This past week about 11.4 million people in the U.S. and 32.5 million in Britain tuned in to watch the funeral services of Queen Elizabeth II. There was much in the ceremony that was connected to the symbols and trappings of royalty but what I found most encouraging was how much scripture was read throughout the proceedings.

I had a college professor who often encouraged junior classmen to attend graduation ceremonies even if they had no personal connection with graduates. He reasoned that attending the ceremony of those who had completed their studies would be a need encouragement to those who were still pursuing their degree. Freshmen enjoy the enthusiasm associated with starting something new. Sophomores are still working through the basic core classes. Juniors are working through the more rigorous classes in their chosen major. They no longer have the excitement of freshmen, and they may not yet have the clarity of purpose of seniors. Attending the commencement ceremonies helps give clarity to the purpose and goal of their academic pursuits. In a grander way, funerals help to provide clarity to the pursuit and goal of our lives. Funerals can be stressful and emotionally difficult, but I think they are important to the church's witness.

But when the pastor turned his attention away from eulogistic reflections and attempted to speak words of comfort, he lost his footing. I genuinely believe that he wanted to provide some consolation to those of us grieving. I have no doubt that his desire was to speak to us words to soothe our grief and assuage our sadness. In that moment of significant loss, he tried to speak of profound things that would last and had the power to alleviate our grief. But instead of comforting us with the eternal word of God, he spoke that day of things that sounded profound but were less than transcendent. He said, “your grandmother will have eternal life in your memories.” He offered as comfort the words, “your grandmother will live on and remain with you in your hearts.” He spoke these things with genuine concern and conviction. At first, they seemed to have weight and truth, but they proved to be less than helpful on reflection. Memories are sweet, but there are many things about my grandmother I never knew, and there are many things about her I have already forgotten. Keeping her “in my heart” seems, at first, to be a sweet sentiment but, on reflection, holds no lasting weight. Rather than encourage, these words cheapen the biblical truth and gospel hope. These words deny the power of the eternal God, who is able to keep His promises of bodily resurrection and eternal life, to those who have died in faith and instead places the hope of eternity in the frail and fleeting heart of man. His words were nice-sounding, but they were powerless.

There is a crack in my parents' front door. The door is not in disrepair, and to most observers, there is no visible sign that the door's integrity is compromised. At night the severity and even the presence of the crack are impossible to determine. But when the sun shines, the light that presses through the crack bears an undeniable testimony.

I recently spent a few days at my parents' home. It was not a visit of pleasure but one of heartache. Close family friends had lost a son and a grandson, and I returned home to be with this family. My heart was broken. The heaviness of grief was felt with every breath. The fatigue of sadness rested on my shoulders like cumbersome over-stuffed luggage. Everything within me wanted to do something to make it better, assuage my friends' pain, and heal the brokenness. But there was nothing that could be done. All I could do was remember the wisdom of Solomon that there is an appointed time for everything, and this was a time to weep and mourn. And so, we did.