Tears and Alleluias

This week, I had the sacred privilege of sitting at the bedside of a beloved member of our congregation.

She had been in the hospital for nearly a week after a long journey with cancer. Life support had been removed. When I entered the room, she lay peacefully—her eyes open but unresponsive, her breathing slow and irregular, with long pauses in between. Nurses and physicians call this “active dying,” the body’s natural process of gently letting go.

I was a holy moment – a sacred space.

Family and friends gathered around her, sharing stories of her remarkable life, comforting one another, taking turns sitting at her side. There were tears, of course. But there was also laughter. There was gratitude. There was love — deep, abiding love that filled the room. And I am convinced that, in some way beyond our understanding, she knew she was surrounded by it.

We prayed together. We commended her into God’s care. And in that moment, the veil between heaven and earth felt thin. The Spirit was present — tender, steady, and sure.

It was a blessing to be there.

In these past weeks, we have said goodbye to too many of our beloved siblings in Christ: Bill, Susan, Carolyn, and Carol. We mourn their loss, and we grieve alongside those who loved them most. Grief is real, and it runs deep.
And yet, as people of the resurrection, we do not grieve without hope.

We give thanks for their lives — for the love they shared, the faith they lived, and the ways they shaped us as a community. And we hold fast to the promise that death does not have the final word.

Christ assures Mary, and all those who mourn, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” (John 11:25-26)
This is the truth that carries us. Even in the face of death, loss, and grief, we are a people of hope. Even at the grave, we dare to sing: Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.

So I invite you, church, to continue being the body of Christ for one another. Hold those who are grieving not only in your prayers, but in your presence. Make the call. Send the card. Bring the meal. Sit and listen. Share the stories.

Because the love we share in Christ is stronger than death. And the hope we hold is grounded in the promise that nothing—not even death—can separate us from the love of God.

See you in church.

Peace, Love, and Grace,
Pastor Kevin