for everything, a season

We students received an email today telling the news of the death of a recent grad. Anna played beautiful preludes and postludes, preaching the gospel through music on a regular basis here at Luther. I'm sad to hear this news.

Colin and I seem to be caught between death and dying, grieving and waiting to grieve. It seems to be dying season these days. The people is surely grass.

I'm presiding and preaching at a funeral this weekend and called my supervisor from internship for some advice. He said, be as gentle as you can be, acknowledge the crumminess of the situation and point them to where they can find hope.

Hope has been at the forefront of our national story these past few months, but it's a different kind of hope. Surely we Christians do not hold the corner on hope, but again, it's a different kind of hope. Ours is a hope that we cannot see or hold but can taste and drink. Ours is a hope that we cannot fathom, but we can wash ourselves in and daily return to. Ours is a hope that may seem like folly but one that clings to the proclamation that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus, not even death. And that is something to hope in during this season of dying.