I’ve never been at ease with death. As a pastor, I’ve stood by the bedsides of the dying, speaking to them of a love that goes beyond the grave.
I’ve knelt beside those taken too soon, holding their hands as I prayed the Lord’s Prayer. I’ve anointed their heads with oil, speaking the words of Psalm 23:
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
In those moments, I’ve shed my own tears. I’ve sat in darkened rooms, wrestling with grief, crying out to God, “Why? Why? knowing there are no easy answers, only the comfort of God’s presence.
Every year, on Homeless Sunday, I lead a service with the Crypt Chaplain where we remember those who have died over the past year. We read their names aloud, and as we light candles in their memory, I often recognize some—people I’ve spoken to, prayed with, and shared moments of life with. Others, I do not know personally, but they are known by God, and each life matters. As we light a candle for each name, I’m reminded that the darkest day is not the final day- death is not the last word.
Death feels wrong because it was never meant to be this way. It is an intruder in God’s good creation. But even in our grief, we hold onto the promise that death does not have the last word. In the death of Jesus, we see the One who enters our suffering, walks with us in our pain, and ultimately overcomes death itself.
One day, God will wipe away every tear, and death will be no more. Until that day, we mourn, but not without hope. We grieve, but we know that death has already been defeated.
In my grief, I often turn to lament as a way to process my sorrow. Here is a lament I wrote a few years ago after the death of a beloved Lighthouse brother.
For My Brother. A Psalm of Lighthouse
My brother cried out to you,
Were your ears blocked?
Were your eyes closed?
For if you had heard his cry, you would have answered,
You promise fish and not scorpions,
Yet there are plenty of scorpions around.
My brother cried out to you,
Do you care? Do you abound in steadfast love?
For if you loved him, his cry would have been answered,
You promise that when we knock, the door will be opened,
Yet the door remained closed.
My brother cried out to you,
You gather up his tears in your bottle,
For the death of a saint is precious in your eyes,
You promise that one day the curse will be no more,
Come, Lord Jesus, come!
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