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Any
thoughts? ... Tell us what you think here |
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In
the aftermath of a funeral for a 13-year-old
girl killed in a car accident, Aaron
White asks if it’s possible to
continue to have hope in the face of
shattering loss and pain?
People usually think I’m pretty
funny at funerals.
I should explain that.
I have spoken at a few funerals, and
I have noticed that in such an emotionally
charged atmosphere people are very happy
to experience some moments of levity,
the emotional release of laughter instead
of tears, if only for a little while.
So I don’t think it’s inappropriate,
in the right spirit, to tell jokes at
a funeral. And you wouldn’t believe
the laughs.
I spoke at the funeral of a friend of
mine who, let’s be honest, had
huge ears. So, in the midst of listing
off all my friend’s best characteristics,
I mentioned that he had ears like Dumbo
the elephant. Huge response.
At another funeral I managed to get
the whole congregation to promise to
strip down to their underclothes and
dance around if and when the Holy Spirit
asked us to. It was an important light
moment in an otherwise very heavy funeral
service.
The funeral was for a thirteen year-old
girl, her parents’ only child,
who had died in a car accident. I have
never seen such grief before. The parents
were absolutely shattered, numb, unable
even to walk down the aisle of the Church
to their seats at the front. Friends
had to carry them down. When they cried
or screamed or moaned it barely sounded
human, so deep and inexpressible was
their anguish.
What do you say to people who have suffered
so great a loss? I had no idea. The
parents were part of a small group I
ran through the Church, and had only
very recently become Christians. The
inevitable questions arose: How could
this happen? Why would God allow this,
and why now? It was clear that tried
and true clichés and platitudes
(“God thinks you’re special
and he loves you very much!”)
would not be sufficient here.
So I spoke about the young girl, told
some jokes, and made everyone promise
to disrobe under certain circumstances.
Then I read from Paul’s letter
to the Romans: “Yet what we suffer
now is nothing compared to the glory
he will give us later.” (Rom 8:18,
LNT). It is pretty easy to accept that
verse when you are not suffering; a
little harder when your entire world
has been ripped out from under you.
“How dare Paul write that!”
I shouted. “How dare he say our
suffering is nothing!” The suffering
of these two parents, and to a lesser
degree of the people who loved them,
could not be discounted. How could we
line up what Paul was saying in that
passage with what we were experiencing
after this senseless death?
It can only line up if another thing
Paul wrote is true, “And now three
things remain: faith, hope, and love.
And the greatest of these is love.”
Here is what I declared and affirmed
for the parents who had lost their only
child: “Your pain is real, and
it is completely appropriate to mourn
and hurt and be wrecked by it. But,
though the pain and even despair will
last a long time, we have to believe
that faith, hope and love are stronger,
and will last longer. This is our hope,
the hope we live by.”
I sincerely hope it helped. I know they
will never completely “move on”
from this loss, and that they still
feel pain everyday, even now several
years later. But I also know that they
are living in faith, hope, and love,
believing, hoping that the glory to
be revealed to them will somehow dwarf
even their pain. It would have to be
a pretty amazing glory, but that is
the promise, isn’t it? |
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Youthwork -
The Partnership ...
ALOVE,
Youthwork Magazine, Youth For Christ, Spring Harvest and
Oasis are working together to equip and resource the Church
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