On Thursday, I did one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life. I visited a friend of mine who is at the end of his earthly days and is in hospice. As difficult as it was, it was important to me to say goodbye to someone I’ve known for about 35 years who is getting ready to step into the embrace of Jesus.
I’ve had experiences with hospice and palliative care before with both of my maternal grandparents. Hospice care came to my parents’ home when my dad was in his last days, and I was in the room when he passed away.
So death in and of itself isn’t difficult for me. What made this trip to the hospice center so tough was that this guy is about a decade younger than I am.
Just over a year ago, I wrote about losing a peer. That was sobering enough to reflect on the death of a classmate and longtime friend. Losing a younger friend hits differently.
Related: Memento Mori
This young man was part of the first generation of kids I had when I served in children’s ministry, and he moved up to student ministry around the same time I moved into that role as a volunteer. He was a talented musician and an all-around sweet kid who grew up into a thoughtful and capable young man.
He spent some time working in student ministry, and even after he left that line of work, he did some guest preaching at the local church where he, his wife, and his six-year-old son settled. Now, that wife and son are about to lose a father and husband.
Walking into the hospice, I was nervous. One of the nurses, who didn’t know me from Adam, gave me a hug. I thanked her for what she does because that kind of work takes a special heart.
The nurses had finished cleaning his room, so his parents and sister walked in at the same time I did. I could see how exhausted and emotional they were. His wife followed after them. Shortly after I walked in, two women I didn’t know spoke to the family, and a few of my friend’s peers from our youth group came in. For a moment, we had a mini-reunion from my years as a student ministry volunteer.
Just as I was getting ready to leave (because the room was getting pretty crowded), my friend’s mom said, “The nurses say that he can hear and listen to you, so feel free to say something to him.” So I walked to the bedside and said, “Love you, brother. I’m going to miss you, but you get to be with Jesus.”
I have strong faith in Jesus, and I know that it’s a gift. I believe that calling my friend home is part of His sovereign plan, but my heart hurts for his family.
On Friday morning, as I was running some errands, I listened to a podcast conversation between Dr. Albert Mohler and Professor John Wilsey about religious liberty and conservatism. Near the end, they turned to the topic of death. Here’s a piece of that exchange:
Wilsey: That is, on the one hand, if you look at it [death], you know, just on its face, it's arresting. But seen through the lens of the Atonement of Christ, it is liberating. It is liberating.
Mohler: Only by the power of the gospel.
Wilsey: Only by the power of the gospel.
Jesus told Martha before he raised her brother Lazarus from the dead, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25, ESV)
I lean on that truth as I wait for word about my friend, and I pray that his family does, too. If you can spare a prayer for him and his loved ones, all of us would appreciate it.
