mourning - Jeremiah's Vow

Lent 2022 | Day 40: Death

The Saturday before Easter is an interesting day in the liturgical calendar of the Christian churches.

The Saturday before Easter is an interesting day in the liturgical calendar of the Christian churches. It has been referred to by a variety of names depending on the liturgical tradition of the church one is considering. In some, it is known as Great and Holy Saturday, Great Sabbath, Saturday of the Gloria, and Black Saturday. [Source]

A couple of the customs practiced in some form throughout the various liturgical traditions is the use of black linens to cover whatever might adorn the table or altar at the front of the church. There is also the practice of stripping the sanctuary of any and all items that might usually be present during a regular service.

In those churches where these practices are not performed, the significance may be lost. But on that first Saturday after Jesus’s crucifixion, it had to have been a day of deep morning for the disciples. It was essentially a funeral day. One that could not be properly finished because it occurred on the Jewish Sabbath.

So the act of removing all signs and symbols of the faith from the sanctuary of the church or covering it with black linen is to represent both the despair and the questioning that must’ve happened to the disciples. We have the benefit of knowing what happened on Sunday morning. But for them, there was no guarantee of resurrection.

For the entire history of the human journey upon the earth, death has marked the transition from life into the unknown. Our inability to know what exists on the other side of death’s door can cause many to fear. And rightfully so. There is no greater uncertainty than what happens next after this life is over.

This is why Jesus’s promise is so revolutionary. It gives us hope that if he was able to travel through that door and return then we too will be able to do the same if we go with him.

As we commemorate the waiting the disciples did on that first Saturday before Easter, I would invite you to consider the void they must’ve felt at the thought and reality of the death of Jesus. Like all who have lost people they love, the disciples must’ve felt quite lost and filled with despair as they mourned. But while they waited with not much certainty of what would happen just a few hours later, we can rejoice in the fact that Sunday morning is just around the corner.

But today, on this Holy Saturday, we wait.

We wait and we remember how death threatened to destroy the hope of the disciples. And we consider how death could destroy our hope if it had not been defeated by the resurrection of Jesus.

Lent 2022 | Day 36: Tears

One of the most remarkable moments in Jesus’s ministry is when he arrives in Bethany to see about his friend Lazarus.

One of the most remarkable moments in Jesus’s ministry is when he arrives in Bethany to see about his friend Lazarus. It is remarkable because it is the only time where Jesus is recorded to have wept about anything or anyone. This is not mean that it may not have happened at another time. However, because this is the only instance recorded in the Gospels it serves to highlight Jesus’s response to the loss of a close friend.

There are many reasons for which we might find ourselves shedding tears. And what makes the act of crying so interesting is that it may be the result of great joy or deep sadness. The fact that tears may be caused by such a varied range of emotions makes it an interesting phenomenon in the human experience.

In the case of Jesus’s weeping over the death of Lazarus, we can see that the instance was that of deep sorrow. We see in the story how both Mary and Martha knew that Jesus could have prevented Lazarus’s death. But Jesus remained where he was for a day longer. We know now Jesus did in fact raise Lazarus from the grave. But at the time there was a lot of uncertainty in the minds and hearts of all those involved.

So what are we to make of the tears Jesus wept over a friend he had the power to resurrect? It could be tempting to make more of it than is warranted. We do not know what was going through Jesus’s mind at the time. But I think if we consider that Jesus’s love for Mary, Martha, and Lazarus was genuine then we must grant that Jesus’s tears were as much for the loss the sisters endured as it was for Lazarus’s death.

Anyone who has experienced the physical death and loss of a loved one will know the pain which I am speaking of. There is an emptiness felt because of the finality of the person’s absence. And while we hope in the coming time of the resurrection when Jesus returns, few of us will ever know the joy of having someone who has passed being brought back to life.

Mary and Martha had to face one of the darkest moments of their life and then had the opportunity to see their brother returned to them. And in those days and events, they experienced both the deep tears of sorrow and the excited tears of unexpected joy.

The human experience that we all must journey through will afford us the opportunity to experience both of these extremes. The question is will we be able to hold on to our faith regardless of where or why we might find ourselves weeping.

As we prepare to celebrate the glorious resurrection of Jesus Christ in just a few short days, may we not fear the tears of sadness or anticipate those of joy that this moment elicits in us. Regardless of the reason, may the tears of sorrow and of joy serve as a cleansing expression of the oftentimes unutterable realities we encounter in life.

Lent 2022 | Day 33: Grief

For those who have experienced the unyielding reality of loss, grief can follow you around and make its appearance at unexpected times. There are many reasons why people experience grief. The most common is the loss of a loved one. But the reality of trauma from other events or circumstances can also produce the deep sense of loss often described as grief.

In the course of the last 20 years of ministry, I have had the opportunity to walk with many through a season of grief in life. But even describing it as a season does not accurately convey the impact on a person’s life. Grief is not like the mending of a bone after it has been broken. Grief winds its way through a person’s life taking turns that are often unexpected. This is why I have come to understand that every person grieves in unique ways.

Regardless of the circumstances that lead to a person experiencing grief, one of the worst things to say to someone is that it’s time to move on. The assumptions contained in that statement are not only callous but many times are premature. Grief does not progress along with any predictable patterns.

How much time should it take to replace what has been lost? Only the person who is enduring the process of grieving can determine that timeline. This is what makes grief so difficult to address as someone seeking to support a person in grief. And it is also one of the challenges when we are the ones in the midst of that struggle.

We feel the tension between trying to get “back to normal” and knowing we may not be ready to do it. But the often unspoken reality is that the very notion of normal has changed. There is an emptiness now present in our lives. And in the process of learning to live with it is not easy. If we’re honest, many times it is near impossible to do, at least without some support.

As a believer in Jesus Christ, I do not know how those who do not have a relationship with God endure times of grief. There are so many questions that come in those moments of solitude and reflection. So many thoughts that we find difficult to restrain. And without the promise of future hope and future justice, I struggle to imagine how to look forward to a new day. The reason to describe grief in such stark terms is not to increase the burden, but to describe it as honestly and sincerely as we can.

I believe there are two fundamental reasons why grief is often misunderstood by those on the outside looking in. First, when we see someone else in grief we are challenged to consider how we would respond. And for those of us who have suffered a loss the reminder of what was endured can be difficult. Remembering what that journey looks like can bring back to mind some of the difficulties and heartache we have had to manage. And there are many who simply do not want to deal with that ongoing presence in their life. This is not a judgmental statement. It is not a criticism. It is just an acknowledgment of the human experience.

Second, for most of us, knowing what to do or what to say can be challenging. I think it’s important to acknowledge that when there is loss there is nothing that can be said, particularly in those initial moments, that can bring the kind of comfort we would hope to offer. Our words cannot feel the full impact of the event that created the hole a person now feels. And so oftentimes we end up saying things, that though they are well-intentioned, do not help.

In this season of Lent, we recognize that God has done something for us we could not do for ourselves, or even for each other. God has entered into and has become like us to show us we are not alone. While there is a time for words of comfort, the primary ministry we can offer one another in times of grief is that of presence. To be with one another in and through the journey of grief has a healing effect upon our hearts that cannot be fully quantified. And we see this in the life of Jesus. Jesus enters into the mire and the muck of human frailty and he teaches us and he loves on us and he mourns with us by being near to us. This is one of the great mysteries of Jesus’s mission on the earth. And it is one we celebrate as we travel through the season of Lent in preparation for the celebration of Easter morning.

I Still Miss Him

Today marks the 10 year anniversary of my brother-in-law Jacob’s death. He died a young man in the prime of his life.

I jumped on Facebook for a moment and saw a memorial posted about him. I was caught off guard. The emotions it stirred up came like a flood. I was surprised by that. I don’t really know why it surprised me, but it did.

The awful reality of losing someone we care about, especially when they are young, is the lingering feeling of all that was missed.

I remember Jacob’s sense of humor, his deep passion for ministry, his love for his family. All the things that point to a life, but are not the totality of it. They are merely the outlines we use to give form to our memories. But he was more than that.

As the years pass by, the greater my appreciation for the promise of God we share. That some day I will see him again. That some day the surprise of his death will be gone because I will see him. And we will rejoice together.

When I think about Jacob, it is a mix of mourning and sadness, anger and frustration, joy and peace. It can be so confusing. And yet, each of them crash over me like random waves on the shore.

It caught me off guard, the memory of Jacob’s passing. It’s hard to believe that it’s been ten years. But in a way I am glad it did. It reminded me that I still miss him. And I pray I always will, until I don’t have to anymore.

An Office of Lament in a Time of Social Strife

UPDATED: The video has been included for those who would like to be guided through the resource below.

It is designed to help us pray intentionally in times of social strife and unrest. As we confess sin and plead with our Heavenly Father to provide us wisdom and to hear our prayers, we are forced to face our weaknesses. Forced to acknowledge the deep needs of our own hearts as we look for ways of living in a world marked by peace and justice.

Death 150 Yards Away

Late last year, a young man I’ve never met and of whom I know nothing about died in a car accident. The reason I’m even writing about it; the reason for bringing it up at all is that it happened yards from where I live.

From my vantage point, I knew that it was not a good situation. As the reports finally hit the news wire, it became clear that another life had ended far too soon. Sooner than he and his family and friends expected.

There were so many thoughts and emotions I had that night and even today as I write about it. Many of which you can imagine. But the one that lingers and hovers over them all is this: was he ready?

Not in the sense that he could have anticipated that that day would be his last day on earth. But more in the sense of what was his spiritual life like? Did he have someone who had shared the truth of the Gospel of life with him? The beautiful news that assures us that regardless of the seeming randomness of life, we can live in and with hope.

Was he ready? I don’t know. And in some ways, I am afraid to know. His death saddened me then and it saddens me now. But, it challenges me to do more to speak with those I encounter in my daily journey to consider Jesus and to trust in him.

I guess wondering if he was ready, really makes me wonder if I am ready. Ready to say and do what the Gospel demands and requires of me.

Reflection Prayer:

Almighty God, conform my heart and mind to your will, to be sensitive to the promptings of your Holy Spirit, that I may have eyes to see and ears to hear when you may need me to speak to a wandering soul the Gospel of salvation, in the name of your son Jesus Christ, Amen.

“Embrace the Life God Has Given You” | Dr. John Piper

It does not matter what you are mourning, know that God is with you!

I found this video by Dr. John Piper both interesting and thought provoking.

We do not always know how to respond to our sorrow. Because we are in the middle of our jumbled up thoughts, we struggle to make sense of what’s up or down. But, that does not mean that there is not a way to mourn that is explicitly Christian. That we can’t be reminded and encouraged in and through the pain and grief we feel.

I find Dr. Piper’s thoughts helpful. It does not matter what you are mourning, know that God is with you!

Remembering Col. Kenneth R. Wade | “The Crying Soldier”

July 21, 1945 – February 20, 2016

On Saturday, February 20, 2016, Col. Kenneth R. Wade stepped out of this world and stood at attention before his maker. I will not pretend to know what happened in that exchange. I would like to think, in my mind’s eye, that as Kenny reported for duty, God was ready with orders, for another of his soldiers had come home.

I would like to share some of my recollections of a man who I counted as a friend and some of the lessons I learned because of him.

The Meeting

When I met Col. Wade, I was a young man who had just begun attending Bethel Missionary Baptist Church in Bulloch County, Georgia. I will never forget interacting with him in those early months. He had already retired from serving in the U.S. Army National Guard, but I could tell that he was a soldier. As an Army brat, I could see it in the way he walked and carried himself. I could hear it the clear and distinguishable way he spoke. He was man who know how to give orders.

I would later become an associate pastor and would serve that church for two years. During that time, I learned that I could count on Bro. Kenny. He was there to offer encouragement and words of wisdom to a young pastor. I enjoyed getting to know him and his wife, Linda, and his son Brian. I would meet his other son, Jason, later on, and we have now become good friends.

I did not know then, how important a role the Wade family would play in my life. But, God knew and orchestrated the meeting in a small, rural church near Statesboro, Georgia. As is the case, life pulls you in different directions and still, after all of these years, I hold onto the cherished memories made in a time now since past. They flood to the surface, as they often do when we are forced to remember by the tragedy of death.

Col. Wade helped me to navigate the early days of my journey in ministry in ways I did not understand and am still learning and that is debt I can never repay.

The Eagle

For those who may not know, the rank of Colonel is designated by a silver eagle. Sometimes called a “full bird” colonel to distinguish this rank from that of the preceding one, a lieutenant colonel. It marks a remarkable achievment in a military career. One of the results of the military life, if you have ever been around military personnel, is it is difficult to miss the distinct imprint of the military on a life lived by a clear set of rules. Col. Wade was no exception.

What most people do not understand, particularly if you were not a part of a military family, is the effect this has on the dependents. On a couple of occasions, I heard Kenny describe some of his regret for how his career had affected his family. This, too, is something I have seen as common among service men and woman across the branches. As I remember these moments of transparency, I also saw that there was something else, something not quite so easy to detect, that seemed to percolate underneath the surface. There was a growing realization that all of his training had not lent itself well to being a husband or a father—or so he seemed to fear.

He was not a bad man, by all accounts he was a good man. I don’t even think most people, if any, would have agreed with him on his alleged failures, and I remember wondering to myself, if such a good man struggled to be a good man, then I needed to be ready and willing to fight for my own family as well. I recognize now that this was a personal and internal struggle. One that I better understand today and only observed then. One that could be seen in and through everything he did. He had not failed his family. It seemed to me like he was overcoming some perceived failure in his own expectations of himself. His journey toward the eagle had taught him how to persevere and how to fight for what he loved and believed in.

I am not sure that he would have described it in this way. These are more my reflections on those conversations and his example over the years.

The Tears

If there was one thing that astonished me about Col. Wade, it was that the man could start crying at the drop of a hat. If you knew him for any length of time you would know this to be true. When he talked about his wife and family. When we talked about his cadets. When we talked about his faith. I have known passionate people. But, Col. Wade was one of the most compassionate men I have ever known.

When Kenny cried as he talked about those things important to him, it was not weakness. It was resolve. It was the physical expression of the depth of his conviction and faith and love. When he spoke about these things I wanted to listen. I wanted to glean as much wisdom as I could because I knew he was speaking from a depth of experience. There was so much truth. Not the kind of a philosophical nature. It was the truth of experience. The truth that comes from having walked life out in the real world.

As is the case with all instances of death, I am saddened by the loss. I do not feel the weight of this as deeply as those closest to Kenny. I can only offer these reflections and these words as a sign of solidarity in mourning.

I find hope in the fact that Kenny’s faith and my faith in Jesus can bridge the time between his departure and our reunion. I will miss the stories and the voice. I will miss the passion and compassion. But, I think most of all, I will the tears from the crying soldier.

“The High Cost of Love” | Remembering Frank Thompson

julie and frank

Frank LaDon Thompson

August 19, 1969 – October 14, 2015

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at home watching a baseball game when I found out that my friend Frank’s journey here on earth had come to an end. He died due to complications related to his heart and kidney transplant surgery.

The sensation of numbness washed over me like a wave. And then another came. And then another.

It is always surreal to hear the news of a death. There is the finality of it all. Knowing that the next time you think about them, all you will have are the cherished memories you made with them. Knowing that you will not be able to call or text or message them. Knowing in a way that, quite literally, takes your breath away. Where you voice catches in your throat and you experience that waves of sadness wash over you again.

It’s always worse at the beginning. The power and weight of the waves seem to not let up. You struggle to find your bearings or even catch you breath. You feel like you are drowning, even wondering if that would be better than this. Anything would be better, or so it feels at the moment.

I met Frank and Julie while I was serving as the youth pastor of the First United Methodist Church is Cordele, GA. I did not know them all that well. Cordele First was Julie’s family’s home church. I had known her youngest sister from college, something I found out later. And one day while at the church Julie asked me if I would be interested in officiating their wedding. Honestly, I cannot remember why they asked me to do their wedding. We had crossed paths at the church during their visits but, I don’t remember doing or saying anything that impressive or memorable. Nonetheless, they asked and I accepted.

We did their marriage counseling over Skype and I knew that these two were good people. The kind of people who make you feel accepted and cared for. The kind of people who know how to love. They loved deeply, sincerely. With every fiber of their being they gave of themselves to each other and to those who accepted what they offered.

I knew they were going to make it as a couple and a family because of the way they laughed, both individually and together. I have always been an observer of laughter. What we laugh at tells a lot about us. But, how we laugh says even more. And Frank and Julie knew how to laugh. Those laughs, both distinct and unique. Both memorable. Both true expressions of the souls that saw the joy of life and love.

When I found out about Frank’s heart problems I began to pray. Many of us who loved them did. We saw the changes. We knew it was serious. So we prayed. We prayed because that is what we are supposed to do. And through it all Frank remained positive. Burdened by the reality of his situation, and yet resolute to love and lead his family through it. This he did like the man I remember. He promised to be there for Julie through it all. I was there when he made that promise. But Julie made a promise too. A promise she made to which she has remained true.

It may be something bred into the Adams women because they are strong. In Julie that strength is more like a fire. It looks calm and tame. But look long enough and you will see it. In meekness she fought the fight for life with her husband. She fought with him and for him until the end. There was no surrender, no backing down, no letting go. Not until it was time.

This is the high cost of love. To give of yourself until there is nothing left. To give to those who have captured your heart and whose lives have become indistinguishably intertwined with your own. When you love like this there is a price to be paid. And we pay it gladly. We recognize the risk and accept it because we would rather feel the pain on the other side of our present joy, than to have never felt the love at all.

The depth of our mourning is a measure of the quality of our love. Frank is being mourned by his wife, children, family, and friends today (and for days to come). We mourn for him because he gave us a part of himself and, now that he is gone from this world, we do not want to lose what he gifted to us.

I will continue to pray for Julie and the girls. I will pray for all of us who knew him. And, in the midst of the sorrow, I will find a way rejoice because Frank was a man of faith. He loved others with the love he himself had come to know. So, while I mourn, I want to also rejoice and remember my friend, not just because he died, but because of the way he lived his life.

This post has been updated.

In Memory of Pastor Ray Burnette | A Shepherd has Fallen

The Reverend

Ray Burnette

1953 – 2015

Yesterday I learned that Pastor Ray passed from this life into eternity. I served in the same community as he did for four years and interacted with him on a several occasions. I am grateful for his service to his family, the Crisp County community, and to the great family of faith at Penia Baptist Church.
Continue reading “In Memory of Pastor Ray Burnette | A Shepherd has Fallen”