In The Aftermath of Destruction

I will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:2 ESV

Where do I go with my sorrowed soul? My friend Charlie is dead. He is, but he isn’t. I know he is in the embrace of Heaven. His trajectory, drawing people to reason together, to question, to think, to see clearly for themselves, echoed another martyr’s voice: Stephen’s. Read Acts 6:8-8:4 if you don’t believe me.

God chose, God allowed two bullets to find their mark: one aimed toward Donald Trump grazed his ear; one aimed toward Charlie Kirk was a death blow to the throat. Why? Where were the angels holding him up in the palms of their hands? Did they stumble? Did they fall? No. They are doing the Lord’s bidding. It was God’s perfect and unfathomable will to allow one of his beloved to live, and it was his perfect and unfathomable will to allow one to die a martyr’s death.

Jesus asked not to die a martyr’s death, but agreed that not his will, but his Father’s will be done. Stephen told us what he saw and where he was going as he received the blows of the stones. And now this young and vibrant man, filled with a future and a hope, felt for a moment the shocking impact of death. Yet, what death intends to destroy and divide, God intends for good.

But what do we do, those of us left here behind, to comfort our souls?

When I look at the death of Jesus, I see the Holy Spirit arriving to light the fire on the altar. Once denying, Peter took to the streets to speak boldly and loudly as never before. He witnessed to the scoffers, he testified before the court, he walked out of prison accompanied by angels and singing.

When I look at the death of Stephen, Saul rose up to hold the coats of the crowd who were shouting, “Blaspheme!” as the small group of new believers in the Son of the Living God scattered far and wide to testify. What was their story? They had met a Savior who had defeated death – even the public and brutal death on a government-sanctioned cross. They were not silent and nicely behaved. They were convinced they must go and tell as if their lives depended upon it. And many were so offensive speaking the words of life and truth into a dangerous, condemned world that they found themselves on the wrong side of a sword. The martyrs. The ones who followed the Son of God, who was martyred. They died not just for what they believed, but for what they knew to be true.

Could I possibly have that much faith? Could I possibly be so strong as to stand instead of run? Could I possibly speak my testimony? All I know is this: I once was blind, but now I see. And there is no denying the seeing.

In those first hours of my grief, I was speechless. I sat in silence, lost within my shock, my sorrow. I have lost a good friend. That was my only thought.

Downtown, Jackson, Wyoming, we emerged from the restaurant where we had dinner after hiking Leigh Lake. I heard a woman’s voice coming from the town square. “… people are celebrating the death of another person…”. I had to find her. I didn’t know quite what she was talking about, but I knew who she was talking about. I crossed the streets and pushed past the tourists outside the restaurant entrances until I found her.

And there she was. A young black woman wearing a black cowboy hat. Loudspeakers on the back of a pickup truck. And she was singing.

“Through it all, through it all, my eyes are on You

Through it all, through it all, it is well.

Through it all, through it all, my eyes are on You
And it is well with me.

So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name…”

Finally, my tears fell. There was no stopping them. No holding back. No ignoring the horror of death stealing life.

This woman knew. She, too, had lost a good friend. I had one desire I could not let go of: to embrace her, to comfort her. As her song ended, I broke from the crowd encircling her and went to her. “Thank you, thank you,” I said as I placed my hand on her arm, her guitar between us. “I am trying not to cry,” she responded, and I understood. Instead of tears, her message, her testimony in this moment was song and trust and praise to Almighty God. The God who chooses to give and to take away, blessed be the name of the Lord. (Job 1:21).

I looked deeply into her eyes and nodded my understanding. She was Peter in the streets of Pentecost, speaking the name of Jesus over a broken and hurting world. Some gathered to share her tears. Some pushed past the inconvenience. And she sang the words of testimony. She sang the words of comfort. She sang the words of the invitation to trust the God of refuge. The God who doesn’t turn away from our tears. The God who knows well the sorrow of death. The God who welcomes us into His presence. Lay down your hurt. Lay down your heart. Come as you are.

“Come out of sadness
From wherever you've been
Come broken hearted
Let rescue begin
Come find your mercy
Oh, sinner, come kneel
Earth has no sorrow
That heaven can't heal
Earth has no sorrow
That heaven can't heal

So lay down your burdens
Lay down your shame
All who are broken
Lift up your face
Oh, wanderer, come home
You're not too far
So lay down your hurt
Lay down your heart
Come as you are.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2zhf2mqEMI

Come as You Are lyrics © Capitol CMG Publishing Songwriters: Ben Glover / David Crowder / Matt Maher

It is Well [Default Arrangement] by Horatio Gates Spafford, Kristene DiMarco, and Philip Paul Bliss © 2013 © Bethel Music (Admin. by Bethel Music Publishing) CCLI Song # 7021972 -- CCLI License # 1416989