An old and dear friend of mine lost his boy this week. It seemed brutal and senseless and mean. In these times, it seems that most decisions are up for discussion. Judges require an attempt at mediation before they will even hear a divorce case. The majority of teenagers have been brought up to believe that they are on equal footing with their parents with regard to power, therefore, all topics with which they disagree are open to discussion and even argument. As a lawyer I see what a litigious society we have become. We want our day in court to tell our story. In the bible, Matthew 18:15-17, even Jesus directs a careful back and forth exchange to resolve a perceived wrong. "Instead if your brother sins, go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother. But if he does not listen to you, take one or two more with you, so that by the mouth of two or three witnesses all facts may be confirmed. If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if he refuses to listen even to the church, let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector." In Jesus' instruction we see there are no surprises, no ambushes. No one is left standing alone, wondering why a terrible thing has happened to them before they even had a chance to say NO!.
But my friend's son's death was sudden. My friend had no one with whom to argue or question. Because his boy's death was not of natural causes, it would seem to me, it seems, more than ever, a much needed time for questions, discussion and answers. It seems as humans we have to know where to put things; we have to know the why in order to move on. Was it me, was it school, was it friends or was it something I didn't know about or should have known about. Our brains will drive us crazy if we allow them to. If we can't make sense of it, the world stops making sense, and the grief seems that much harder to bear. I live in what my son classifies as a "small city." (as opposed to gatherings, hamlets, big and small towns. etc.). People love to talk. I don't think it's malicious; I think it's just pure, unbridled curiosity. And they're bold. They might work up a little tear first, but most times they'll just walk right up to you at the Texaco or the Piggly Wiggly and ask about your parent's divorce or whatever the going interest is. And that's not all! They'll dig deeper. They'll say well I heard your Daddy had to have his voice box removed. Or I heard your mother ran off with a woman heart surgeon from New York City. And in the midst of your grief, this curiosity, which is nothing more than a need to know why, drives the nail deeper and brings back all of your own painful questions.
Many times when we don't know why, and sometimes when we do, we feel guilty when someone is taken from us. Fueled many times by guilt, I have seen other parents rage and lash out at anyone near by, attempting to get an explanation for a senseless death. I've recently read the book written by the mother of Dylan Klebold, the mother of one of the shooters at Columbine. The guilt and shame she felt after the killing was staggering, and yet, her son had done a very good job at hiding his depression, his isolation from peers, and his growing intention to die one way or another. Mrs. Klebold felt so guilty. She was a grieving parent just as much as those of the shooting victims. It seemed she grieved even more, because she had to bear her guilt alone, hide it and speak to no one, lest she be seen as insensitive to those children her son gunned down. And, of course, she too felt guilty because she didn't know WHY she hadn't seen her son's breakdown sooner. She felt guilty because she hadn't seen her son's profound unhappiness sooner. She felt the grief of losing her precious son and the guilt of his terrible actions.
On a beautiful spring day, I left the celebration of my friend's son's life amidst the large crowd of family, friends, church regulars and a raft of peers and other children his age, curious and raw with emotion about something they didn't understand. I lingered at the entrance hoping to see my friend and to tell him how sorry was for his unimaginable loss. I wanted to tell him how much I've prayed that the Lord would bring his family and him as much comfort and solace as they could possible hold. I heard his voice before I saw him. After we hugged, before I could begin to gush my sympathy, he looked into my eyes. His were black--piercing. He interrupted me and said, "I've got this."
At first, I was shocked. How could this beautiful man lose his first-born son so abruptly with no apparent reason seem be so confident and peaceful? It rolled around in my head for days before I understood. The faith in God we shared was the answer to myquestions. Our God promises us comfort and patience in the face of anything, no matter how brutal, senseless or mean. He welcomes us into His arms and offers us solace in the midst of our grief. He asks only that we have enough faith to believe that He is bigger than all the whats, whens and hows that can destroy us. He asks us to have faith that as our Heavenly Father, He will buoy us up during these hard times. Oddly enough, it is not in words and sorrow that we find our answers; it is in our silence and faith.
Psalm 73:26
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my portion and my heart forever.
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