When we grieve, we can feel a whole mix of different emotions at different times – anger, sadness, love, guilt and numbness. So we can probably identify easily with the writer of Lamentations (
Lamentations 3. 17-26, 31-33) when he talks on the one hand of being deprived of peace, afflicted and bitter, but, on the other hand, talks about the faithfulness of God and waiting quietly for salvation.
Henry Scott Holland, a Canon of St Pauls Cathedral to whom the poem ‘Death is not the end’ is credited, said something similar in the
sermon from which the poem is taken. In this sermon Holland examines the all pervading contradiction that everyone of us faces in times of death. On the one hand there is the terror of the inexplicable – death is cruel, untoward and irrational – but, on the other hand, there is the inner conviction of personal continuity which death cannot destroy, the feeling that 'death is nothing at all.' Both experiences are real and somehow must be held together in our consciousness.
How can we do this? Well, like any of us, I can only talk from my own experience. My younger brother,
Nick Evens, died on 11th November 1999 in a
plane crash in Kosovo. He was on a UN commissioned plane taking relief workers into Kosovo to work on reconstructing the country following the conflict there. Nick was part of
Tearfund’s Disaster Response Team. He had been in Kosovo working with Kosovan villagers to rebuild homes, had returned home for a short break, and was returning to continue work on the rebuilding programme.
The plane went off course as it neared Pristina Airport and crashed in nearby mountains. I remember taking a phone call from my parents who had been notified that contact had been lost with the plane and feeling absolutely unable to accept or comprehend the news. This was something that simply could not be happening.
My father and I were flown to Rome by Tearfund to wait for news together with the families of the other 23 people who died in the crash. After a few days we were flown to Kosovo to see the crash site for ourselves. On arrival at Pristina Airport we were loaded into helicopters and flown the short distance into the mountains and over the site of the wreckage. This was the worst moment for each one of us. As we saw the small pieces of the plane strewn over the mountainside we knew exactly what had happened to our loved ones and were faced full-on with the reality of their death.
When we returned to Pristina Airport, some refreshments had been organised for us in a tent and members of Tearfund who had worked with Nick had travelled to the Airport to be with us. We sat and listened as they told us about the effect that Nick had had on the Kosovan people with whom he had worked and also on other members of the team as they had valued his friendship, support and advice. As they talked, the tears flowed; theirs and ours and, I believe, God’s as he was with us at the time enabling us to express our grief. But, as they talked, I also had a growing sense that Nick had gone into God’s presence and had been welcomed with the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” In that moment I glimpsed something of the glory into which Nick had entered and that glimpse continues to sustain and strengthen me in my loss.
Over subsequent days, I heard many more stories of the way in which Nick’s life had influenced others and over the years since I had seen the way in which the inspiration he provided has led others to continue the work that he began. Young people whose lives were turned around through the youth project that Nick worked for have continued his youth work and his
charitable work in Uganda while Nick’s involvement with Tearfund inspired another member of our family to join their Disaster Response Team. In these ways, the stories about Nick that begun to be told at Pristina Airport have continued to be told and in the telling my sense that Nick has been welcomed into glory has grown.
Out of the paradox of pain of grief and the assurance of Nick’s life continuing in God’s presence, I wrote this poem about Nick and Christ:
No, Lord, no. This word I will not hear.
No, Lord, no. This word I cannot bear.
My brother’s body lies on the stones strewn mountainside,
my mind alert to realities it cannot admit.
His body lifeless, broken by Kosovan heights,
my body alive to the stabbing pain of his loss.
My blood racing in my veins,
My heart pounding like a jack hammer,
My tears gusting like gale lashed squalls,
My tongue spilling out the word, no.
You gave up all, becoming a no-thing.
You offered up all, giving your life.
You spoke the word, forsaken.
You lived the offering, sacrifice.
On your flayed back was the torture instrument carried.
On your forehead was the round of razors rammed.
In the place of your skull was the pain of the iron piercings.
In place of life immortal was the path of the damned.
In place of Man, you placed yourself.
In place of God, my brother lives.
At the foot of the mountain is the telling of tales,
stories recounted of the one who is gone.
In the mountain’s shadow tales told are bitter-sweet,
memories recover the one who is gone.
To speak of the dead is bitter.
The telling of takes amplifies loss.
To speak of the dead is sweet.
The telling of tales confirms love.
Yes, Lord, yes. This word I will hear.
Yes, Lord, yes. This word I will bear.
My experience of grief suggests that it is as we cry out in our grief that God meets with us. He is alongside us through his Spirit and will speak for us in groans that words cannot express. We should not be afraid of tears, of memories, of stories, they are an expression of the love we feel. But as we share our grief together we may catch a glimpse of the glory that waits to be revealed to us and into which our loved ones have entered and that glimpse can sustain us as we re-enter our everyday lives.
My experience of grief suggests that it is as we cry out in our grief that God meets with us. He is alongside us through his Spirit and will speak for us in groans that words cannot express. We should not be afraid of tears, of memories, of stories, they are an expression of the love we feel. But as we share our grief with others we can also catch a glimpse of the glory that waits to be revealed to us and into which our loved ones have entered and that glimpse will sustain us as we deal with grief in our everyday lives.
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Aretha Franklin -
Precious Lord.
