Hard

 I used to tell my children sardonically “life is hard.” Then I would silently continue the sentence to myself:  “and then you die.” 

The passing years have caused me to reflect on the truth of the whole phrase.  Life IS hard. Everyone DOES die. But that is not all.  I have come to see that the phrase brings both comfort, and hope.  If you reach my age (65) without experiencing that life is hard, I wonder about your relationships and indeed your heart. And if you don’t know that we all die...well, I’m not sure you are even alive.

2020 has surely pounded the reality of hard things into all of our hearts. And indeed we have seen many die.  While my family has yet to lose anyone to Covid 19, our Christmas Card list is riddled with crossed out names and our prayer list for those who are suffering grows longer by the day.

All of this causes me to reflect yet again on what I believe happens when we die.  My Narnian focus teaches me that good and wonderful things happen; that all of life here on earth is only the title page of my story; that I have an eternity of joyful celebration and service ahead of me.  And especially important to me, Narnia teaches me that death is a doorway through which I will find beloved friends and family.

Of course, I am writing not only as a Narnian, but as a Christian.  Narnia informs my faith and fires my imagination, but it is the Word of God that brought Truth into my heart years before I “met” C.S.Lewis.

I have written for almost 9 years now about how hard it is to celebrate Christmas when grieving the loss of my son. It is still hard and I would not be honest if I wrote anything other than how very difficult it is. What I want to say this morning is that Christmas is all about hard. Read the story in the gospels and try to put another focus on the pregnancy of Mary, the reaction of Joseph, the journey to Bethlehem and the birthing of a child in a stable.

And yet, Elizabeth’s child within leaped for joy as Mary approached, God revealed Himself to Joseph who then chose to do the right thing and in so doing, was gifted with knowing Mary as his wife and Jesus from the moment of His birth. The angels arrived with tidings of both comfort and joy. These tidings came in the midst of a world dominated by the cruelty of the Roman Empire. 

And that empire was preceded and followed by multiple empires of great cruelty and the horrid reality of war upon war upon famine and plague.So where, exactly is the comfort? And where is the joy?  My studies of the entirety of the Bible have led me to believe that the comfort and joy come from knowing that—in Jesus, God is working out His plan to restore the earth and to place His beloved children once again in the Garden of Eden. Another way of putting it is that the stable led to the cross. And the agony of the cross created the doorway onto Life Everlasting.

The holy mystery of suffering and joy being laced together in the great act of redemption is reflected over and over in individual lives. As the anniversary of Patrick’s death relentlessly approaches for the 9th time, I find myself pondering this mystery again. We resist the idea of death—particularly the death of those as young as Patrick or even younger. We are appalled by death.  This is because, as Jack Lewis explains, because we were created to never experience it.  So every death feels too soon. Every death feels final. And the pain of loss is so very very real. Christians know that this is true, and that denying the pain of death brings no real comfort at all.

What does bring comfort is the certain knowledge that the cross turned death into a doorway.  The cross strips away the finality of death and promises life—a good life in every sense of the word to all who look into the face of Jesus and believe. I have looked and I believe. Thus, I can go on. I do not know if those who read this have done so. I do not know the depth of anyone else’s personal suffering.  However, I believe that everyone will have the opportunity to look into those incredible loving eyes and at that point, each will know that they are loved and cherished and that a better life is just through “that door.” 

Yes. Life is hard and then we die. And when we die, we find ourselves at the Great Feast, celebrating new life without pain and hardship and reunited with everyone we love.

Another writer I enjoy is Rosamunde Pilcher. In “The Shell Seekers,” Olivia states that she thinks her mother did not believe in God. The minister’s response is classic: “I would not be concerned about that. I’m pretty sure God believed in her.” And there it is, the comfort and joy of Christmas: God believes in you. You are loved and cherished and understood better than you can imagine.  Your story will have a happy ending. Everything will eventually work out in a way that blesses you and blesses the world. 

God is big enough to handle your lack of faith, your unbelief, your anger, frustration and grief. I am not precisely certain why I woke at 5 today with this message bubbling up in my heart. I only know that I feel compelled to share these things.  The reason why Jack wrote to his godchild, Lucy Barfield,  “one day you will be old enough to read fairy tales again” is simply this: he knew, as I now know, that living happily ever ever is not a fairy tale at all. It is, simply put: the truth.