In Their Footsteps

Something breaks. I think to myself, Dad would know how to fix this. I reach for the phone. And then I remember.

Oh. Right. Dad died.

For all the saints who from their labors rest,

Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,

Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest,

Alleluia! Alleluia!

All Saints Sunday.  It’s the day when we remember those who have faithfully served the Lord

and gone on to be with Him. Like my mom. And my dad.

Hardest church service of the year. Why is it that I look forward to it with such eager anticipation, even though I know I’m going to cry through the whole thing?

I belt out the lyrics of the beloved hymn, swelling with pride as I envision my dear loved ones among the saints of the ages. The verses tug at my heart, leading me on a journey of memory and loss and love.

O blest communion, fellowship divine,

We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

A sudden swelling of anger lumps in my throat. Anger that they are there and not here. I know they are happy where they are. Mom is back to the way she was before cancer stole her sunshine. Dad’s knees work right again, and his migraines are gone, and he doesn’t miss Mom anymore. They wouldn’t want to come back to that pain, to the pain of a sinful world.

I don’t care. I want them here. I need them here. I need them to take care of me. I need them to come watch their grandchildren play in the band concert and help me decide what color to paint the kitchen. I need those people, and it is not fair and not right that they have been taken from me.

Those cheerful alleluias make me furious.

And when the fight is fierce, the warfare long,

Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,

And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

The fight gets fierce. I want to bend, concede, huddle in a corner.

And then I picture my mom’s busy fingers, never stopping to rest as she gently nudges me to where wisdom lies. I hear my dad’s voice, telling me what I need to hear even if I don’t want to hear it.

I hear them from a distance, calling to me from the past that is part of my present; be strong, my child. Be courageous. Follow in our footsteps as we followed in those of our Savior. You are not alone.

And I raise my head and press on.

From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,

Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,

Singing to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

Alleluia! Alleluia!

I’m sure Dad’s deep, booming voice and Mom’s gentle alto blend beautifully with the heavenly choir. But it seems heaven must encompass so much more than singing. I picture Dad shaking hands with Noah and cracking jokes with Martin Luther. Mom would be chatting with her former students and giving my best friend’s mom a hug.

Heaven is such a fascinating mystery. It could be anything, really. We know only that it will be joy in the presence of our Savior. And joy can wear so many faces.

The golden evening brightens in the west;

Soon, soon, to faithful warriors cometh rest.

Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blest.

Alleluia! Alleluia!

I was driving out in the country one day when my oldest child was in preschool. He bounced in his seat and pointed out the window with excitement. “Mama, look! There’s heaven!”

We were passing a cemetery.

Where do people go when they die? A cemetery. But oh, my son, there is so much more than that. There is more than a hole in the ground. There is life beyond life, untouchable, unfathomable. I believe it. I want you to believe it, too, son. There is more. Because of Jesus, there is so much more.

Grandma is there. And Grandpa, and so many other people I want you to meet. Separation is not forever.

It feels like it sometimes. When I long and hurt and weep and ache, that emptiness they’ve left behind feels like it will never be assuaged.

But they are there, safe, content. And we, here, can wait. With joy in the waiting, forward-marching, following in their footsteps. And then…..

And then we’ll see them again. Because of Jesus.

Alleluia, Alleluia.

Stanzas quoted from “For All the Saints” (Public Domain)

From the version by William W. How, drawn lovingly from The Lutheran Hymnal

First published in The Alpena News, November 16, 2013