A Christian Perspective on Grief

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Audio Link:

http://media.libsyn.com/media/ccef/hh005.mp3

David Powlison discusses a Christian perspective on Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' five stages of grief.

Carried to Jesus

by Ricky Alcantar @ http://newattitude.org

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“He’s being moved from the hospital,” she said “People from the hospice are going over. So you know what that means.”

And I did. It meant that they were just trying to make him comfortable.

My mom’s Uncle Ross had been in hospital for something else when they discovered the bone cancer. It was already too far—they couldn’t stop it. So we were already making arrangements for his memorial service.

My mom asked me if I would mind helping with part of the service. I asked when it would be. She said probably next weekend. I said (carefully) that I’d be happy to help but that I was preparing a message to give at church (hoping she’d get the hint). She said it would mean a lot to the family.

I nodded but didn’t say anything as I left.
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That week I tried to keep my thoughts on the message I was getting ready for and not on the family situation.

Spurgeon: “It matters not what tiles are to be taken off, what plaster is to be digged up, or what boards are to be torn away, or what labor, or trouble, or expense we may be at: the soul is too precious for us to stand upon nice questions.”

My text was the story of Jesus and the Paralytic from Luke 5:17-26. It was a familiar felt-board Bible story of a broken roof and a rolled up mat, but there were some details I didn’t remember. One group in particular I seemed to have previously overlooked: the four men that carried this paralytic to Jesus. Four ordinary men that did an extraordinary thing. In fact, Scripture says that Jesus helps the paralytic when he sees “their faith.”

One small detail arrested me: These men carried their friend to Jesus.

I couldn’t get the phrase out of my mind: “carried to Jesus.” Without cars or shuttles these four carried a full-grown man to Jesus. They didn’t just stop by this paralytic’s house and pray that he find a way to get to Jesus that day—they carried this man themselves. And when confronted with a seemingly insurmountable problem—a completely full house—they didn’t give up. They didn’t assume it was God’s will that this man not be healed. Instead, they dug through two feet of packed earth and branches to get their friend to Jesus.

Why did they do this? I think the answer is devastatingly simple: they believed that only Jesus could help their friend. Only Jesus. More than anything else this man needed, he needed Jesus.

As I read I realized I didn’t look much like these men. They didn’t even have a full picture of Jesus’ identity and yet they did everything they could to get their paralyzed friend to him.

I realized that I like being comfortable as a Christian. I like having my favorite chair in church, I like having my favorite ministry to serve in. I don’t like interacting with people that are a little dirty, that have things wrong with them. I like nice people, not people with major problems. I realized that part of me didn’t want to help with the memorial service for my mom’s Uncle Ross because I knew it wouldn’t be pretty—because of a divorce two separate families were coming, some of them with uncomfortable people.

Charles Spurgeon says this about the passage: “It matters not what tiles are to be taken off, what plaster is to be digged up, or what boards are to be torn away, or what labor, or trouble, or expense we may be at: the soul is too precious for us to stand upon nice questions.”

When I apply the gospel to my attitude toward the unattractive and unlovely the gospel changes everything. If I believe that those around me desperately need Jesus and that only Jesus is the cure then I’ll want to carry them to Jesus too.
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Over the next few days I repented of being indifferent to my great-uncle’s family in need. I tried to apply the message of the gospel to my attitude. Then as I dug deeper into the story I realized that the message of the gospel had even more to say.

When the Paralytic is lowered in front of him Jesus does something more amazing than a simple physical healing. Unasked, Jesus says the precious words, “Friend, your sins are forgiven you.”

As soon as he says “forgiven” the Pharisees begin grumbling that only God can forgive sins. They’re right. Forgiveness for the Israelites meant an elaborate ceremony in which an animal was sacrificed. Forgiveness wasn’t cheap—it meant death. How could Jesus flippantly use those words?

But the words Jesus said weren’t said flippantly. Even as he said them he must have known what they would cost him. This man’s sins flew in the face of God’s righteousness and required punishment. This man’s sins would require a sacrifice. Saying, “Friend, your sins are forgiven,” meant that Jesus would have to cry, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

Jesus carried this man to God as he carried the cross.

Jesus carried the sins of this man, carried the sins of the world, to a hill called Golgotha where he himself bore the wrath of God and earned the right to say to others: “forgiven.” These words to the paralytic are unimaginable. But Jesus says them to many others too. He says them to me.

I am a paralytic too—once paralyzed by my own sin but restored by God. Can I not get my hands dirty carrying other paralytics to Jesus? Jesus certainly bloodied his hands for me. The gospel should inform us when we see the dirty or unattractive or forgotten or lonely. The gospel should inform us when we see someone yelling at their children, when we meet an unmarried pregnant girl, when we see a family member battling alcoholism.

The gospel says, “Carry them to Jesus.”
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The story of the paralytic was still on my mind a few weeks later when the church office doorbell rang. I opened the door to see a man in a beat-up jean jacket with a ponytail and leathery face.

“Hey is Tom here?” he said.

I started to tell him that Tom was busy. The weatherbeaten man looked disappointed. But before he could leave, Tom appeared.

“Hey brother, good to see you again,” Tom said, greeting the weatherbeaten man.

The man smiled with discolored teeth.

“Hey Tom thank you so much for helping me get a ride the other day. I came by to see if you can help me talk to my mom. I mean she kicked me out of the house and that’s okay but I got these tickets on my back I need her help with. I just need to get back on my feet. Once I get the tickets off my back I can start driving again and just sleep in the truck, you know? But I need my mom to help me with the tickets, you know? Maybe we could call her together tomorrow?”

I wondered if all that was true and what this guy was leaving out. And I knew Tom was already swamped tomorrow.

Tom paused for a second, then said, “I’d love to help you. Can you come by at 11? We can talk then. I’ll do what I can.”

The weatherbeaten man grabbed Tom’s hand and shook it, “Oh thank you. Thank you. I just need to get on my feet.”

Tom smiled, happy to carry him that far.

The Death of a Child

A Little one with Jesus

The following quote from the good Dr. Spurgeon is medicine for the soul:

Suppose you are a gardener employed by another. It is not your garden, but you are called upon to tend it. You come one morning into the garden, and you find that the best rose has been taken away. You are angry. You go to your fellow servants and charge them with having taken the rose. They declare that they had nothing to do with it, and one says, "I saw the master walking here this morning; I think he took it." Is the gardner angry then? No, at once he says, "I am happy that my rose should have been so fair as to attract the attention of the master. It is his own. He has taken it, let him do what seems good."

It is even so with your friends. They wither not by chance. The grave is not filled by accident. men die according to God's will. Your child is gone, but the Master took it. Your husband is gone, your wife is buried—the Master took them. Thank him that he let you have the pleasure of caring for them and tending them while they were here. And thank him that as he gave, he himself has taken away.

Brothers, sisters — don't drop the ball

by Dan Phillips @ http://teampyro.blogspot.com

Back at the turn of the year I posted Four faces: gaining perspective for the new year. Among the gracious responses was a particularly humbling email from a sister in the Lord who opted to write me rather than go through the Blogger gauntlet and make a comment.

These emails remind us of the thousands who see our posts and do not comment, but may be touched in one way or another by what we share. It's humbling and sobering, especially when one looks at a map of our visitors and see how international our audience is.

This email was particularly humbling. The sister, who I intend to keep quite anonymous, shared that she had recently lost a child, very sadly. She wanted to share that the post had been encouraging to her.

A father of four, my heart went out to her. I don't know anything that hits harder or more bitterly than a tragedy befalling one of our children. The thought of something happening to one of ours was what I called The Unthinkable Thought, in that my soul simply recoils at the notion. But here was a sister whose The Unthinkable Thought had become a harsh, uninvited, and unwelcome visitor.

So I corresponded with her a bit, tried to share what I had to give. She said her church was being wonderful, she knew folks were praying for them, but it was nowhere they'd ever wanted to be.

I thought of her off and on through the months, and prayed for her and her family. I formed the notion of writing her, to check on her.

With a few notable exceptions, I'm a horrendously bad correspondent, with far more guilt than accomplishments in that arena. But here's what was moving me: knowledge of folks' tendency to drop the ball when it most matters.

Here's what I mean. When a death, or other tragedy, strikes, one's emotions are all a-jangle. There are many quick decisions and adjustments. That's when an even-half-alive church is there, with meals and notes and comfort and encouragement, and hugs and prayers and tears.

But a tragedy isn't always something you can just shake off. You don't tell someone who's just lost a loved one, "Walk it off, get back in the game." As the sage says,

Like one who takes off a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar on soda,
Is he who sings songs to a troubled heart.
(Proverbs 25:20 NAS)

Rather emphatically we are told not to lecture nor scold, but to "weep with those who weep" (Romans 12:15b). It should be the aim in a local body that, "if one member suffers, all suffer together" (1 Corinthians 12:25a). Righteous Job wept for the person whose day was hard (Job 30:25), as did David (Psalm 35:13-14). None of these verses gives a particular time frame.

And this is what was in the back of my mind. Often, many folks show up when the need is critical. But — and let's be blunt and specific — the dead person doesn't come back in a month, three months, a year. The pain and the loss stay. The mourner (whether of death or another catastrophe) explores a dark landscape that shifts with each holiday, each birthday, each event that would (should!) have been shared with the loved one.

And unfortunately, he or she can be forgotten by his church or friends, who assume that he has moved on. As they have done.

And so I was sad but unsurprised when my Christian sister wrote back,

I guess you could say we are doing well. We are all learning that grief is a like a journey, only you don’t know where you are going to end up each day.

...I am beginning to realize that I’m starting to feel a little resentment (that word may be a little too strong) toward the people in our church and even in our own families. Our church family was so THERE for us [when it happened] and now, for the most part, they have just moved on and it seems they think we should too. I really don’t think people know how to handle these bad situations. Our pastor has not said anything to me since [the time of loss] about [my child]. I know that most people just don’t know what to say, and frankly, I sometimes don’t really know what I expect them to say. I’m not expecting condolences every time, but some acknowledgement would be nice. The thing is, I know I was like this before. I hesitate to mention it to the pastor he’ll want me to start up a grief recovery group or some such thing.

"Ouch," no?

Her words make me want to re-examine my own ministry in that area. I think she expresses herself absolutely fairly and in a measured way... and I think we're fools if we don't learn from her candid perspective.

So here are my three "takeaways" to share:

1. Life isn't like a sitcom or a TV drama. Catastrophes don't necessarily get "fixed" in 30 or 60 minutes. It's a long, long haul.
2. "A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a difficult time" (Proverbs 17:17 CSB).
3. Just being there and showing care is a lot. No need to try to be "deep." Job's friends served him best when they wept with him, and sat silent with him for seven days (Job 2:12-13). When they opened their mouths, they started getting into trouble.
   

To develop that last point just a bit: when my first pastor lost his dad, he said that the person who did him the most good was a man who simply walked up, put his arm around his shoulders, and stood with him for a bit. Whether it's "I'm thinking of you and praying for you," or asking, "How are you doing?", we needn't rewrite Calvin's Institutes. Remember, Paul said "weep with those who weep," not "give an extended discourse to those who weep."

Ask how they're doing, and expect to hear an answer that's not fun. Grief gnaws. A well-meaning friend suggested to my correspondent that dealing with death is like a bad cut that heals, but eventually goes away, leaving a painless scar. She shared that with her children later.

My ...daughter immediately said, “No, it’s like your hand is cut off. It may heal but you still don’t have your hand.” ...Actually, I think she hit the nail right on the head. How can you really “recover” from losing a [child]?

There will be a time to share encouraging words about God's love, goodness, sovereignty. Nobody reasonably expects you to be able to explain everything. But don't assume that it's out of place simply to affirm the basics: God's love, the message of Calvary, our eternal hope. I recall a dark time decades ago, when one good friend felt I was too "deep" (or whatever) to be told something so basic... but that's exactly what I needed to hear. Grief can jar one's grip on the fundamentals; a loving affirmation can be very heartening.

But affirming the eternal fundamentals is very different from trying to explain God's providence.

First, I think we do best to show God's love and goodness. Show now, talk later. Show later, too.

So pastors, elders, deacons; brothers, sisters, let us remember. Let's not drop the ball.

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Tabletalk on Grief

From Ligonier Ministries:

As we mourn with the students and families directly impacted by the tragic killings at the Virginia Polytechnic Institute on April 16, 2007, we who are believers in the one, true God turn to His promises for comfort (Psalm 119:50).

With the hope that we might assist those struggling with the questions and feelings raised by this horrific event, Ligonier Ministries humbly offers for your reading the feature articles and columns from the April 2007 issue of Tabletalk magazine, which, in God’s providence, discusses the subject of grief.

We pray that these resources, in some small way, will help you find comfort in the arms of our sovereign God and will help you look for the day when He will “wipe away every tear” from the eyes of His people who rest assured in the finished work of Jesus Christ (Revelation 21:4).

April 2007 Tabletalk Articles:

• Sin, Death, and Grief by Burk Parsons
  


• A Grief Observed by R.C. Sproul
  


• From Grief to Glory by Jim Coffield
  


• Mourn with Those Who Mourn by Archie Parrish
  


• Good Grief? by Anthony Carter
  


• True Shepherding by Joel R. Beeke
  


• Hope by R.C. Sproul Jr.
  


• A Tale of Two Funerals by Gene Edward Veith