Wednesday morning, the 27th of July, dawned as usual. I slapped my sandwich for lunch together, grabbed an apple and headed off to work at Geneva College Physical Plant. A couple of birthdays were on my mind that morning. My mom’s birthday fell on the 28th and I planned to record her a video message, as I was physically half a world away from her. I couldn’t remember whether my friend (and unofficial “big sis”) Paige’s birthday was on the 27th or 29th and I made a mental note to find out, as something special was supposed to occur in conjunction with that. Unbeknownst to her, her boyfriend was to formally propose.
I clocked in for work at 7 a.m. and walked in to a break room, strangely quiet. I soon heard word of a death; a co-worker, a lady in Housekeeping, had been killed. Staff gathered together that morning to grieve together and to pray. No one had an explanation; everyone held some measure of grief.
I did not know her personally; however, many of my coworkers did and grieved deeply. Tears and hugs were shared. This was yet another death in the Geneva family – a student had died just last winter. It was a reminder of the nearness of death. I shared in the sorrow; for though I did not experience personal grief, it cut to the heart to see friends and coworkers sobbing.
“…mourn with those who mourn.” (Romans 14)
This is the bittersweet reality of human existence.
Grief and joy, side by side. Acknowledging death, celebrating life.
Later that afternoon, I received an excited message from Paige. She and her now-fiancé had been officially engaged. I rejoiced with her and dutifully proceeded to tease her about having known about the planned proposal for months but successfully played dumb the whole time. I have attended plenty of weddings, by virtue of the fact that my dad was a minister who often married couples. Yet this was special in that I personally knew the couple, and knew them well, and cared deeply for their joy. I had the privilege to observe, and hopefully have learned, from their growing love and interaction with each other. They are both amazing people, and I consider it an honor to have them as friends.
“Rejoice with those who rejoice…” (Romans 14)
In the evening, I sat down with my guitar and booted up my laptop. I began to record a simple video message wishing my mom a happy birthday, and singing her the "Happy Birthday" song with a personal twist. As I sang my heart out, joy welled up in my heart and I couldn’t stop grinning. Though I was separated in body from her, my heart reached out to her and felt the comforting emotional bond of family across the miles of sea.
Grief and joy, side by side. How does this make sense?
It cannot. Man has not come up with a satisfactory answer on his own. What is the point of celebrating life if we are all to ultimately face death?
Dress it up how you will; we have no purpose if there is no god, or if this material world is all there is.
“Meaningless, meaningless; everything is meaningless.” (Ecclesiastes)
I won’t try to debate you into believing there is a God. What I will testify to, though, is the comfort knowing Him brings. He knows how it feels to grieve; He wept at death (John 11:35). He knows how to celebrate; He attended a wedding and replenished the wine (John 2). He felt all we felt; He understands.
He died a human death. He rose to bring new life. He is the reason for life.
The ladies in Housekeeping wept, but they also knew that they would see their friend again one day. Death is swallowed up in Jesus’ life and victory. We can celebrate life, because He conquered death.
“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
