Transcript

A man named Roy Angell once made a special trip to Washington D.C. to specifically go and see the “Hope Diamond” which is kept in the Smithsonian Institute, where it is on permanent exhibition.

The diamond has the place of honor at the head of the Smithsonian’s National Gem Collection and is the most visited exhibition at the Smithsonian.

It is a 45-carat diamond. And the “Hope Diamond” is recognized around the world as the most beautiful blue diamond in the world.

Upon arriving at the Smithsonian, Mr. Angell says, “I stood above it and looked through the bullet-proof glass at it….There are no words with which to describe it.”

He approached one of the four guards in the room in which it is displayed, and asked “What is the value of this jewel?”

The guard answered, “No price has been put on it, but it doesn’t matter what the value of it is, it will never be sold again. It is priceless. It is our own; it belongs to America, it is ours forever.”

That diamond has an appropriate name, the “Hope Diamond” because hope, the hope we have in Christ, is priceless. There is no value you can place on the hope you and I have in Him. And the hope we have in Christ is our own, it is ours forever, and nothing and no one can ever take it away from us.

In Christ, we have the hope of eternal life, the hope of the Rapture, the hope of our resurrection, and the hope of reunion with our saved loved ones who have passed away.

Thus, because of the sure and certain hope we have in Christ, when we grieve at the death of our loved ones, we grieve with hope.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 reads, “Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort;

“Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.”

My father served as the President of Berean Bible Society before me for nearly 30 years. He went home to be with his Savior in the spring of 2016.

Like many families, our family is close-knit. My father and mother had 47 wonderful, loving years of marriage. We were all very close to my father.

My closeness with my dad was enhanced by working together with him in the ministry for twenty years at Berean Bible Society.

At a BBS Board of Directors Meeting following my father’s passing, the Board went to dinner together. We made reservations at a restaurant that the Board had eaten at for the previous twenty years.

The waitress, who worked there for many years, paused and looked at all of us sitting around the table, and said, “One of you is missing.” She was speaking of my father.

Our family feels that constantly. One of us is missing, and we miss him and feel that loss every day. Sorrow is a journey and a shadowy valley that you walk through. But we never walk through it alone.

In episode #114 of Transformed by Grace, I shared a story about a woman talking to her mother about her life and how things were very difficult for her at the time. To comfort her, her mother used the illustration of a carrot, an egg, and coffee beans.

She filled three pots with water, put a carrot in one, an egg in one, and coffee beans in the third pot. She then put them on the stove, turned the stove on, and let them sit till the water was boiling.

Afterwards, she fished out the carrot and put it in a bowl, pulled the egg out and put it in a bowl, and ladled the coffee and put it in a bowl.

Then she taught her daughter how the same adversity of the boiling hot water had 3 different effects on these 3 items. The carrot went in strong and hard, but after being subjected to the boiling water it softened and became weak.

The egg went in fragile, but the boiling water, hardened it and it became hard-boiled.

The water with the coffee beans became a good tasting cup of coffee and it changed the water. Then she asked her daughter regarding her difficulty, “Which are you?”

Are you the carrot that seems strong, but the adversity causes you to be without strength.

Are you the egg that starts with a malleable heart but changes with the heat and becomes hardened as a result? Or are you the coffee bean, and when things get difficult, the bean releases its fragrance and flavor and changes the situation around you?

What I would like to tell you is that after my father passed away that I was the coffee bean. But when it happened, I found that I was the carrot. I thought I was strong. I’ve grown deeper in my faith over the years. I’ve preached many times about being strong in the Lord in times of suffering.

But the powerful pain and adversity of grieving my dad’s death overwhelmed me and caused me to wilt and lose strength. I had never felt so weak as in the days and weeks after my dad passed. I felt like life was spinning out of control, like I had control of nothing. And I learned how raw emotions can become.

After my father’s burial and conducting his service, my family was all sitting in the living room of my parents’ home. There is a wall of bookshelves there, and I was sitting next to it.

I pulled down Charles Swindoll’s book: Embraced by the Spirit, and began reading. He began the book with a story of a time when he was 10 years old, and his father had almost passed away. His dad gave him a talk about how he wanted him to live after he died. This, of course, caught my attention.

I kept reading, and Charles Swindoll wrote this: “In John 13-17, Christ tells the disciples ‘I’m going away.’ They sat paralyzed, riveted to that statement…

“They were in shock….They couldn’t cope with the news of His departure, just as I couldn’t, as a little boy, cope with the possibility that my dad would be gone by morning.

“‘Sorrow filled [their] hearts,’ John 16:6 says of the disciples. The Greek word for ‘sorrow’ means ‘grief,’ the devastating pain that accompanies the loss of someone we love. Jesus understood all that they were experiencing. He saw that grief and fear had gripped them.

“We all want very much to give the impression that we can handle anything that comes. We want to appear secure, even when we feel very insecure. The big lie is that ‘We can handle everything.’ The truth is, deep down within each of us, we long to be kept.

“We ache to be held securely. When some earthquake takes that security from us, the moorings of our foundation shift.

“It happens when we face the possibility of a terminal illness or the death of a loved one. The imminence of danger or separation brings about feelings of desperate insecurity. That’s what happened with the disciples.

“But Christ promised in John 14:18: ‘I will not leave you orphans’…Christ was leaving them permanently. And though they were adults, the sting of His departure left them feeling orphaned….

Pastor Swindoll continued, “My father’s departure from this life in 1980 marked a passage in my life after which things would never be quite the same.

“No more visits. No more phone calls. No more opportunities to sit and talk through something and to have him listen and respond. In a strange way since that day, there are occasions I feel orphaned.

“I still miss being able to see my father, to hear his voice, to watch him respond.

“That was how the disciples felt. No more meals together. No more discussions beside the sea. No more quiet talks around the fire at night. No more shared laughter, or tears, or watching Him handle some thorny situation. Orphaned.

“I love Jesus’ compassion for them in that moment. He carefully chose His words. ‘I won’t leave you orphaned…I have a solution.’ The answer Jesus gave them was the Person of the Holy Spirit.”

I am a firm believer in the providence of God. I don’t think it was a coincidence that I picked up that book at that moment on that day. At that moment, I felt very insecure. My foundation had shifted. I felt orphaned.

And I know the Lord was pointing me to my relationship with Him through the Holy Spirit as the place I needed to turn for comfort and security in life.

Romans 15:4: “For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope.”

The Scriptures give comfort. I believe they are to be our primary source of comfort in times of sorrow and grief.

Romans 15:4 speaks of the “comfort of the Scriptures” and that, by our patient learning of it, we “might have hope.” The Spirit makes us strong by His Word, and He comforts and gives us true hope by it.

Scripture memory is vitally important in life. As I sat there staring out a window, dazed and overwhelmed by what was happening during my dad’s last days in the hospital, this may shock you, coming from a pastor, but my desire wasn’t to grab a Bible.

Instead, it was to run to a Bible passage already in my mind and heart. I pondered verses I knew and had memorized that were important to me. Isaiah 40:31 and 2 Corinthians 12:9 gave me immense comfort.

I would often quote Psalm 46:1 in my mind: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” And Psalm 121:1,2: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.”

These verses that I had hidden in my heart brought comfort and strength to me in those hard moments, and during the time of sorrow that followed. I was thankful that I had these verses as a part of me and that they were hidden in my heart at that time.

I am grateful that my parents raised me in church where Scripture memory was prioritized for young people. That’s when these verses were imbedded into my heart.

I learned many practical things during my journey through grief. I’ve found that in grief you have irrational thoughts and actions.

I grew a beard during that time. My beard was irrational, but I found comfort in it. They were unable to shave my dad in the hospital because he was on such a high and powerful dosage of blood thinners, and also because he had so many tubes on and around his face. So he grew a beard.

It may not make any sense now, but it gave me comfort back then.

Another irrational thing is that little triggers bring forth big emotions. They come out of nowhere. For example, I felt real heartache just driving past McDonald’s, because my dad loved McDonald’s coffee and Big Macs.

I was preparing a sermon not long after my dad’s passing. I had a Bible question, and the quick thought to ask my dad followed by the just-as-quick realization that I couldn’t, caused me to break down. These were little things, but they were heartbreaking.

Jealousy is another irrational feeling I had. Hearing of someone still living that was born before 1948, I would have feelings of jealousy, wishing dad had lived longer like that.

At that time, I heard of someone who passed away at age 70, and my first thought was, “What I wouldn’t give for my dad to have lived until age 70 and for us to have had three more years with him.”

Anger is not wrong in grief, and neither are tears. Mary and Martha were upset when the Lord didn’t come in time to save Lazarus from dying. John 11:20,21 says, “Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met Him…Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.”

And Christ Himself wept at the death of Lazarus, though He knew He would raise him (John 11:35-44). In His humanity, Christ wept at the sorrow and grief that death brings to mankind. So it’s not wrong when we weep, because even “Jesus wept” at the death of a loved one. We have a Savior Who is sympathetic with us in our tears and grief.

Anger is not wrong, tears are not wrong, and I believe asking why is not wrong. Like Job, you find yourself questioning the Lord (Job 10). “Lord, this doesn’t make any sense. Why?” “Lord, this feels like an injustice.”

You think of all the plans, the things yet to be done; you can’t understand why the Lord would allow it. My dad had so much that he was planning on doing yet. He had commentaries on Revelation he was writing and still finishing.

He was planning to work alongside me in training me for the presidency of Berean Bible Society. He had plans to travel with my mom. They wanted to grow old together.

And you wonder and ask: “Why?” Even if you don’t voice this, you think it.

Then you gather yourself. You take stock of God and Who He is. You know God is too wise to make a mistake, so you trust Him. We are called to trust Him always, even when things hurt and don’t make any sense in life.

When God spoke to Job after all his “why” questions, He never answered his questions and the Lord also didn’t correct Job for doing so. He just responded with His questions and showed Job His majesty, greatness, and sovereignty (Job 38-41).

So, we are to trust verses like Ecclesiastes 3:11: “He hath made everything beautiful in His time. Also He hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.”

That verse says that no man can find out or will ever fully understand the work that God does from beginning to end. So you realize that “Why” is okay to ask, but that also, “I don’t know” is a good answer.

Asking God “why” doesn’t make Him angry with you. It doesn’t grieve Him. It isn’t ungodly or sinful to do so. It’s just being honest and real with Him, like He wants each of us to be in our relationship with Him.

God is right there with us in our sorrow. He’s hurting right along with us. Romans 8:26 says that in our infirmities and suffering “the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.”

The Spirit dwells within each believer and He intercedes and groans to the Father on our behalf in our suffering because He is with us in all our sufferings.

During that time of sorrow and grief, I found that well-meaning comments about this being the will of God, of my dad being in a better place, or the Lord wanting him to come home, were painful. We want him home with us.

The better place we feel he should be is here, with us. You process thoughts and feelings in times like this. You know what God’s Word says. You believe it, but you need to process it all and come to those realizations on your own and in your own time.

It has been said that “Grief is an emotional process, not a logical or linear one. Which means that on some days, it makes no sense at all.” We shouldn’t judge anyone who is grieving for the things they say or ask. Just let them say what they say. And don’t correct it. If they ask you a question, respond. But say little.

Simple things and statements mean the most. People saying, “I’m praying for your mom,” or “for you,” meant a lot. Or “I’m here if you need anything.” Simple questions meant a lot: “Can I do anything to help?”

Listening with focus and caring about what’s being said, little acts of kindness, like giving food or groceries, were very meaningful. You need genuine warmth and care.

I found comfort in talking to those who have been through what I was going through.

What it comes down to is: Be sensitive. Everyone grieves differently and on their own timetable. Some of these things may be true of you, some of it may not. It’s different for everyone.

Joseph Bayly and his wife, Mary Lou, lost three sons: one at eighteen days after surgery; another at five years with leukemia: the third at eighteen years after a sledding accident. So when Joe Bayly writes about death and grieving, people listen.

Mr. Bayly says that one of the best contributions we can make to a person going through intense suffering and loss is our presence without words, not even verses of Scripture.

He says: “Don’t try to ‘prove’ anything to a mourner. An arm about the shoulder, a firm grip of the hand: these are the proofs grief needs, not logical reasoning.

“‘I was sitting, torn by grief at the death of my child. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly; he said things I knew were true. I was unmoved, except to wish that he’d just go away.

“He finally did. Another came and sat beside me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask leading questions. He just sat beside me for an hour or more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply and quickly, and left.

“I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go. That is what we need when we are in the grips of despair and grief. No words, no lecture, no explanation, just presence, the presence of Christ through another.’”

The one thing Job’s friends did right when he was in mourning for his children’s deaths, was that “they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great” (Job 2:13). When these friends opened their mouths, that’s when the problems started.

Grief takes time. It isn’t something where you snap your fingers and tomorrow you wake up and feel better. You don’t feel better in a day. There will always be a hole in my life.

People like for you to move forward. But I think it’s because THEY want to move forward, or they feel awkward not knowing how to act or what to say when you continue to hurt over a longer period of time than they expect.

Moving forward is a painful thought during times of mourning. But as one brother in Christ told me, “You don’t move forward, you move through sorrow.”

Psalm 30:5 says “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

The length of the night for weeping, mourning, and grieving is different for everyone. The morning does come in time.

But it takes time to journey through that fog of grief, to the point that you can see and think more clearly and experience that joy in the morning of reaching for our hope and knowing you have a blessed reunion coming one day.

Another brother told me, “You are now separated from your father, but every day you are moving toward him, toward reuniting with him.”

This thought, along with the truth that every day I could be reunited with my father at the Rapture, are very comforting.

Revelation 14:13 reads, “And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them.”

Henry Van Dyke writes: I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!” “Gone where?” Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull as she was when she left my side.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!” There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!”

Revelation 14:13 is a view of death from the other side, the “here she comes” side.

Viewed from our vantage point, death truly is an enemy and brings with it sorrow, pain, and tears. It’s good to hate it, because it cuts us off and robs us of those who are dear to us and it separates us from them.

But from heaven’s vantage point, death is altogether different. Revelation 14:13 calls those who die in the Lord, “blessed.” And as our Apostle Paul says, to be with Christ is “gain” and “far better.”

Death is a doorway to blessing in heaven. Those who die in the Lord have the blessing of meeting Christ and being in His presence continually and also being with all the saints in glory. They have the blessing of being in a place of perfect peace, righteousness, and joy.

Revelation 14:13 also points out that death brings the blessing of “rest” from our labors. The word “labor” in that verse speaks of wearisome labor, and it speaks of the collective difficulties, sorrow, concerns, and exhaustion of life.

But death is a doorway to rest for God’s people. Death brings an end to the toils and trials of life and labor, and brings with it the blessings of peace and rest from being in the presence of Christ.

My dad’s final words to our family were, “See you on the other side.” He said them in light of the surgery he was being taken to at that moment. But we all knew what those words could mean too. And so now I think about that from time to time knowing that I will see my father on the other side.

We grieve with hope knowing that believers who are absent from the body are present with the Lord and that someday we will be with our believing loved ones again on the other side to experience the same joys they are currently experiencing with Christ in heaven.

And we grieve with hope knowing that every day the Lord could return to catch all the Church, the Body of Christ, up to be with Him at the Rapture. And at the great event, He will reunite us with those who have gone home before us.

The sure hope we have in Christ gives true strength and comfort in our times of sorrow.