I sat behind the pulpit broken-hearted. Family and friends have gathered to mourn. The casket is to my left. He was so young, still in his teens.
His grandfather was within arm’s reach. He was reading Ecclesiastes 7:2,
It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart.
I had been their pastor at one time. For these dark days I would be their pastor again. All we could do was grieve.
Some years have passed since that day but still I hear a grandfather’s voice reading Scripture to his family, standing next to his dead grandson. I hear those words again and again, “It is better to go to the house of mourning…”
When I pass by a grave yard now I stare and often want to linger. I have found myself thinking, “I should stop by, something is being said there that I need to hear.”
During my morning prayers I find words coming from the deeper parts of my heart, “remember not the sins of my youth…” I grieve for those days, those foolish, mindless days. Cleanse me, and I will be clean. Heal me, and I will be healed.
I grieve over the pain I have caused, the shame I have brought. I hope no one remembers what I remember. I want it to stay buried, hidden deep in my own private graveyard.
When I see a father with his young child I want to beg him, “Enjoy this! Cherish this! This will not last. It will be gone before you even notice it slip through your fingers.” I grieve that those days have too soon passed for me. I miss my little girls. I miss my little boy. I miss those days. They are gone.
Maybe it is because I am now closer to my death than I am to my birth; the days once so slow now race past me too fast. My wife tells me I am getting old.
“It is better to go to the house of mourning…”
I mourn things done and not done; words said and not said; time wasted and time hoarded. I mourn the inevitable slippage of my life as I move from hopeful dreams for tomorrow to sorrowful regrets for yesterday. I mourn these things and many more. “It is better to go to the house of mourning…”
The lament of my soul is laid before Him. He hears it. He bears it. He takes it into Himself. And then, with a gentle smile, He tells me,
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Debbie and I serve as the FMI Global Associate Director for MENACA and Europe. We focus on cultivating disciples, leaders, and church planting movements.
