The Weight of Mourning & The Hope of Heaven

This past week, my heart ached for friends who lost their baby girl in the homestretch of the pregnancy. Another dear friend's stepdad discovered that cancer is ravaging his body. They give him six months, maybe a little more. Hundreds of bodies are washing onto Japan's coastline, while survivors scrounge for food and fortify themselves against every aftershock and the fear of nuclear meltdown. In Afghanistan, a man joined the line of army volunteers, then detonated a vest full of explosives. 33 died; more were wounded. Riots in the Middle East. Shootings in Phoenix. Deputies slain in Virginia. This is not how it's supposed to be.

This past week, my heart ached for friends who lost their baby girl in the homestretch of the pregnancy. Another dear friend's stepdad discovered that cancer is ravaging his body. They give him six months, maybe a little more. Hundreds of bodies are washing onto Japan's coastline, while survivors scrounge for food and fortify themselves against every aftershock and the fear of nuclear meltdown. In Afghanistan, a man joined the line of army volunteers, then detonated a vest full of explosives. 33 died; more were wounded. Riots in the Middle East. Shootings in Phoenix. Deputies slain in Virginia. This is not how it's supposed to be.

We weren't created to bear the weight of such mourning.  Death is the echo of the fall, the wages of sin, an everyday perversion of how things were supposed to be. We're not made for it–we were crafted for the garden, then cast ourselves into the desert. And only when the shock gets too big or comes too close, do we remember that death–mundane and ubiquitous–is a violation of our nature. Our souls strain against the violation, revolting against the just injustice. But we hope, and we wait.

In the midst of decay, we wait for death's last day. And we're not alone. Whole creation groans as it waits for redemption, renewal, the death of death. We don't settle in. We hope and wait, because change is coming, and we "eagerly wait for it with endurance" (Rom 8:25). The crack in the foundation will be made permanently right. We'll be reunited with babies, and parents, and all the others who've been waiting for us in the presence of our Savior. Tears will be wiped away. Sickness and violence and accidents will be so removed that we'll forget to remember what they were.

The weight of mourning will be lifted forever, and we will return from the desert to the garden of our King.

For I consider that our present sufferings cannot even be compared to the glory that will be revealed to us. For the creation eagerly waits for the revelation of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility–-not willingly but because of God who subjected it–-in hope  that the creation itself will also be set free from the bondage of decay into the glorious freedom of God’s children. For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers together until now. Not only this, but we ourselves also, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we eagerly await our adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope, because who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with endurance. (Rom 8:18-25)