I'm Tired of Saying Goodbye

I've always thought that one of my strengths as a pastor is my heart. I care so much about the people that I serve and the people in my life. I love every single one of you more than you know. But there is a cost to love, isn't there. To love deeply also means to grieve deeply. In the last year I have buried too many friends. I have been to too many funerals. Said farewell to more people than I ever should.

And I'll be honest with you… sometimes I get angry. The Psalms give us permission for that. David cried out, "How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?" (Psalm 13:1) Even Jesus, standing at the tomb of his dear friend Lazarus, wept. He didn't offer a quick theological explanation. He didn't rush past the pain. He stood in it with those who were hurting. Grief is not a lack of faith. Grief is love with nowhere to go. And God is not afraid of your tears or your anger. He sees every one.

We were not made to grieve. Our bodies were not made to break down. Our hearts were not made to break. Death was not a part of God's creation. When death came into the world, so did all these awful things. We wanted to be like God, but I don't think Adam and Eve understood the burden that God bears, the evil that He was holding at bay, or the consequences that our loss of innocence would have on life. Through our naïveté and Satan's deception our lives look very different from God's original design.

But God has never stopped pursuing our future. He has never given up hope on us. He hasn't abandoned us to the grave. Jesus says, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die." (John 11:25–26, NIV)

God's answer to this brokenness is not a bandage, not a temporary fix, but full restoration. He sent Jesus to bear the punishment for our rebellion, live perfectly under the law, die our death, and then cover us with His innocence so that our guilt is cleansed and our relationship restored. God's fix isn't to look the other way or to compromise on His goodness. It's to make us innocent and perfect again and welcome us back home to His loving arms.

So, as I say goodbye to another dear friend, I am reminded of St. Paul's words: "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him." (1 Thessalonians 4:13–14, NIV)

Though my heart breaks and my body grieves, I know that this is not goodbye forever… I will see him again soon. And I mean that more literally than it might sound. The Christian hope is not that our loved ones dissolve into some vague spiritual mist. Scripture promises a resurrection of the body… real, physical, glorified life. A restored creation. A reunion. Every conversation cut short, finished. Every goodbye swallowed up in a hello that lasts forever. C.S. Lewis once imagined it as waking up after a long dream and finally being fully, completely home. That is what we are waiting for. Not a metaphor. A morning.

Comfort doesn't mean that the pain disappears or the ache is magically gone. Comfort is knowing how the story ends when we are still in the storm. Comfort is knowing who fights for us, who guards our soul, who walks beside us through it all.

And that hope doesn't make the ordinary days easier, not at first. After the funeral is over, after the flowers fade and the sympathy cards stop coming and the world just keeps moving like nothing happened — that's when grief gets heavy and quiet and lonely. Hope doesn't fill the empty chair at the dinner table. It doesn't answer the phone in their voice. But it does whisper, on the hardest Tuesday afternoons, that this is not the end of their story. That the same God who got up from the grave is not finished yet. You are allowed to be devastated and anchored at the same time. That is not a contradiction. That is faith.

Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Because He lives, we know that everything is going to be okay. Even when today we are not okay. God is good. All the time.

And so I keep showing up. Not because I have it all figured out, or because the grief doesn't touch me, but because I believe with everything I am that Friday is never the last word. Sunday is coming. It always comes. So I'll dry my eyes, take a deep breath, and walk back through those doors next week. Because you need someone to remind you of that, and honestly, some days I need reminding too. We carry each other. And Christ carries us all.