A Grieving Good Friday

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
On Easter Sunday morning, I worshiped in Greensboro, North Carolina where Bambi's mother, Mrs. Lilly Wilson, passed away the Friday before. Certainly given the circumstances, I was profoundly grateful for the great Good News of Easter that Christ robbed death of its prey. But I sorely missed being with God's people at the top of Poplar, rubbing shoulders with beloved fellow pilgrims, soaking up the beauty of stained-glass light, and thrilling to the music of the best choir this side of heaven.

I was thankful my friend Edd Rowell was available to fill the pulpit with his usual wit, wisdom, and passionate faith. And I was grateful for staff colleagues and others who urged me to stay by Bambi's side in North Carolina rather than rush back to Macon to preach. Still, for any preacher who loves his or her craft, being out of the pulpit on Easter is a trying ordeal.

But there are times when the preacher needs to hang up his Superman cape and join the ranks of bereaved mourners, stunned and grieved at the loss of a loved one. As Jesus stood trembling  by the tomb of his beloved Lazarus, tears coursing down his cheeks (John 11:35, 38), so the pastor must honor the pain of his own broken heart. These days, as I bury so many dear friends from  our First Baptist family, I do that more and more.

During the two weeks Bambi was at her mother's side as Mrs. Wilson's death drew near--and during my own brief sojourn  Greensboro--I was reminded of several things grief-stricken families learn:

• It's not what people say when trying to offer a word of comfort that matters; it's that they care enough to acknowledge one's loss with an email or Facebook message, a call, or better yet, a hug. Similarly, the beautiful spray of flowers sent by the First Baptist family calmed and cheered our hearts.
  
• It helps immeasurably when a loved one is dying to have a team of family members, as Bambi did, to support each another through the spasms of grief that momentarily cripple every care-giver.
  
• A sensitive pastor, minister, or Hospice chaplain who can be present, without being intrusive or excessively pious, becomes a lifeboat in a family's churning sea of grief. We were blessed to have such a pastor minister to us in the wake of Mrs. Wilson's passing.

Bambi's mother died on Good Friday. Perhaps in some sense, every Christian does. For it is in dying with Christ that we experience the great reversal, namely, having our death vanquished by the power of our Lord’s risen life. This year, more than most, I am deeply grateful for the One whose Easter dawn shatters our most impenetrable darkness.