“Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).
There is no time better than a time of bereavement to demonstrate the effectiveness of faith. Our religion is supposed to uphold us in hours of testing. Our behavior during a time of crisis can be a powerful recommendation of our faith.
A great preacher made this statement late in life: “I have preached a great gospel, but remember that Jesus Christ is greater than anything I have ever said about him.” Do you know this Jesus?
A bereaved family, going through the personal belongings of their dead father, found a diary. On a page dated the day before his death, they found these words: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”
The way we take bereavement, bear illness, face criticism, or face death, is an eloquent testimonial to the reality of our faith.
Out of a quarter century’s experience in preaching funerals, I can testify to the fact that there is a difference in the sorrow of a real Christian suffering bereavement and the sorrow of a man without hope. This is true because there is a heaven waiting and the Christian believes it with all his heart. He believes in a future relieved of pain and failing powers, a place where all are young and well and strong again, where all are beautiful, and serve God night and day, and never grow tired.
We travel the dusty road
till the light of day grows dim.
The sunset shows us spires away
on the next world’s lofty rim.
In 2 Timothy 1:10 we read Paul’s words about the blessed God “who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.” Oh, you Christians, how rich you are! It makes a mighty difference to believe in Christ.
There is a sense in which bereavement, though always hard to bear, can be of real value to the Christian. Most of us are bitterly conscious of the extent to which we are at the mercy of ever more insistent pressures and demands of the carnal world on our attention and time. They call out the least spiritual side of our nature. Often, with the best intentions, under the plea of good works, family duties, and social obligations, we capitulate to the surface activities of existence. We forget that awestruck upward glance which is the mark of a spiritual man. We lose all sense of proportion, become fussy, restless, full of things that simply must be done, oblivious of the only reason why anything should be done. Prayers become more and more like supernatural shopping lists, less and less like conversations between loved ones. We have no time to rest in the Lord. But suddenly death strikes within our own circle and we stop. Our eyes follow the retreating footsteps of death and the worldly interests we had set our hearts on seem thin and papery. From this day forth we shall think more of heaven, for we have a treasure there. We shall listen for the whisper and look for the light that comes from beyond the world.
I remember years ago standing in a high pasture in the Rockies, surrounded by a strange, almost unearthly mountain life. I was filled with that deep sense of solemn grandeur which hardly anything else can give to those who have the mountain sense. There was a rough path before me leading up to the next ridge and beyond that ridge I could see the glistening summits of snowy peaks. The near hills were only an earnest of what was still above, waiting for the climber who was not afraid. As I gazed at those peaks, I seemed to get smaller and smaller. But as I did, in a quiet and solemn way, I also grew happier and found a strange peace in my heart.
It can be like that when death strikes too. I felt much the same way when I stood over the fresh grave of my mother. I wept, but they were not bitter tears, for I remembered that day in the Rockies and what it had taught me. I remembered climbing that next ridge and being amazed at the new scene that opened before me. From my lower position I had seen but a tenth part of the beauty that awaited.
So it is as we struggle upward. We stand in the midst of bereavement and there is nothing much around us but rock and shale. But still the Christian remembers that he has started the climb toward glory and the heights are ahead. Along the way more and greater spiritual beauty will be revealed, and we know that at last when the summit is reached, the Christ who is with us and in us invisibly now shall be visible then and shall bring with him all the blessed loved ones who preceded us. With the rough path behind us we shall forget the sharp rocks and long thorns and bruised knees. We shall remember only the beauty and joy of the climb and shall look back to see beauty even in those spots where formerly we met only pain. Then indeed we shall shout with Paul, “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” (1 Corinthians 15:55).