There Is A Time. A. Ray Lee

to them about their loved one. I also talk to friends who may be present to gain insight into the life of the deceased.

      With that information in hand, I pray I will be given the right scripture to read and the right words to share that will bring both comfort and hope to the family. It is always my desire to connect with the family on some point of faith or experience. I need their confidence if I am going to be able to comfort them.

      The death of Van had been a tragic one. As the arrangements were made for the service the young widow moved in a daze. It was hard for her to focus on the decisions that had to be made. Her husband’s parents lived in a distant state and had left the arrangements up to her. An elderly neighbor, who sat by her side, was of little help.

      A visitation had been planned for the night preceding the service. There had been very few in attendance. Van’s parents would not arrive until two hours before time for the service. Because my schedule was full with ministry to other grieving families, I would not be able to talk with them.

      I had come away from visitation very concerned and burdened about the service on the morrow. It is my practice to have a selected scripture, and at least a brief manuscript in hand when I enter the pulpit, for I do not speak very well extemporaneously. To compound my dilemma, the music chosen for the service were not songs of faith. I had never heard of them.

      When I gathered with the family for prayer before the service, I prayed vocally for their comfort, but breathed a silent plea that I would be led to say the right things as I addressed their grief.

      We moved from the intimacy of a parlor to the chapel. The service began with the playing of one of the selected songs. I had never heard it before, but suddenly it connected with me. I breathed a sigh of relief. A reoccurring phrase stated “we will remember."

      Immediately my thoughts turned to a picture board I had been requested to arrange for visitation. On it I had placed photos of Van with people who must have had a significant relationship with him. All stages of his life were represented from infancy to the present time.

      I had no personal memories of a relationship with Van, but each family member did. Those pictures represented precious memories that could sustain them in their grief. I gently led the parents and friends to remember relationships they shared, and to store away those memories for future references.

      When I had completed the eulogy the second song began. I searched my mind franticly for words of hope to share in my closing message. I seemed to sense that because of the nature of his death the question “why” weighed heavily upon hearts. Again, the words of a non-gospel song gave the needed inspiration. It also contained a pertinent refrain: “Only God knows."

      When I rose to close the service, I spoke of the knowledge of God that goes beyond our understanding. We could not know what thoughts may have been in the mind of their loved one. We could not know of the personal distress which may have driven him. But God knew and we must surrender our questions of “why” unto him. God knows when our hearts are breaking. He cares for us. He understands our needs. He wants to comfort us. He will send the Holy Spirit of Comfort when we open our lives to Him.

      After a brief interment service at the grave side I had a moment of privacy with the parents. I said to them, “I can’t even begin to imagine the hurt of your hearts. It must be indescribable. But God knows and I want you to know I care with all my heart." I could not answer why, but I could point them to one who could bring comfort to their broken hearts.