One of the harder aspects of ministry is dealing with loss. Seeing those that you’ve grown to love in fellowship over time move on to be with the Lord. People you’re used to seeing week after week. You know where they sit, who they ride with, you get to shake their hand, hug their neck, and greet them as they warmly greet you. The faithful who pass on are bittersweet losses. You know you’ll miss their presence. You half expect to see them sitting in their same familiar place, and see the same sweet smile come over their face. You know that nobody can replace losses like that. At the same time you know that when they opened their eyes in eternity, what they saw is something we only imagine. It’s glory and beauty that’s unspeakable. It’s communion with their savior, Jesus Christ. For that we hope even in sorrow. For that we can smile and cry at the very same time. Our church lost another beloved saint of God this morning in the passing of Lanese Jones. She was a staple at Little Mountain. At 93 years old she was faithful to be here more than men and women 3 times younger than she. And though she lived a long and fruitful life, we will miss her faithful presence here. She would be here early on Sunday morning, Sunday night if she could, and even Wednesday night we could almost always count on seeing her here with Ms. Crowe. She didn’t get around like a 30 year old, but you can’t match her kind of faithfulness. The longer I’m here, I find the more I miss those who move on. The funerals become harder even as I become more experienced at ministering at them. Part of the minister’s job is to minister at the time of death. Doing that means learning to accept the loss. Putting myself into their shoes, even though I’ve been blessed to have lost very few of my own family. So you grieve when they grieve. But at the same time you trust that “he who promised is faithful.” Faithful not to let a single child of His slip through the cracks. Those who trust in Him will close their eyes, but they will wake up in His presence. And one day we’ll meet again, and when we do I look forward to saying hello to Ms. Jones, and Claude Camp, and James Staggs, along with the others I barely knew that went before me. We accept loss because we know it’s not forever. We can learn to accept death because we know death has been defeated, even though it’ll still claim all of us if Jesus doesn’t come first. But we don’t commit ourselves to death, but to life. Into His hands, our spirit goes, and the faithful God who saved us will one day raise us. That will be a party I will not want to miss.

I haven’t posted in about a 5 or 6 days now and the reason is that much has happened in between then and now. Our church has lost 2 faithful and priceless men in exactly a weeks time. Both left the tent of their earthly bodies and went to be with Christ. They’re waiting even now for the resurrection. Both happened suddenly and surprisingly although neither was totally unexpected. As I left the hospital about 3 am Monday morning I had the thought in my head that a church is just a generation away from extinction (or something like that). As we lose those pillars of our local church we lose a wealth of experience, wisdom, and faithfulness. But if we open our eyes we’ll find that we’ve not lost it, but now have an opportunity to use it. The way to honor the memory of the faithful ones who’ve gone before us is to move forward ourselves. To reach out and exert our energy in reproducing a younger generation of disciples to carry the work forward. It’s always been this way. When one moves on, another can step in and carry the torch.

I examined myself and our church to see if we were doing everything we could to make disciples in the generations below those great older members. The question, “Are we multi-generationally friendly” if that makes sense, is an important and difficult question. How do we move on without forgetting what happened before us? How do we honor those still among us while evolving our methods to reach the next generations? That’s an age old question that I’d love to know the answer to.

All I know is that in one week we saw 2 ends and 3 beginnings. While we mourn the loss of the 2 dear men whom everyone loved, we had an opportunity to see the spiritual journey of 3 young believers get a kick start on Sunday night as they passed through the waters of baptism. It was a joy to see them follow Christ in obedience to His command. Now the real work begins. The work of taking new converts to Jesus and showing them how their spiritual conversion looks in their everyday life. That’s really discipleship. Showing and teaching people to look more like the master each day in all the thousands of regular things we do.

I will miss these 2 men that went on before me. I knew both only about 9 months, but they left a mark. Will the generation that follows have the chance to leave a similar mark? To care about the work of the ministry going on at Little Mountain enough to sacrifice to take part in it? I despair sometimes because I know I can’t make that happen. Yet at the same time, God faithfully lets me know it was never my joy to “make” anything happen. He’ll be faithful to take care of that. I’m responsible to faithfully do what I can do. Pray for our church. Pray that God would raise up a mighty army of faithful men and women to transform and change not only ourselves but our community and world.

Since becoming a pastor back in February I’ve had an opportunity to be a part of several funerals for elderly men and women. Without question no funeral is easy. I’ve had the privilege of burying some people who walked with God for many years. People whose funeral was written long before they passed away. The kind where everyone says, “They wrote their own funeral through the way they lived their life.” I’ve also been a part of saying goodbye to some who only by the profession of their mouth was it at all possible to say they knew Jesus. Those are a bit more difficult. All, however have lived a long life. Today, though I didn’t take part in the funeral, I attended the hardest goodbye I’ve seen in my short ministry. As I watched the ministers talk I wondered how I’d be able to make it through were I in their shoes. As I watched the video presentation of the young girl’s life flash on the screen I had to look away. It was too hard to see. As I looked at her I saw my daughter and my throat welled up and I was thankful no one tried to talk to me during it. I wouldn’t have been able to answer. I was there too late to even be in the sanctuary so I watched on a television and couldn’t see the reaction to the family. I can only imagine the visceral emotions that welled up inside of them, and if they didn’t let it out they’re stronger than I am. There’s no good reason to have to say goodbye to your 14 year old child. I don’t care that I’m a pastor. I don’t care that I’m an adult. I’m a human and a father and I don’t want to ever have to do what that family did today. Yet the words of the pastor were the words of God, and that’s the ONLY hope we have. That Christ is raised and so we will be too some sweet day. That the tomb our bodies rest in will be broken into by life, where before they dwelled in death. That the same God who said hello to us when we passed away will reunite us with new and perfect bodies. Bodies that will live forever with our savior, Jesus Christ. With those words, Paul said “Comfort each other.” And it is a comfort. It’s a comfort during the hardest goodbye anyone will ever say. I don’t want to say it, but if I do I want someone to tell me about Jesus. About the resurrection. About the Hope of Glory. Nothing else will do. Nothing else is comfort. One day I’d love to meet the girl that was taken on this past Friday. Because of Jesus I’ll get that chance. I’m more thankful her mom and dad will get that chance someday.