Jump Start # 924

Ecclesiastes 3:2 A time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

By the time you read this, I am on my way to Ohio for a funeral. My preaching companion, Zack and I are participating in the funeral service of one of our members. She was only 27 years old. She lost a fight with cancer, but won a home and a promise with God. Her parents live in Ohio and this is where the funeral will be.

I want to share a few thoughts with our readers that I hope to use today.

First, twenty seven is young. My kids are all around that age. I look at them and they are busy people. They are getting married, having babies, buying houses, going to school, starting careers. Watching them wears me out. They are always on the move. One thing they are not doing is planning funerals. Twenty seven year olds don’t think about that. Twenty seven is much too young to be finished with life. This makes this so difficult. If she was 87, it would be sad, but not nearly like it is now. Life, dreams, plans are all ahead of twenty seven year olds. But on this day, we go to bury a twenty seven year old. It does happen. God does not promise a long life. He does not shelter us from disease nor disaster. Death, that ugly enemy of God, comes at the most unwelcome of times.

Our passage, from Ecclesiastes, is a contrast. There is a time to be born. I found out yesterday that one of our couples from church is expecting their first baby. We have another grandchild that is due to be born in December. Exciting times. Can’t wait. That’s how parents and grandparents think. Wish today was the day. The opposite is true of death. We dread it. We hate it. We wish it would never come.

Death at any age, especially a young age, reminds us that life is precious. It makes us wonder if we are making a difference in anyone’s life. It makes us think about what is really important. Sometimes we can get so busy and so stuck on ourselves that we forget about others. Some of our connections with others ought to be stronger. Spending time with people, helping people, teaching people, being there for people is so important. We need to be better about such things.

Secondly, the young lady that we bury today belonged to that rare group called, PKs. Not very many are in the PK club. I’ve never been in it. I’ve heard about it. I’ve seen it. My kids are in it. But I myself have never been there. My friend Zack is one. PK, if you have never heard that before, stands for Preacher’s Kid. PK—grew up in a preacher’s home. My dad wasn’t a  preacher. I wasn’t a PK.  I’m the first in our family to preach. My four kids are all PKs. The young lady that we bury today was the daughter of a preacher, a friend of mine. She is not the first PK funeral that I have been involved in.

PKs can have it rough. They grow up with dad as a preacher. Sometimes, even though you leave the church building, the sermons never seem to stop. There is an unwritten code about PKs. Everyone expects them to walk a little straighter, because of their dad. Everyone seems to think that they ought to know the Bible, like their dad. Some members seem to get away with things, but never the PKs. Their mistakes in life can lead to their dad getting fired. It has happened. I wonder if we judge the PKs too harshly. Some of them wish that their dad’s did anything but preach. Many of them have seen the good, the bad and the ugly of church and preaching. For some PKs finding their own identity and faith is a real journey that sometimes takes them to the wilderness. Some PKs really struggle with their faith. It’s hard. Too often, the bar is held pretty high for PKs. Maybe too high. Many PKs I know seem to find themselves and the Lord through all of this chaos. They turn out all right, even with all the added pressure, judging and expectations that are placed upon them. Some of them become preachers themselves, as one of my sons’ has. The young lady that we bury today seemed to make it through ok. I’m glad. It was refreshing to see her own faith. It was good to see her stand upon what she believed. She wrote a sweet letter to the church. It was sprinkled through and through with hope, joy, thankfulness and faith. She truly walked as she truly believed.

Finally, the young lady that we bury today died on Friday. I have another young friend that also died on a Friday. They were about the same age. Something happened to my friend on Sunday. On Sunday, He was resurrected. My friend is Jesus. He was in his early 30’s when He died.  His death, makes the death of all believers easier. His death opened the door for forgiveness and hope. His death lifts us to Heaven. His resurrection is Heaven’s exclamation point! His resurrection crushed Satan. His resurrection is the proof for our coming resurrection.

The young lady that we bury today is Whitney Wright. She is charming, bright, funny, rather shy in public, thoughtful and a follower of Jesus. She was beautiful, but not like those air brushed, touched up girls in the glamour and Hollywood magazines. She was beautiful in the way she thought. She was beautiful  in that sparkle in her eyes and when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful for her ability to make others smile She was beautiful in her sweet love for Jesus. She was beautiful in the areas that count. She was beautiful on the insides and in her heart. I am thankful that our lives intersected. I am thankful that we knew each other. I have several fond memories of her. I enjoyed watching her smile. Her smile made everyone else smile.

My thoughts are with her family. This is a hard day for them. God is good. Greater is He who is in us than he that is in the world. Someday, we will be through with tears, sorrow and death. Someday, there will be no more funerals. Someday, we will be with our Lord forever. Can’t wait…how about you?

Roger