Looking at life through a spiritual lens has its ups and downs. Living a life in Christ has both great benefit and great cost; fortunately, the benefit dwarfs the cost. Never the less, the cost is great, and can cause great pain. One of those great pains is in seeing people we care about die.
My friend Carrie Coffman died three weeks ago, and I will be attending her memorial service on 10/19/05. She is why I write now. Though I'm sure my thoughts now will be disjointed, that may not be the point of writing anyway.
Carrie was a missionary to countries in Africa, Korea, and Russia, a devoted wife, and a talented writer. She loved the Lord and lived every day of her life for Him. She had a zeal for God's glory that is seldom seen, a desire to have a teachable heart that was infectious, and the kind of mature prayer life that I long for. She was a close mentor to my wife and instrumental in our spiritual growth over the past few years. Carrie's last published work was a collection of stories compiled in a book (which I always thought would be Volume I) called
Sweet Fire.
Though she was an older woman, what puzzled me most was the seeming inconsistency in the life she lived and the illness that took her. She was, without question, the most health-conscious person I know. She invested greatly in my life, as well as my wife's, in developing better dietary habits so that we could live healthy lives and raise a healthy baby. One of her favorite phrases was, "we were made to live in a garden," meaning that when God designed us, man's original dwelling place was in the Garden of Eden and our diets should reflect as such. So when cancer came upon her and ravaged her, not like any cancer I'd ever seen, but like by a deadly virus, it stunned me how quickly she went from being a healthy, vibrant woman to a living skeleton in a matter of weeks. I kept thinking, 'this just isn't fair.'
And these are precisely the moments when God brings you back to His reality, that the life of the Christian has nothing to do with things being 'fair.' Being 'fair' cannot be part of this equation, because being 'fair' means that death would reign for all of us, both in this world and the next. Carrie knew that as well, so I could not dwell long on this spurious concept of 'fairness.'
It is interesting that her last published book, Sweet Fire, was about sanctification through suffering, with some accounts in that book being similar to her own ordeal with cancer. Some of the great saints in history were those who suffered most. It leads me to believe that the two are in fact related, as it states in Romans:
But we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. - Rom. 5:3-5
Through the testimony of Carrie's life and through the maturation of my own, I have realized how directly proportionate the suffering and the hope are intertwined. It may even be a specific reality -without such suffering, it is impossible to know God intimately. It is only through such suffering that our securities are stripped away and we are left clinging to a singular hope that God is the ultimate provision and His sanctification of us brings mighty glory to Himself.
Yet life on earth can be so hard. So hard. And I find myself caught in the middle of missing my friend daily and knowing that her death is not something to despair, but to celebrate because she has in a sense been promoted. A new body. A new world. In the presence of God. Is this not cause for celebration?
So why do I still weep sometimes?
Joy and sorrow. I think this dichotomy is so beautifully depicted in John 14, where Jesus is sharing His last Passover with them. His disciples are sad, because they know Jesus is about to leave them. Jesus gives them words of comfort, and I know some of what they felt.
“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may also be. And where I go you know, and the way you know.”
Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?”
Jesus said to him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me. If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also; and from now on you know Him and have seen Him...A little while longer and the world will see Me no more, but you will see Me. Because I live, you will live also...And he who loves Me will be loved by My Father, and I will love him and manifest Myself to him."
I had the great privledge of reading this passage to Carrie at her bedside days before she died. It was emotionally overpowering, because sorrow and love flow mingled from this passage. Jesus was giving them a great promise - that He was going to prepare a place for them, and that they would one day see Him again. Yet they, in their limited faith, just like mine, could not see past the fact that their beloved friend was going to leave them. That, I think, is the great struggle. I know there is future glory, but I miss my friend. I did not want Carrie to leave us, yet I knew that she was suffering and God was calling her home. Yes, I believe. Yes, I know my faith is secure in Christ. Yes, I believe I will see Carrie again. Yet I find myself in the same state as the man with the possessed son when he cried to Jesus, "I believe! Help my unbelief!" I miss her. And I will miss her greatly for however long I am here on this earth. That to me is the great pain of this world- that at the same time we can live in grace by faith with unmatched hope, we will have to endure suffering and loss while on a cursed earth. This hope cannot disappoint us, can it? No, it cannot. But it does require perseverance in order for such hope to manifest.
So I wept at Carrie's bedside. They, however, were not tears of anguish. Instead, they were tears of the overwhelming sensation of God holding me in His grip while I read His Word. Tears of loss, yes, but more importantly, tears of grace. To know that God, just like He did for His disciples at the Last Supper, shows us the fullest extent of His love and poured out His life on our behalf. Putting aside His total power, He batters my heart with the truth that He made Himself total love and became the only acceptable sacrifice the world could know that would reconcile us back to Him. As I tried to read through this passage, I could barely overcome the feeling of total unworthiness to even speak God's Word, like Isaiah might have in Is. 6.
My sadness can give way to joy that Carrie has fought the good fight, she has finished the race, she has kept the faith. Now there is in store for her the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, has awarded her.
And like Job, Carrie now can say, "My ears have heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you."
And that, indeed, is Sweet.
_________________
10/20/05 Post Script.
I attended Carrie's memorial service. I cried. I laughed. I thought about how she impacted so many for the furtherance for the Kingdom. More than anything, however, I realized how remarkable she was. She was a student and scholar of great honor and distinction. An heir of a long, long line of families of faith. A trail blazer and a former "woman of the year." A model of determination and tireless work. An vessel of leadership for new ministries all over the world. And yet, knowing her the final few years of her life, I didn't know about any of these things, and I almost felt cheated that she had never told me about her accomplishments in life.
But then, at her memorial service, the statement was made that now, after death and in glory, she fully possessed her prize. And I realized, yes -that is it. That is exactly it.
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. - Matt. 13:44
Her resume was staggering. And yet, when she found her treasure, in great joy she sold it all so that she could simply possess her treasure in Christ. She wanted Christ more than anything else in the world, and gladly parted with those earthly things to abide in Him.
But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. - Phil. 3: 7-9
Yes, that is exactly it. Thesauros.
