I know that as a preacher I'm expected to be stoic and "spiritual" about a death in our church family. I have no doubts about Bro. Bickerstaff's salvation. I believe that even now he is with our Lord in Paradise. I believe, I know that all the pains and discomforts typical of an older Black man in the South (diabetes, hypertension, arthritis) are gone for him now. I know that our brother is truly, infinitely, totally happy, healthy, and whole now.
But, I'm sorry, it still hurts.
This Sunday School, the teacher won't be interrupted by a question that always begins "What then..." and always somehow transitions into a story about when he was in the army or when he was at Tuskegee Institute.
This worship service , I'll not hear a raspy baritone (just a few beats ahead or behind everybody else) ring out over the rest of the congregation when we sing.
This Sunday when we're all shaking hands and exchanging hugs after the benediction I won't get an impromptu history lesson that connects any location or event you can think of to a cousin in the Bickerstaff family.
I will miss it, and the anticipation of those missed moments hurts.
But the pain does not rise to despair. The hurt does not dissolve into hopelessness. Because I do believe that there is more to this life than this life. Because I do know that a faith relationship with Jesus Christ delivers us from eternal death. Because I am secure in the promise of resurrection and reunion, I miss my brother, but I look forward to hearing his raspy baritone singing out someday future. I look forward to hearing him interrupt some prophet from ancient days or some great Bible teacher yet unknown as they talk on the lawn of New Jerusalem. I expect even greater stories about the time in Paradise I missed.
I look forward to all that, and the hope of those promised moments comforts.
It really does.
Hear the eulogy at http://hallmemorialcmechurch.podbean.com/
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