As many of you will know, my mum went to be with Jesus just before COVID hit. It was a time full of pain, exhaustion – but also very little space to grieve. We were thrust into the pandemic and I was helping my husband move our services online and look after our church members as well as reaching out to my dad as he navigated the first lockdown so soon after being widowed.
But there was one companion that I found extremely helpful – and I am delighted to say that it is about to be published! The lovely Penelope Swithinbank shared an early draft of Scent of Water with me, as it is a daily devotional for the first six months of bereavement and she hoped it would help.
It certainly did.
Written out of her own experience of seeing her mum die suddenly and tragically, she generously shared it on her website but now, ten years on, she has found a publisher and created a book version that would be a wonderful gift for anyone who has been recently bereaved.
EXPERIENCING GOD’S LOVE
Penelope’s writing is honest – her experience of being broken hearted herself means she is able to empathise and offer comfort. She is certainly living out 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 through this book: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
As she says in the book: “This may well be the scent of water your soul craves. Even just a few moments might help you to know the love of the God who walks alongside you and loves you in and through your grief, your tears. As someone once said, there are some things that only become visible through our tears; things that the dry-eyed don’t see.
“May you see, may you know, that this is the chance for God to put his arms around you and hold you in his love in ways you had never even imagined.”
That is a great description of how I felt when I dipped into the devotional – it felt like God was coming close and a dear friend was sharing what she had learned about grief.
A PRECIOUS GIFT
The daily readings and reflections are short enough not to feel burdensome, but also contain such on-point descriptions of what grief feels like – as well as depth of truth, and life-giving words at a time when all seems lost.
Throughout the book Penelope leaves blank spaces in order for us to personalise thoughts and prayers. She also includes reflections on special days that are often difficult, such as birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas.
This is a thoughtful, precious gift of a book – and so timely as so many have been touched by grief this year.
Penelope Swithinbank is a chaplain at Bath Abbey and a spiritual therapist and counsellor for clergy (and some normal people too). Since becoming a vicar nearly 20 years ago, she has worked in churches in the UK and the USA, and has led pilgrimages in the UK and in Europe. She and her husband Kim have been married for more than 40 years and have three children and six grandchildren. Penelope rarely sits down, loathes gardening and relaxes by walking, reading, going to the theatre or playing the piano. She is the author of Women by Design, Walking Back to Happiness and Scent of Water. She also contributes to Bible reading notes for Scripture Union.
We can sometimes find it hard to know how to relate to Easter Saturday – that day of intense pain, and the crushing loss of hope. And yet the last year has taught us the importance of recognising our emotions – and of giving ourselves space to lament. I wrote the following verses a few weeks ago, when I felt overwhelmed by so much – and before any lockdown restrictions had been lifted. In all my own personal losses, and when faced with the collective loss too, I have felt comforted to know that Jesus truly understands.
I pray that each of you is able to take time to stop…breath…cry…and grieve as our hearts cry out: ‘How long Lord?’ We do rejoice in the knowledge that Jesus has won the final victory, but we also recognise that so much of life currently feels like Easter Saturday.
We each desperately feel the effects of months of isolation and loneliness, The shutting down not only of shops, churches and schools (for a time) But homes and other social interactions. Grasping at connection through a screen, Fatigued by the constant online interaction, Yet desperate to experience something of the relationships we are used to, and still crave.
The terrifying burden of seeing a loved one suffer, as the, or a, disease grips them, And then being separated from them – doors close, and we enter our home again…alone. Some make it through – others, sadly not – and we don’t all have a chance to say goodbye. What are we to do with that pain? As the death toll keeps rising, and the emotional toll on so many grows and grows… We experience collective grief; At times feeling totally and utterly overwhelmed.
We try to cope with the agony of watching loved ones suffer so, so much, Feeling helpless, while also struggling with our own emotional turmoil. Exhausted and heartbroken, we drag ourselves around Trying to support those around us, do our jobs and run our homes, While all the while what we simply need to do is…stop… And breathe And cry And grieve.
How long Lord? How long must this go on?
We recognise we have each been affected in some way. We understand we need to be compassionate to ourselves, As well as to others. And yet we are still expected to get up each day, Manage our households and our jobs, And interact well with those in our churches and our neighbourhoods.
Our hearts break for the level of suffering so many have experienced, The intensity of situations so many have worked within. And yet, for some of us based at home, very little has changed – Although so much now seems like it will never be the same again. We come to you for comfort, for care, for strength right deep into our bones. We were not made for such prolonged pressure, And feel like we are buckling underneath it.
These reflections on temptation and suffering are based on Hebrews 4:12–16.
‘we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet he did not sin’ (v15).
In these devotions, we have been looking at how living our lives in step with the Spirit involves self-control and self-discipline. The first few verses of this Hebrews passage say nothing is hidden from God so we will have to give an account to Him of our lives. That is sobering; we certainly do need to take stock regularly and watch our thoughts and actions.
JESUS TRULY KNOWS HOW WE FEEL
The good news is that Jesus experienced life as a human so He knows what temptations and difficulties really feel like. Hebrews 2 also reveals He was fully human, which enabled Him to break us free from the grip of sin. Verses 17–18 summarise this:
For this reason he had to be made like them, fully human in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. 18 Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.
In the way that He lived His life, Jesus provided us with a template of how to stand up to temptation when it tries to lure us.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, just before His trial and execution, Jesus cried out to the Father for a way not to drink the cup of suffering. And yet… His final response was: ‘may your will be done’. He became the source of our salvation, but also faced the weight of temptation and suffering.
How incredible that we have one we can turn to who understands what we are going through. He is our strength: we are not expected to beat ourselves into submission. Rather, we look to the One who equips us to live lives that honour Him. We can be confident and draw close to Him. How freeing!
Optional further reading: Matthew 26:36–45, Hebrews 2:10–11;14–18
Prayer: Lord I thank You that You know what it feels like to face temptations and difficulties. Help me to remember that I can turn to You, speak honestly and also receive Your grace, mercy and strengthening. Amen.
Warning: this is a long and extremely honest look back over my grief journey during the past 12 months. Today marks the first anniversary of Mum’s death. What a year it has been; none of us could have predicted that just after we said goodbye to her, the world would be thrust into a pandemic. That everything we took for granted would suddenly be pulled out from under us. And that a year later, we would still be living under restrictions with the death toll, and mental health toll, continuing to rise each and every day.
MY JOURNEY
I have had many responses over the last year, some probably due to ‘normal’ grief and others directly related to what we are all living through.
A little over a month after Mum died, I led my last worship service in our church building before we shut down. (On Mother’s Day – not great planning to put myself down on that day.) And then we were thrust into the busyness of getting the church online. While my husband (our lead pastor) had a great tech guy helping him as they hurriedly learned new skills, our family was heavily involved week by week. The ongoing pastoring of those in our church was something I gladly undertook with him too.
Until the times when I felt overwhelmed. And then I began to realise I had a little resentment rising up. Not about helping others, but simply that I hadn’t had the time or space to grieve. And that my grief had actually been overshadowed by our nation’s, by the world’s, grief. From my perspective, that didn’t seem fair. But that was closely followed by guilt for feeling that way, especially when I had had the privilege of sitting next to my mum for the ten days it took for her to go and be with Jesus.
Night and day I had remained in my parent’s home, and the final night we sat in her room with her until she took her last breath in the early hours of the next day. I know so many have lost loved ones this year without being able to say goodbye in person, and my heart aches for them. I have also thought, too, of those trapped in deep poverty who are dealing with the same kind of chronic illnesses Mum had. Although Mum’s life was difficult, her home was comfortable.
I have railed at God, asking him deep and personal questions about suffering that I have wrestled with over the years. But, for all my railings, there have often been times of being overcome with thankfulness too, that God took Mum when he did. One of the many diseases she had was a respiratory one, and I know she would have been particularly susceptible to, and petrified of, Covid. Just a month later and we may well have been saying goodbye from afar too. And I am so grateful her final days contained no knowledge of what was to come.
RENEWED FAITH
Recently, I have been engaging with the twice daily zoom calls for the young woman Hannah, struck down suddenly with a bleed on the brain. I know her family and husband of just a few short months may have initially opened up those calls to anyone out of desperation, in order to get as many people as possible praying for her. But they have become a source of inspiration, faith and unity for so many, as well as upholding them in their incredible personal journey.
The honesty and openness with which they have generously shared their raw pain but also huge faith in the goodness of God has been a breath of fresh air and life to me. I am passionate about honesty within the Church, and it is so refreshing to see how willing they are to share. But it has also reawakened faith and stirred up passion in me again. That was something I desperately needed, and hadn’t realised how much it had dulled until it had been reawakened.
RECOGNISING THE IMPACT
The years of painful, unanswered prayers and the impact that has had on our unsaved dad as well as Mum have taken their toll. As a church leader I have felt guilty for not having huge levels of faith when praying for the sick, although I have always fully believed that God can and is willing to heal miraculously today. I have certainly known the truth of this verse: ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick’ (Proverbs 13:12).
I know that God’s ways are higher than ours, but there are times when we really do wonder what he is up to! I certainly questioned his methods when Mum went to church in a wheelchair and came out running…but it didn’t last. Surely a miraculous, lasting healing would have made more sense and had a bigger impact on Dad? But I have to trust her quiet, determined and immensely strong faith in the midst of such trouble and affliction spoke even louder…
CONTINUED WRESTLING
That is not to say I don’t still have doubts, and questions. It has been incredible to listen to the stories of miraculous healings from others who have come on the zoom calls to encourage and spur on Hannah’s family – stating that because God healed their family member or friend he will do it for her. I do rejoice and my faith does rise, but so too do the questions.
I totally understand that when a young woman like Hannah is suddenly struck down it isn’t right, and the Church should be praying for healing and against any work of the enemy.
But…
It makes me ask – what about those who aren’t healed? What about those dear, faithful Christians who live with chronic illnesses for years. Specifically, what about my mum?
I know she was an older woman, who had suffered tremendously in her last few decades. But she had actually been ill for much of her life. We almost lost her just after I was born – and that certainly cemented the end of her relationship with my biological father. While she did embrace life and did achieve much, my childhood and adolescence were littered with sickness, and life or death operations became all too familiar over the years.
So, there is a deep pain, and many questions there, which I continue to wrestle with at times.
For Mum the question changed from ‘why me?’ to ‘why not me?’. She felt she needed to give up her right to understand. There were moments when darkness enveloped her but she always clung to the knowledge that God was with her even when she couldn’t sense his presence.
A CALL TO PRAYER
I do know God is good, and I know that Mum always stood on that truth. I know her resolute faith in the midst of severe, life-altering pain spoke to many, not least me, and I hold on to the promise that her example will one day draw Dad to his own faith.
Mum clung on to life for many extra months, even when she was desperate to go home, just to see Dad’s salvation. That is, until my sister and I spoke to her of letting go – that we may be the ones to see the fruition of the promise God gave her so many decades ago.
When her strength was fading and her physical abilities shrunk her world to their living room, Mum began to feel useless. Then God spoke to her about the need for her prayers, because so many are too busy these days to be the prayer warriors he looks for. She took up that call and prayed faithfully for all those God placed on her heart.
That is a mantle I believe God is waking us all up to, and that the situation with Hannah is helping with too. Yes, we have authority as God’s children and yes, our prayers do make a difference. My mum, as her life was ebbing away and she was crippled with pain, refused to stop praying. It became much more difficult but she never gave up. The importance of prayer is something that I have learned from her, and have had emphasised in recent weeks on the zoom calls.
MUM’S LEGACY
I think the best way I can honour Mum’s memory is by being as stubborn in my absolute faith and trust in God as she was – and by going deeper in my prayer life too.
So, while I may still have questions, and while the waves of grief still feel overwhelming at times, I thank God for who my mum was, and the legacy that she has left behind.
PS And, as Steve and I have spent recent days working hard on the final checks and publicity for our book Grace-filled Marriage, I have often paused and smiled, thinking of how I can’t wait to send a copy to Rob and Hannah.
We have stories from other couples in the book, who have faced unexpected difficulties and pain and seen God’s grace uphold and sustain them. They too will have an incredible story to tell about one of the most challenging periods of their married life and what God did in and through them…
I am delighted to welcome Liz Carter onto my blog today. Her beautiful new book, Treasure in Dark Places: Stories and Poems of Hope in the Hurting, which I had the joy of endorsing, is out today. I am thrilled that she agreed to share a little about the writing process and what life was like for her while she was writing it. Like the experience I had while writing my latest devotional, Liz was, at times, in deep despair and isolation when putting this book together. Wrestling with our own circumstances, looking to the Bible and trying to find some sort of sense for ourselves but also to bring hope to others is at the heart of much of the writing we both do. She is such a talented writer, weaving honest reflections with thought-provoking imagery. I commend her book to you wholeheartedly – it would make a wonderful Christmas present. I would definitely describe it as ‘hope for the hurting’. Here are her answers to a few questions I posed to her.
Tell me about the writing process during the isolation of shielding
When I first received the shielding letter back in March, I was shocked and fearful, the words ‘at risk of severe illness’ pounding through my mind. When I began to get into the swing of shielding, though, I thought I had it sorted, I thought I had a plan: I would finish the book I’d been working on for a while, a book about our identity in Jesus and God’s back-to-front kingdom. I told myself shielding wouldn’t be a huge issue because I was used to being isolated at home for long periods when ill with my lifelong lung condition. But I simply didn’t take into account the mental toll the whole thing would take, and how being separated from my family would send me into some dark days and darker nights. It felt as if the words were slipping away, as if this was not going to plan. It was as if a door was slammed in my face and I broke into pieces, already battered by isolation.
Then I started to write some poetry about the pandemic and about the darkness I found myself in. I’d written so much before about living in physical pain, but this time the pain went further into my mind and the words began to flow in the most unexpected direction. At around the same time a couple of friends suggested I collected together some of the stories and poems from my website into a book, and so the idea for Treasure in Dark Places was born – and then grew so much wider, with mostly new material written over the painful time of shielding.
Was writing this new book a form of lament for you at times?
Definitely. I found that words were pouring out that seemed almost too sharp, too vulnerable, too real at times, and they were words of lament. They were words that were birthed in struggle and that sat there in the pit with me, like the words of so many of the Psalmists who were never afraid to lay out their stark agony before God. Many of these Psalms have been a huge help to me over years of living with pain, and their words spoke even more deeply to me over these months, with their honest agony and their call to remember and to praise within the storm.
I think that as Christians we often forget how to lament, or even feel that lament should not be given a place in our prayer lives or in our corporate worship. We’ve somehow inherited the twisted idea that we should only, ever, be living in great joy, unaffected by the sadness around us, in a kind of damaging triumphalism that leads us to feel as though we are letting God down when we turn to sadness, anger or other big emotions. But the Bible gives us permission to express those things in big loud voices, to shout out our pain, to cry out our struggle, to weep at the feet of Jesus when it all gets too much. For me, my writing this summer was a long lament and a choice to turn to God in the midst of it, so some of the poems in the book are more melancholic, and others turn more quickly to hope.
How different was it to write the poetry and imaginative prose sections?
I found that in many of my stories I turned to poetic devices and phrases within the text at times, in order to echo the poetry. The main difference is that with the stories I needed to stop and consider the form, the overall framework and the beginning, middle and end – not so much to plan in depth, but to take more time to shape the piece. However, with the poems, they were more free-falling, the words hitting the page where they wished to and generally staying there in some form. Some of the poems are written in rhyme or with rhyming elements, and this took more thinking about, but they were generally born out of words that tumbled out rather than any great planning on my part!Writing poetry and short stories is very different in terms of how I approach the piece, yet in this book both come from a deep place of hope, the hope God imbues me with even when it hurts.
What do you want readers to get from spending time with your new book?
My prayer is that readers will get a glimpse of the hope we find in Jesus through these pieces, that they will unearth the treasures that are sometimes only to be found in the deepest darkness. I want readers to know they are not alone in their struggle, that it is okay to struggle as a Christian and that they are not somehow failing God or anybody else when life is tough. My poems and prose ultimately point to Jesus, who went through the very worst of suffering and understands our pain more than anyone else ever could, and so stands with us within our darkness, allowing his light to puncture through and flood us in his incomparable love.
PS Liz and I are both part of the Association of Christian Writers, and both write monthly posts for their More than Writers blog. Liz wrote one about how she was feeling on the eve of publication day, and I wrote one suggesting ways we can support one another as writers. Do take a look if you are interested.
Reflections based on Ecclesiastes 3:4: ‘A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.’
Ecclesiastes 3 talks about the fact that there is a time for everything, and this verse includes times for weeping and mourning. Personally, I am living in a strange time of mourning the loss of my mother and now my grandmother deeply, but also realising that life goes on and there is much to be positive about too.
I know that we are months into this pandemic, and so many others are in a similar position of mourning – but their loved ones died unexpectedly from this horrible coronavirus. I cannot imagine the pain of not being able to say goodbye to my own mother, and yet that is what has just happened to my dad…
The government is at the stage of trying to ease lockdown as the numbers of deaths and newly infected patients is decreasing. However, there still seems to be much to weep and mourn about. Thousands and thousands of people have died, nurses, doctors, care home workers and those in prisons, supermarkets, food banks and elsewhere are literally working around the clock to provide care and keep necessary facilities open. The mental and physical toll on them must be extraordinary.
And last week we learned of the tragic and totally senseless death of George Floyd, at the hands of police. It has sparked outrage across the world and riots and peaceful protests have been occurring in many large cities. It is right for us to mourn and weep with George’s family. But also with all who have spoken about seeing themselves in the terrifying image of him being held down with a white policeman’s knee on his neck.
This poor man’s death has raised the profile of another pandemic sadly rife in our societies: racism. And we need to take the time to mourn for the fact that, for all our ‘advances’, we are not united as one people. All of us are made in the image of God, and Jesus came to reconcile us not just to the Father but to each other. However, these gospel truths are not reflected in so many people’s experiences – and we should weep at that knowledge.
I was stopped in my tracks when I had the pleasure – and challenge – of editing Ben Lindsay’s book We Need to Talk about Race. There was so much in it that confronted my largely comfortable, privileged life and made me realise I don’t fully understand the experiences of so many of my brothers and sisters. And it is far too easy to simply ignore that fact, and spend my time with those I’m comfortable with, with those that are like me.
It is time to mourn our own prejudices and apathy – and repent of them –but also time to take action. To stand alongside those who are being oppressed, and to take the time to listen to them in order to gain understanding. Our nation has seen a rise in community spirit through the lockdown; may we now come together in unity, lifting up those who have been brought low in order that we may all stand as one against the horrors of injustice.
‘“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May it be to me as you have said.”’ (v.38)
As we continue to look at how God’s supernatural timing affects our lives, we turn now to the story of Mary. God certainly cut across her plans – to marry Joseph and set up home together. She was a young betrothed teenage girl, full of hopes for her future; she would never have imagined the scenario she now found herself in. And yet. She still submitted herself totally to God’s will and timing. However, she must have been wondering how her parents, Joseph and wider community would react to her pregnancy.
Today, we can look back at her story, knowing that God chose her, a virgin, to fulfil Old Testament prophecy concerning the Messiah’s birth (Isa. 7:14). He knew her character – her love for Him and His purposes, and her obedient, servant heart.
Many other biblical figures experienced God breaking supernaturally into their lives, such as Moses, Gideon, Samuel. So might we. Sometimes this happens because our plans are not quite He had in mind. We can be very focused on our own well-being, but God wants us to be a part of His ongoing story of salvation and love – to be His hands and feet to reach this world.
This global pandemic has interrupted all of our lives in ways unimaginable just a few short months ago. Alongside the bewildering grief and pain, it has also provided a huge opportunity for the Church to be scattered once more; to reach neighbours and friends perhaps in a completely new way.
We cry out to God to break in and stop the devastation the relentless virus is causing. What if He also wants to break into our lives afresh, and to the lives of those around us – perhaps through us?
Mary willingly submitted to God when He interrupted her plans to reveal His plan for her life. How will we respond, if He breaks into our lockdown experiences?
Prayer: Lord we don’t understand fully what is going on in the world today, but we know we don’t have to understand to be able to trust You. We pray for Your mercy and Your love to reach far and wide. And help us to be attentive to what You are doing in this time. Help us to recognise when You do break in – and to be humble enough to do what You ask of us. Amen.
I have held off writing about the current coronavirus pandemic, mainly because I haven’t really had a chance to formulate my thoughts much before now. Working from home (which I usually do but now there’s an extra workload), as well as helping my kids navigate online schooling, there are precious few moments of quiet in any given day. I think it is important not to simply jump on the bandwagon of making a comment without having something to say. There have also been some incredibly helpful articles out there, that I have really appreciated (as well as some scaremongering that I’ve learned to ignore).
I also know that I’m in a process of grieving – for my mum, for my dad who has not only lost his wife, but has lost all sense of community since the lockdown and is so, so lonely. It breaks my heart every time I think of him alone, surrounded by the memories of mum but with no one there to process it with. I long for him to know his maker…But that is all mixed up with a general sense of grief and loss for what is happening right now, across the world. I know there are so many who didn’t get the chance to sit next to their dying relative, as we did, and I can’t quite imagine what they are going through now. And so many who are unable to attend a family member’s funeral – how difficult not to have that closure; it seems so cruel. My heart bleeds when I see the news (so much so that I made a conscious decision not to watch it every day anymore, as I sensed my stress levels rising).
Our world has certainly been stopped in its tracks. And, while I don’t believe God has brought the virus as judgement upon us, because God sent Jesus not to judge the world but to save all those in the world who put their faith in him* (John 3:17–18), I do believe there are lessons we are meant to learn as Christians from this time. Of course, we are meant to learn at every other time too, but this certainly seems more urgent (but also more difficult for many of us – those working around the clock in hospitals, care homes, schools and supermarkets barely have time to rest their bodies let alone nourish their spirits. But God has grace for each one of us, in our specific situations too.)
Many people have commented that they don’t want to go back to normal once this is over – indeed it has been said so many times that some are getting tired of hearing that statement. For now, I think God is calling us back to him, calling us to repent of the ‘gods’ of materialism, busyness, individualism – and anything else we’ve allowed to take his place, even in small, subtle ways. He is a jealous God, but also a loving one, and, if we take time to listen, he is calling us back, calling us closer.
I sense a need for repentance in my own life, and collectively in the Church, but I also know God is wooing us with gentle tenderness, offering comfort and hope – so that we can offer the same to those around us by pointing them to Jesus. I keep being reminded of these verses:
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. (2 Corinthians 1:3–5).
I know that this is a bewildering, difficult, painful time for so many of us, punctuated with some unexpected moments of deep joy as we see the sacrifices people are making for one another, and the rise in a collective sense of community. Let us be those that draw close to God in order to receive the comfort that we need, which may mean giving ourselves permission to rant and rail when we need to, to sit and howl at the desperate plight of so many (perhaps ourselves if we are currently battling the virus in our family or friendship groups). But let’s also give ourselves time to be reminded of the ultimate, eternal hope that we have in Christ Jesus, who: ‘For the joy that was set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God’ (Hebrews 12:2).
We might not understand what is going on right now, and we may have myriad questions for God about the situation, but we can be reassured that Jesus is on his eternal throne, and he will never be shaken from it. That is the secure place from which we can wrestle and allow ourselves to accept the difficulties and darkness of this time – and be open to the transformation and change God may have for us in it.
*I love this quote from Phil Moore’s excellent piece on what we can learn from the message of Revelation in the upcoming May issue of Premier Christianity magazine: ‘World history is not going to end with a deadly virus or a nuclear holocaust. God’s plan for humanity will not end with a funeral, but with a wedding.’ That is a sneak preview, as I’ve been helping out with the magazine – it is packed full of helpful articles about the virus and church in this time. You can request a free copy of the magazine – wait until Monday to ensure you are getting this issue, if you would like to, but then click here. You can, of course, also sign up for a subscription…
Happy Easter! Below is a poem that I will be sharing in our online service today. It was written by my mum when I was just ten years old – I discovered it after she had died, which makes it all the more special to me. She is in the place that Jesus prepared for her, enjoying ‘light, joy, peace and eternal gladness’. What a future we have to look forward to!
Jesus, the Son of God, Laid in an empty tomb. A cold, dark, lonely place, Reminder that when life is done We go just as we came, with no possessions. All we enjoy while we live out our span Is gifted from our loving heavenly Father The greatest gift He ever gave Was Jesus, God made flesh And man destroyed His human flesh, And thinking ‘twas the end of Him Laid Him to rest, deep in that tomb And, just in case of trickery, They rolled a stone, and set a guard to watch If it had ended here, What purpose would there be in life? To live a span and then into a tomb? But God, our wondrous Lord, divine creator, Could never be restrained within a tomb And, following, that dark and dreadful Day of crucifixion Comes the glorious day of resurrection joy He rose, He walked and talked and shared With those who loved Him And then He went once more to reign above Where now He has a place prepared for you and me. So, take no thought for earthly possessions Nor, even what you eat, or what you wear, Our heavenly Father will supply all earthly needs, And at the end No empty, lonely cold and solemn tomb But light, joy, peace, eternal gladness. Let’s join our Saviour, Resurrection Joy!
It is Easter Saturday, that day of waiting, of anticipation for those of us who know the full story – but surely a day full of deep disbelief, despair and confusion for those within the story. To finish what I started yesterday, here are the thoughts that I wrote on the day of mum’s funeral, as well a poem written by her that describes the agony of a life coming to its end – as well as the promise of new life to come…
I have been awake since the early hours, with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I have this overwhelming thought in my head: I don’t want to go. I’ve been desperate to get to my dad, to make sure he is OK now we are isolating, but now I want to hide away and pretend this isn’t happening. Because we can’t do what mum wanted, and there are so many people who can’t be with us today.
We have 100 orders of service sat here in a box, which my husband designed beautifully. Will we get to use them one day at a later celebration? Who knows… For now, we will meet and do a stripped back service, simply there to honour mum and this particular moment.
It all feels so harsh – and I’m so heartbroken. I have had a flurry of messages today from friends and one really struck me – it’s something I am going to try and cling on to as I pray for the Holy Spirit to be with us in this most awful of days: “praying you will know that you have God with you as the guest of honour bringing his comfort”. I know I need to turn to gratitude, as I try to so often when I feel myself spiralling. And I am so, so glad that we can still do today, especially as I heard yesterday of someone whose dad died alone due to the virus, and only a couple of people can be at the funeral, standing far apart. And a friend is unable to attend her grandfather’s funeral tomorrow due to symptoms in her household – but neither can the rest of the immediate family so the crematorium will go ahead without them. This is only going to get harder isn’t it? So cruel; so difficult to deal with.
Lord, all I want to do is scream: “Why? Why is this happening? Can’t you step in and do something?” I know you are still sovereign and you are still in control – and that one day we will understand, but I certainly don’t right now. Suffering, death, isolation, loneliness is all around – and it is suffocating…
Travelling down
I was expecting to write how eerie it was, with no one else on the roads, but we have passed many cars. I have found myself pondering what everyone else must be doing. We passed one car full of orange-jacketed men, presumably construction workers off to a job. Should they be? And did all the rest of the people we have passed have legitimate reasons for being in their cars? How many were travelling to funerals just like us…and how many were flouting the guidelines to go for a drive in the country?
My thoughts were cruelly interrupted when we passed the entrance to the crematorium, zooming past in order to pick up my dad. For three years or more, we used to leave my parents’ house and, as we passed that spot, I would often have a little cry, as my immediate thought was: “Will the next time I come here be for my mum’s funeral?” That is actually coming true today…
The service
We pulled into the crematorium, to find more cars than we were expecting. We checked the list of funerals, and which chapel we would be in – one chapel had back-to-back funerals, but mum’s was the last in the chapel we were going to. We milled around outside, the eight of us waiting for our timed slot. My mum and sister’s pastor arrived, desperate to hug us but staying a distance away. My sister’s fiancé, who works in a care home, hadn’t thought he could come, but appeared and, again, kept his distance.
Due to the social distancing rules, we had to wait for the pall bearers to carry mum’s coffin in and depart back out before we could go in. The chapel was big – sadly, we know the room would have been packed in normal circumstances. We were invited to sit on the front row but had already spoken to the pastor and elected to all stand together, in a spaced horseshoe around mum’s coffin (apart from my sister’s fiancé, who stood away from us all, at the back).
We had decided to keep the entrance and exit music mum had chosen but take out the songs we were going to sing together. So, after the pastor welcomed us and prayed, my daughter and niece read a poem that mum had picked. Then my husband read out a Bible passage and spoke a few words, in which he mentioned how the current physical limitations we are all experiencing are perhaps offering us a little insight into what mum, and others who suffer from chronic illnesses, face day by day, year by year with no let up.
It was then my turn. I read some memories of mum that my son had written (on the first day he had had off school – I took him out a few days before his school officially closed, so that we would all have the best chance of remaining healthy for the funeral day). Then I shared a poem that mum had written 13 years ago, describing the physical struggles she faced daily, but also the future hope she clung to. When I was searching through her poems a couple of years ago, as we were planning the funeral together, I had stumbled across it and asked if I could read it. I felt it would give all those who attended a real insight into her daily life. Sadly, those of us who were there had already seen those struggles up close, but it was still very special to read ‘Goodbye Death’ in honour of mum (the poem can be read below).
The pastor then shared further thoughts, including some of the things mum used to say to her when she did her weekly visits once mum was housebound. The tears flowed freely as she told us how proud mum was of us. We each smiled as the exit music came on; an upbeat jazz number that mum had chosen specifically to make people laugh after what she knew would have been an ordeal for some. When well, mum had danced some Charleston moves to that particular song; part of us wanted to do so right there in the chapel – but tears flowed again as a wave of sadness of not being able to share that moment with so many friends and family who should have been there overtook.
Afterwards
Then it was over; we had booked a double slot because our programme had been so packed – we managed to fill half an hour, but it all seemed to be over so quickly. There was a sense of relief, but also of how unreal it seemed. Without all the others; without the refreshments we had had planned at a local vineyard for us to be able to mingle with everyone else, sharing memories and the photo montage we had pulled together, it did seem incomplete. Instead, we drove dad home, and spent the afternoon playing some of mum’s favourite games that we always played when we gathered together as a family. At one point, we discovered that most of us had been awake at 5am – that was the time mum had died on 2 February, and so it felt fitting we had each marked it mentally on the day of her funeral.
So, the day was intimate, touching, painful – and surreal. We managed to laugh as well as cry together so, in that way, it was a fitting tribute to mum. Ultimately, we had already said goodbye to mum by her bedside as she died, and the body in the coffin that was on show, was just the empty shell. We knew she had already enjoyed almost two months of dancing with her heavenly father – the service brought some sense of closure to us, but we still hope to celebrate her life with the wider group who should have been with us later this year…
Here is mum’s poem, which describes the desperate journey of her body giving way, of longing for release – and the joy of the promise of resurrection with Jesus…
Goodbye death
It’s cold in here, A cold that reaches deep inside the bones. The normal warmth of flesh Is ebbing, receding, withdrawing From a body, racked in pain. It’s had enough, this body It’s ready to let go, To walk right in To the grisly spectre of death Beckoning, calling to failing breath. Flesh, no longer responding to life. Hands, unable to grasp or reach To hold a loved one. Time, ticking away. How many more rasping breaths Until – Release.
No longer struggling, lungs relaxing Letting go, it’s time now to depart. Death has conquered the flesh It no longer has the will to live. But the spark inside, the soul, the spirit Reaches out, towards the beckoning light. The light of life is waiting, calling Into eternal life, into everlasting day. No more darkness, no more pain, No more fighting the enemy, the disease, But life again, a new abundant life Free from pain and sorrow. A body new, to dance, and sing and laugh Join with the angels round the throne. Life on earth has finalized Now is life eternal All promises fulfilled A life now with our Saviour God In heaven’s glorious light.
