Many in our community at Goodwill Church know that yesterday I attended the funeral for a friend and preschool classmate of my daughter, Kelsie. (Join the growing group of us praying for the family.) One of the visually difficult parts of a child's funeral is the size of the casket. To see the small casket, for many of us, is to experience the full rush of turbulence and grief that such a loss produces. Andrew was a little boy with so much in front of him. The happy hope of childhood seems in direct contrast to death. A small casket seems in direct contrast to the exploding universe of life and potential in a little God-loving boy. The emotions are different at a funeral for a much older person. We think that this person had a good chance to live and plenty of time. This, however, is not the case. Life is brief for all of us. We all have earthly lives that end in small caskets. The end is always soon. Dreams and tasks lie undone. Relationships remain broken. Adventures vaporize. Plans evaporate. We think this is out of accord with how life should be. What went wrong? The cross stands in time to correct our perception. After Genesis 3, loss is the rule, not the exception. Even Christ had to die, yet in His death is the death of death. Christian hope is no respecter of circumstances.
Exactly one week before the accident, this boy celebrated my girl's birthday, with two dozen or so other kids, at an elaborate party (at Jumpin' Jakes, for those who know kids' stuff). There was sliding, bouncing, running, balloons, ice cream cake, and pizza. I talked to his mom a bit, and him too. We ate cake together.
It's goodbye... for now, not forever. This last sentence was made possible only by the cross of Jesus Christ.
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