There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.
Last week it felt as if we were both weeping and enjoying God’s kindness. A strange combination to be sure.
Pieter and I attended two funerals (a wedding would have rounded off the week nicely).
Nineteen-year-old Tyde Duncan was the son of our friends Wayne and Jen. He died in ICU three days after a terrible car accident in Salt Rock.
The entire family are members of our church family, and as a community we grieved alongside them.
Despite our grief, there was joy unlike anything I have ever experienced. The heart-wrenching joy of seeing in action what love, family and community are really all about.
When Tyde was still alive (if only by the barest of threads) none hesitated to put up hands for a 24-hour prayer over the subsequent four days for a miracle.
People rallied around the family with meals, support and encouragement, carrying them when they had no strength of their own left.
Outside of the church spontaneous fundraisers sprang up without any requests from the Duncan family. I heard so many stories of incredible generosity from Wayne and Jen. It was humbling to behold, and I am proud to live here and to be part of this community.
Then came the funeral. What a celebration! There was barely space to move as people poured into the church to pay tribute to a beautiful life cut tragically short.
Tyde should never have died so soon. But when you know and believe that this life is not the main event, then your experience of death is quite different. It is not without the very real pain of loss, but there is hope.
I do not say this glibly. The knowledge that you will meet again is not a platitude to help people cope with loss. If it was, I don’t believe Wayne would have been able to genuinely forgive and publicly honour the driver of the car, a childhood friend of Tyde’s.
He spoke to him like a father embraces a son. “We all make judgement errors, especially as kids,” Wayne said with such grace and genuine compassion.
When moral platitudes are the basis for one’s faith, then when the pawpaw hits the fan, everything crumbles. Especially in the face of real tragedy and pain.
The second funeral was for our friend Lynette Bezuidenhout (66) who lost her battle with cancer after two years of fighting, leaving behind her husband Denys and their two adult daughters.
Lynette taught me so much about endurance through suffering. She was always encouraging others despite her own struggles, and maintained a genuine gratitude right up until the end.
Long-term illness must be one of the most difficult trials to endure, and it takes real inner strength and courage to endure in the manner that Lynette and Denys did. They consistently honoured
Jesus for carrying them, chose praise over complaint and continued to show up when it would have been easier to hide.
When the real tough stuff happens, and it will, I only hope that I can respond like the Duncans and Bezuidenhouts – with an other-worldly grace.
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