I grew up in the farm lands of Pennsylvania, and, all things considered, it was a pretty good childhood. My mom and dad loved me. I was blessed to have all my grandparents nearby. Dad was a dairy farmer, so my brothers and I grew up on the farm, which was good, but without most of the hard work, which I fully appreciate, now. I remember great camping trips and little league baseball. Pennsylvania was beautiful in a gentle way. Almost all of my aunts, uncles and cousins lived nearby, and we would gather on every possible occasion to share a meal, trade Christmas presents, or funny stories, and play whatever games were in season. It was almost like God had put a hedge around us, and nothing truly bad could get through. I went off to college, married the girl of my dreams, and we had a baby boy. My dad had three boys, and his dad, and his dad before him (Great Grandpa did have girls, also!). That's just the way it was. Our family had boys. I was sure that everything would turn out good, just like it always had.
Then my dad called one day to tell me my mom had died. It was her second bout with cancer. She didn't die suddenly, it just dawned on me suddenly. I saw her go through her first cancer. I saw what the chemo did to her. But death had not been a part of my experience. I didn't have the emotional tools to process it. I don't know why I hadn't gone home to be with her before she died. There was nothing keeping us from going. I had seen her a couple times after her cancer returned. She had held our newborn son. We went back to Pennsylvania for the funeral. I couldn't go to the coffin. I knew she wasn't in there, but that wasn't the reason. I just wasn't ready to deal with it. We went back home, and I went back to work, but I couldn't really focus on anything. I didn't really talk to my family much. My connection to them went with her. It wasn't like I refused to have contact with anyone. I just didn't. If we went to social gatherings, my wife would encourage me to talk to people, but I would usually just sit by myself. As the years went by, I got used to her being gone. My dad remarried. My mom's sister passed away. One by one all my grandparents passed. It has been 32 years, and now I am about 13 years older than she was. Seems crazy. She never got to see my two girls. My wife only got to know her for a little while. There was no moment of closure. No "aha" moment, where I finally understood why. At no time have I ever thought, "This is good. I am glad my mom died, because of all that God has done through it." Yes, I learned a few things. I grew up some. I learned to feel a little more deeply. My mom didn't need to die for those things to happen. Even right now, I feel like there is a hole in my life where mom should be. I should feel incredibly blessed because I have been touched by death so little in 57 years. Others have gone through so much more than me. My grandmother had to bury two of her daughters. I should feel blessed, but I just think about how much I miss her.
Death is an intruder. It doesn't make sense. Most of us can't talk about death for very long. We can't even think about death for more than a few seconds. Today, at work, I remembered that there was a guy named Joe, who used to work with me, until a few weeks ago. He was a hard worker, and he had a good attitude. He didn't look sick. But he died before I even missed him, and now someone else is doing his job. It is a tragedy hiding behind the mask of the mundane. I realized I hadn't thought about him much since he died, and it made me feel bad.
We weren't created to die. We were created to live and enjoy life forever. I'll admit, I don't fully understand death. I know that we all have an appointment with it. I know that death did not take God by surprise. The Bible says that death entered the world through sin. So that makes us, not God, responsible for death. I don't believe God took my mom. I heard someone say this recently, and I believe it: God did not take her, He received her. The thief came to steal, kill and destroy. This is the part I don't understand, and I don't know if I will on this side of the veil.
I am reminded of the story of Lazarus. Jesus had some very close friends in the town of Bethany. The town of Bethany was to the east of Jerusalem and on the southeastern slope of the Mount of Olives. His friends were Mary, her sister Martha, and their younger brother Lazarus. Lazarus fell sick, and his sisters sent word to Jesus to come at once. But Jesus waited two days more, knowing that Lazarus would die while He was waiting. Jesus also knew, before He left for Bethany, that He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead. That is why I am puzzled by what Jesus did when He got there. In John, chapter 11, it says that when Jesus saw Mary weeping, and those who were with her weeping, He was deeply moved, and even troubled, perhaps to the point of anger. The Bible says that, when He came to the tomb, He wept. It is possibly more accurate to say that He wailed. The people who were watching said, "See, how He loved him!" But I don't know if that is the real reason. Of course He loved Lazarus. And it is often recorded, before He performed a miraculous healing, that He was filled with compassion. But I wonder if Jesus wasn't deeply moved, not by the death of Lazarus, for he was in a better place, but by the suffering of those he left behind. At that moment, I believe He felt the weight of our pain. I wonder, also, If Jesus got a sense of foreboding for what He would soon have to endure. I don't know that Jesus ever feared death. I think the thing that would later cause Him to sweat drops of blood, to ask if there was any way that "this cup" would pass from Him, was the same reason that He cried out, "My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?", when He was on the cross. He knew that He would have to face separation from His Father. The only time that Jesus did not call God His own Father was at that moment on the cross. God turned His back on His own Son, placing the sins of the world upon Him, so that He could save you and me. For eternity, Jesus had known perfect communion with His Father, until that moment. It was a oneness that we cannot even understand (though we are meant to experience it!). So I think it was the thought of separation that moved Him so deeply.
The Bible says that the death of His saints is precious in His sight. I think that contains, both an element of joy, and an element of sorrow. I don't think I was meant to be fully reconciled to the idea of death. I don't think I was meant to find some beautiful meaning in death or to celebrate it. What I can celebrate is that Jesus conquered death, and my mom is more alive today than she has ever been. It is the separation that makes it hard. I was struggling with this post, and I asked God to give me something that is helpful. Then, I opened my Bible, and I came across this passage in 2 Timothy 1:10
"But now [this grace] has been revealed by the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel."
He abolished death? That means I am never going to die. That means my mother never died. Her body may have been put into a coffin, and the coffin dropped into a hole in the ground. But she went immediately into the presence of Jesus, Himself, and, for the first time in her life (and I mean life), she looked into the face of her Savior and knew Him completely, even as she has always been fully known (1 Corinthians 13). I want you to try something that I do sometimes. I want you to say out loud, "I am never going to die." If you are a believer in Jesus, that is what is true. I always believed it. But there is something about saying it that makes it real for me. I know there is someone reading this who struggles with fear of death. Jesus says that He gives you eternal life (when you call on His name), and you will never die (John 10:28). Jesus says nobody can snatch you out of His hand. You can't take yourself out of His hand. What about my body? Here is another promise you might like:
"I consider that our present sufferings are not comparable to the glory that will be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18)
That's you. All creation eagerly awaits the revealing of you with Christ in your glorified body. I know I have been guilty, in the past, of thinking and acting like I believe that this life is all there is. No more.
We mourn our loved ones. Not to mourn is to deny the pain of separation from the ones we love. But after my mom had been gone for a little while, I started to see heaven in my mind. You know how the Bible says that, "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Someone I treasure is there, so my heart is there. Before I was even able to get a clear view of my Savior's love for me, she went there first and led my heart into His presence. So, no, I don't think much about death. I think about Life.
Ruth Miriam (Suzie) Edgren Hertzler with my son Jeff.