I have always thought that death was not something to be feared. On the other side of death, I believe, waits an indescribable joy and fellowship about which I will dream until I reach it. However, the older I get, the more and more I see that my view of death was very selfish. Certainly, if I were to die tomorrow in a car accident, from a sudden illness, or as a victim of violence, I believe I would awake in the midst of heavenly fellowship. But my family and friends would be left behind asking painful questions, questions I find myself asking now.
I admit to having few brushes with death in my short life. I had all four grandparents until I was a freshman in college, and now, at twenty-three, three are still living. One, my paternal grandfather, sleeps in a hospital bed as I write this, and I pause my typing often to think on him and his wife, to chase my tears with a trembling hand.
Another brush I had with death (thankfully, a more distant one) came when my close friend, Lee, was diagnosed with leukemia at the age of 18. Now, at 22, he has beat it once, relapsed, and is now (thankfully!) recovering from a bone marrow transplant with very favorable progress. I pray daily that Lee continues to heal and grow strong and that he will live to be a hundred and change the world before he leaves it.
This weekend, I went to the visitation and funeral for an elderly lady who did more for the world and for her community than many could ever hope to. I found I had nothing but feeble words for her family in their grief.
What can I say to ease their sadness? What now can they say to me to ease mine? It pains me, as a person who has made her life and passions all about the power of words, to admit their uselessness in the face of death.
When my mom’s father died, so many people came through the visitation line and told me to be strong for my mom. Their words, though kindly intended, served only to burden me and create a temporary rift between my mother and myself when she confronted me about the lack of emotion I showed about Grandpa’s death. I had tried hard to swallow my tears in her presence and save them for when I was alone, and she, in her grief, thought my composure callous and unfeeling. What words can I offer to anyone who is suffering when their effect could be harmful even when I intend the opposite?
For years I have faced my own death with little fear or concern. For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain, I agree with Paul. But that outlook is selfish, inwardly-focused.
Now I allow myself to ask questions that no one on this earth can answer, that I always thought showed a lack of strength, a weak faith even to think.
Why would God allow someone as kind and unselfish and as young as Lee to face cancer? Why would God not take my grandfather quietly in his sleep four years ago rather than let him suffer?
(Note here that I do not question why there is death at all. To me, this has never been a point of contention. This life must end so that we can experience the greater reality of the Kingdom. The time we grieve for those we lose in this life will quickly fade in the time we have to celebrate in the Kingdom.)
Why can’t my grandfather, suffering now in a hospital bed of dementia, pneumonia, and heart problems, be given peace? Why can’t I or anyone have any words to comfort grieving families?
Perhaps I am weak and of little faith to think these questions and weaker still to type them for others to see. Will they be concerned for me? Will they wonder if I’m falling away? I hope they will ignore such concerns and instead pray for my grandfather and for Lee and for the Shivers family as they mourn a beloved grandmother. Will anyone think less of me for questioning God?
I do know the church answer to such questions. When we ask why? in the face of death, pain, tragic shootings, natural disasters, or acts of war, we are often led to believe that such things happen for the glory of God. I say such trite, thoughtless responses are offensive. Violence and pain and anger give little glory to the Savior I love. Instead, responses to pain, to death, to violence, to tragedy have the potential to glorify.
I think God has gloried little in my confused and heart-broken ramblings, but that God will glory greatly in the grace and comfort that I and my family, and other families like ours struggling with grief, receive from others out of love.
If I meet death before I expect to, I hope my family and friends will find grace and peace from God and from each other. I also hope that when that time does come, as it does for us all, that I will have said or written or done something worth remembering.
“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
