents of another son whose presence has blessed them through the years. It will not be long until the two sons will meet for the first time when a family of faith is reunited.
Only God Knows
“O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me…Whither shall I go from thy spirit…or from thy presence?" (Psalm 139:1,7)