“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants.” (Psalm 116:15 NIV)
I have written out more sympathy cards in 2021 than in my whole life combined, I think. It seems like each day we get word that another parent or grandparent of a friend or fellow minister has gone on to be with the Lord. Truth be told, I’m torn. I know that to be absent from the body is to be present with Savior, but I also know the anguish of those left behind. My heart aches for the sons and daughters, sisters and brothers and friends and family dealt a terrible loss, left to live in wake of a loved one gone Home. I know they are joining an exclusive club with the highest of dues.
Each year, August giving way to September is a tender time for me. Mom and Dad had birthdays; just 32 days apart. They’ve been Home safe a good long while now, but I still get weepy when their special days draw near. This past Saturday I couldn’t even hardly say it aloud; my dad would have been 76. No post honorary birthday post on facebook, no blog entry about his far-reaching influence on my life. I didn’t even go to dinner with Dad’s picture to treasure his memory as I typically do. I just didn’t have it in me this year, for some reason it their loss feels fresh again. It’s been seven and four years and I still feel like I’m learning to navigate life without Mom and Dad. Covid and shifting culture and our emptying nest has all set my world a bit wonky and I have wished a thousand or more times to talk with them about it, to gain their perspective, to feel their paternal consolation even over a crackly phone line.
My sister shared this photo yesterday and I remembered Dad just this way; whole, somewhat happy, ready for a cup of coffee and a long conversation.
And I know I’ve shared it before, but this is still my all-time favorite photo of Mom. She’s lovely, full of light and warmth and a bit blurry as thought the camera couldn’t quite capture the constant musical motion of her delightful personality.
My Live Dead devotion today reminded me how we’re pilgrims and all this death is a good thing.
“Our ultimate destination of the unbroken and unrestrained presence of Jesus requires that we pass through the valley of death, not just it’s shadow. Heaven is real and most of us are going to have to die to get there.”
(Live Dead Joy, Dick Brogden)
We are pilgrims passing through this life to the next, and for must of us that means death. I pulled up the definition of pilgrim, just to be sure.
Pilgrim: a person who journeys to a sacred place for religious reason.
This existence, this slow crawl from cradle to grave is a pilgrimage. Of course it is harrowing. The journey shapes the traveler. It whittles away our blemishes, smoothes the places that aren’t quite right or holy. The expedition fashions us more into His image, and isn’t that the goal?
Dick Brogden goes on, delivering still more words that disrupt my thinking:
“Daily deaths, common disappointments, little rejections, unexpected failures, and deserved discipline all are part of the “glory to glory” process. When something is taken away from us, such as pride or possessions, we should rejoice. People and circumstances that help us die to self are our friends. Our lives get better the more we lose them. We become stronger the more we die.”
I know he’s right, I feel it in my bones. The more I lose here on earth, the more heaven wins it’s way into my heart. These losses – at least for me – have included people, habits and habitats, comforts, conveniences and confidences. He strips away the things I tend to rely on instead of Him.
“Blessed are those whose strength is in You, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.” (Psalm 84:5 NIV)
Pilgrims put feet to the ground. They are not stationary. They are always on the move in pursuit of more of God. Pilgrims are a peripatetic people.
I can’t get stuck in grief. Sure, it sweeps in like a tide, pulling at my soul in certain seasons, but I cannot become mired. I must persevere in my own pilgrimage. Mom and Dad are Home safe. I still have a ways to grow.
Let’s end our time together the way we began; in the one hundred and sixteenth psalm.
“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His faithful servants. Truly I am your servant, Lord; I serve You just as my mother did;” (Psalm 116:15 NIV)
Lord, we do not like death. It is terribly uncomfortable and feels unfair. Yet today we remember all these deaths are doling out something important, something we desperately desire: sanctification. Though we grieve, keep us from getting stuck. Deliver us from sorrow as we keep seeking You. Remind us that one day we’ll be set free from pain forever, reunited with the saints that have gone before us. Fuel us this day with the ever-sweetening promise of eternity. Amen.