Mourning

"When Job's three friends, Eliphas the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite and Zophar the Naamathite, heard about all the troubles that had come upon (Job), they set out from their homes and met together by agreement to go and sympathize with him and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was." - Job 2: 11-13 NIV.

I got news from my dad this morning that a close high school friend of mine named Aaron Jones died in a car accident a few weeks ago.

I haven't been in touch with Aaron for several years, didn't even know where he lived or what his job was.

But I remember one day in particular - a day about six years ago, on a winter afternoon. I had never been to Aaron's house before since we didn't generally run in the same crowd, but this day I marked out a map to his house in the country and left James Madison University with a bag of cookies for him in the passenger seat. Two days earlier I had stood with him while he wept as they carried his younger brother's casket through the funeral home. His brother had been killed in a car accident.

I followed the winding country road through the cold Virginia hills and sparse trees to Aaron's house and knocked on the door.

His mom answered, and I found Aaron inside.

There wasn't much to say, but he hugged me and was glad I came. We talked about his brother, about how life would change and about how death and life become more and more a part of us as we grow older. I told him about the hope I had in Christ and how I would be praying for him and his family.

"Strangely enough, I'm finding out more and more about peace," he said, his dark eyes far away. "I thought it would be the opposite, but I've become much more interested in spiritual things lately."

His eyes were red. He held back the tears.

I stayed a little longer in the small kitchen and then took my keys to leave, promising Aaron and his mom to pray. My little Corolla rumbled down the lonely gravel driveway, headed for home with a heavy heart.

I never heard the phone ring at Aaron's house as I pulled out into the main road.

I never knew they were looking for me, my gold Corolla, as the gears shifted and country fields became familiar.

I never heard him drop the phone, fall to the floor and cry out, "No! No! Not her mom, too!"

They were waiting for me when I pulled into my own driveway to tell me the news.

Aaron was too upset to come to most of my mom's funeral arrangements, but he did come to the funeral, heavily drugged so that his eyes were glassy.

"Your mom is cool," he said to me once. "I'm like one of those long-haired kids everybody else's parents are terrified their daughter is going to be friends with, but your mom likes me."

She did.

Mourn with me for a moment over the death of a young man you've never met, a man I don't know if I will meet in eternity or not. Mourn for the sin of the world that brought death in the first place, for the heartache of a mother without two sons, and the brevity of this life that makes no bargains.

But those of you with Christ, mourn as those who have hope... whose tears will shortly be wiped away.

Those of you without, consider, consider the cost...

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"We know know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. FOR IN THIS HOPE WE ARE SAVED." - Romans 8: 22-24 NIV.