The Death

Luke 23: 44-46

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last.

If I did a pop-up poll right now and asked for a show of hands from those who have ever questioned their faith, probably more than a few hands would be raised. Maybe some of us are questioning it even now; maybe you’re here this evening seeking a faith that has been lost, or one that has not yet been discovered.

From our earliest Sunday School days, we are taught to believe that it is our faith in God that lights our path during our darkest times. But what does that mean for those of us who continue to grope our way through the darkness, searching for that light that others seem to find so easily?

In July, I sat there in the front pew, celebrating the life of my strong, funny, dear, sweet husband of nearly 17 years, my cohort, my partner in crime, my partner in just about EVERYTHING, the father of my three beautiful kids—who died quite suddenly at the age of 41. While most of us have been touched by death in some form, a select few of us have been slapped in the face by it.

In the months that followed, a darkness descended over my life. The sun stopped shining, and my heart was torn in two. 

I lived, I breathed, I functioned. I got out of bed each morning. I fed my children breakfast, I drove them to school, I did my job, I picked them up, brought them home, fed them dinner, helped them with their homework, tucked them into bed and got up the next day and did it all over again.

In the midst of this dark existence, I wondered if people looked at me and thought, “It must be her faith in God that is carrying her through.”

It was not. 

Because there were many days when there was little faith, if any at all. 

It was a time when I needed to believe that God was in control of my life. 

It was a time when I needed to believe that when we pass from this Earth, we really do go to something greater and more beautiful than what we hold so dear right here. 

But at a time when I most needed FAITH—I found myself completely and utterly lacking.

I would have welcomed anger toward God with open arms; to have been able to blame him, or even just to have been able to question his judgement, would have meant a prevailing belief that he was there. That he was present. But instead, there was nothing but quiet. Emptiness. And the stifling darkness.

(Prayer) Heavenly Father, tonight as we prepare our hearts for the crucifixion, we reflect on the darkness that passed over our world. We thank you, O God, for the peace that comes with knowing that because of Christ’s sacrifice, even when we feel nothing but the oppressive darkness, your light awaits. Amen.

From Maundy Thursday Service 2017 K. Deters

St. Mark Presbyterian has a Grief Share program that meets on Wednesdays from 6:30-8:30.  For more information, click here.

Read the Gospels in 40 Days: Mark 7-8