Yesterday, I interviewed Stacy Remke, the coordinator of the Pain and Palliative Care program at the Children’s Hospitals and Clinics of Minnesota. Our conversation about the services they offer to families of kids with chronic and sometimes terminal illnesses brought to mind a friend who lost his son a little over a year ago. I thought of this post, written last June, and how the right occasion never arose to post it. In light of yesterday’s interview and in honor of little Evan Newport, today is the right day for the post. Perhaps, you will read it and agree.
A friend called the day after Father’s Day. He said Sunday, the first Father’s Day since his son died the day after Thanksgiving, had been brutal. “It felt almost like depression, but that’s not what it was,” he said. “I was just so sad, so very, very sad.”
He talked about how hard it was to lose his seven-year-old son, even though he was was born with a severe heart defect and they knew his lifespan would be short. Seven months after his son’s death, my friend is surprised by the intense and relentless grip of grief he’s experiencing.
He’s also surprised by the comments of well-meaning Christians. They quote Bible verses like Romans 8:28 which says “All things work together for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purposes.” By their tone, they imply that if he’s a true Christian, it’s about time for him to snap out of his grief because after all, his son’s death is working together for good.
How come, I wondered as he poured out his hurt and pain, they don’t quote John 11:35? The shortest verse in the Bible, it’s much easier to memorize than Romans 8:28. And if those well-meaning people want to comfort a man grieving the loss of his little boy, these words are salve to a wounded, aching soul.
Jesus wept.
Jesus, God in the flesh, wept when told of the death of his friend Lazarus.
Jesus wept, though he knew his friend would soon rise again.
Jesus, who is light in the darkness, wept.
My God, who knows the end from the beginning, wept.
Surely my friend, who can’t yet see his way through the darkness of loss, can weep, too.
