Grief

Sermon summary:

One of the more popular hymns at funerals is “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind”. It is the last verse which I always look forward to singing – a verse which talks about earthquake, wind and fire and God's still, small voice speaking through them.

Grief is a strange thing. It hits all of us in different ways. From the moment when we pick up a gift in a shop and realize we cannot give it to the times when we just want to scream and shout at the unfairness of it all. Grief can make us do all sorts of things, feel all sorts of ways and has an unfortunate habit of seeming to disappear and then resurfacing at the most inopportune moments.

Too many of us tend to try to skirt our way around the grieving process by telling ourselves that we should get over it and carry on as normal. But if you have experienced the way time seems to stop around a death you know that just marching on forward is hard. At first there are things to do, to arrange, to sign, to see. But even in those early days there are silences where it begins to hurt – the person we loved is gone.

Even if we know the story of the still, small voice – of Elijah standing at the mouth of a cave in the wilderness looking for God. Even if we know that God was not in the raging fury of earthquake, wind, or fire. Even if we remember the stillness which surrounded Elijah and the small breath which was God – even then in those early silences it can be hard to feel the loving breath of God, hard to imagine that at the depths of our pain God waits and loves.

But the Bible does assure us of this – not only that God knit us together but that God is at both the height and the depth of human experience (Ps 139) and that nothing will separate us from that love (Rom 8).

But then time begins to heal and life slowly returns to its normal pace. We reflect on those we love, we remember, we cry tears and often we laugh at the good times. We feel lucky to have known someone, or guilty about the way we treated them. Sometimes hurt by the way they treated us but as time goes on for most people the loose ends begin to mend – begin to knit themselves into a bearable form.

John Newton, most famous for writing Amazing Grace, also wrote other hymns, one of which is How Sweet the Name of Jesus Sounds. Newton was a sailor by trade and for many years involved in the slave trade, both as a ship's captain and by investment. By the time he was ordained priest he had known a lot of sorrow and grief – and yet through all of this, and not to mention his own guilt -
he managed write some of the most amazing hymns as well as being a well known evangelist and preacher.

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds
And drives away his fear.
…......
'til then then (death) I will thy love proclaim
with every fleeting breath
and may the music of my name
refresh my soul in death

This idea of the name of Jesus being as kind and embracing as music in our ears is a wonderful one. The last time we sang it I imagined God touching us gently on the shoulder – leaning over, close, and saying it is OK, I know you are hurting, I know you are angry but I still love you and things will be alright.
The silences and quiet times of grief give us time to pause but they can also be a time to listen. When the noise and bustle within us stops for a moment then God is waiting as the still, small voice. Those who have gone before us are in a realm where they are eternally with the God who loved them and made them, they are away from disaster and the clamour of humanity but we who carry on this earthly pilgrimage may choose to stop a while, allow, and feel the breath of God on our cheek.