Certainty

At my job we have a saying, "People are more important than programs." But programming is a lot easier.

Yesterday I arrived just in time to help the coroner carry out the body of my friend's dad. It was all very matter-of-fact. "Hey buddy can you help me with this?" It didn't dawn on me till half way down the icy steps what was inside of that bag on the stretcher. I would have come because of friendship, but I was there as a pastor. The difference is that the friend sits with the family, but the pastor speaks words of comfort and hugs EVERYONE knowing what to say. At least I think that is the case because that seems to be what the eyes of everyone in the kitchen were yearning for as they stared at me.

Questions seem to bubble to the surface as soon as you are semi-alone with the family members. "I just feel angry. Is that wrong?" "Are you certain where my Dad is now?" In that moment you want to be able to just say anything to make them feel better. But what about truth? So you try to do both and it just comes out awkward. So you just listen as they corner you one at a time while everyone else hustles around trying to find something to do. Something to fix. Something that will make it seem like they are making this better.

That is the most frustrating thing about death. You can't fix anything. You can't fix the deceased. You can't EXPLAIN to the family that what they are feeling will get better. I can contribute though. I wrote the sermon for funeral last night. Words that seems trite compared to what is going on in their hearts. The hope of Christ is the only thing that shields us from death, but experiencing that love is different than saying that to a room full of people that may or may not even have the slightest idea what it is.

I just want to be there for my friend.