A Precious Mystery

Ed Wood died three weeks ago. He was a tall, slow-talking Texan who was an active and vital part of our church. Ed loved Jesus. He loved his wife. He loved his church, and he was a good friend to all. He was sick for awhile, and as the summer began we realized that he would soon see the Lord that he knew as Savior and friend. Even as Ed lay dying, the hospital was flooded with a steady stream of friends, sitting with Ed and his sweet wife, bringing encouragement as they bolstered each other’s faith with talks about what lay ahead. These friends knew the truth: to his dying breath, a Christian man can still say, “I have a future.” That future drew closer and closer as Ed’s body weakened. And then one evening, it arrived. Ed began the next chapter of his friendship with Christ.

Death hurts. I don’t believe it is something we’re meant to get used to or to feel natural about. But a curious thing happens in a church when one of our family is called home to Jesus. While the world at large tends to view a funeral as a solemn and sad event, the kind of thing that most people want to avoid, inside a loving church family there is an interesting sense of anticipation. We wait with tears in our eyes for the opportunity to celebrate the impact that this life has made on a sad and dying world. I could feel this hopeful, sorrowful wait come over our church when Ed left us. We looked forward to the comfort of God’s truth which would be preached and sung, to the reminders of the hope that we all have for a future beyond the grave. We wanted to be together, knowing that we will see our friend again, knowing God’s goodness, remembering His wisdom. And we knew that thinking about Ed’s life would inspire us all to make the most of the time that remains.

Chad and I sang a song at Ed’s request. It was a song that he meant to be a last love letter to his sweet wife. Chad and I have sung at many, many funerals through the years, but we’ve never had the experience we had at Ed’s funeral. We started to sing, and we made it through the first two verses and choruses, but then we both choked up. We stumbled through the end of the song. The entire place seemed to grieve with us in that moment. I felt sad and disappointed that we weren’t able to deliver the song the way Ed may have imagined. But then our church quite literally wrapped their arms around us, and maybe in some small way the Holy Spirit used our imperfect delivery to send the message that Ed loved the song for in the first place: love each other. While every distraction of this world will try to pull you toward things that don’t matter in the least, hold each other dear while you have the chance. An apt word from a man whose earthly life was shorter than we all wanted.

It made me think about just how sweet it is to be a part of a family of believers. The psalmist wrote that the death of a faithful servant is precious in the sight of the Lord. I think all of us who knew Ed understand what that verse means. Nothing is outside of God’s perfect plans. He was glorified through Ed’s life and through His death. And even now He will be glorified through the eternal impact that Ed made in his short time on this earth.

God’s ways are so mysterious. He gives and He takes away. He brings us joy and grief in the same moment. He teaches us peace and patience during the most harrowing experiences of our lives. He prepares a place for us when we don’t deserve it. He gives us opportunities to give and receive love, to experience true beauty, to find the value in great sorrow. He comforts us. And He teaches us how to love each other well. A precious mystery: His love and goodness, poured out on us in life and in death. No more mysteries for Ed, just the glory of God–a full view of what he caught glimpses of here on earth. How precious is the death of a faithful servant. Ed is home. We’re coming soon.