Yesterday was 22 years since my older brother, Ric, died just two blocks from the church I now serve. So it has been over two decades since I’ve seen him or heard his voice. Yet, he still comes to me now and then in my dreams. In them, he doesn't speak anymore, but in my dreams he doesn't need to speak for I always find his large, protecting presence calming and comforting.
We had our differences when we were younger, maybe more severe than some siblings, not so much as others (Cain and Abel come to mind), but we made a truce when we were in high school and later he was best man at my wedding. Even before our truce, he didn't allow anyone to pick on me, his little brother. After all, no matter how annoying I was, I was still his brother.
One of the most common questions I get in times of grief is “Will I see my loved one again?”. Along with praying and crying, we talk about the promise of being with Jesus in paradise made to the thief on the cross in Luke 23 and other helpful scriptures. For me, the most vivid image relating to this yearning is found in Hebrews after a listing of the great men and women of the Bible:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us — Hebrews 12:1
I picture all who have gone before me in a huge stadium cheering with all their might for the players still working out their salvation with fear and trembling on this earthly field.
And somewhere, I imagine my not silent brother, a large man in an army surplus jacket yelling the loudest and telling others around him, “Cheer! Will'ya? That's my brother down there.”
Hoping you can hear the cheers
(sent as this week's Extra Christy.)
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