Anglican priest Henry Scott Holland, in an early twentieth century sermon to comfort those who lost loved ones, penned this famous perspective from one who died: “Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I. You are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. So, call me by my old familiar name; speak to me in the easy way which you always did. Put no difference in your tone; wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Ponder it, smile, think of me; pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was; let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it always was. We are all connected by an unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind just because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, for one day we shall be together again. Know that all is well.”
After Jesus died and later ascended into heaven, His disciples who were extremely close to Him having traveled together, prayed daily together, worked hard together, scavenged food together, endured hot desert days and cold nights together, and shared incredible adventures as one, realized that—though they knew Him better than anyone—they did not know Him well. Though they had watched Him dispel demons from possessed bodies, cure lepers, heal crippled souls, give sight to the blind, feed multitudes, walk on water, and even raise people from the dead, it was only after He died that they began to realize the fullness of His identity and to grasp their connection, their unbroken continuity to Him.
At funerals of loved ones, the person most intimately connected to the deceased knows him or her better than anyone; but as they hear stories from those who pay their respects, stories of the person’s kindness to someone, charitable act to some group, advice to a wayward soul, or deep loyalty to a good cause, they want to learn more. They who know the person better than anyone begin to realize that there is so much more to know.
The disciples didn’t attend Jesus’ funeral. They ran away. They sought refuge and self-preservation. They lived in fear, hid behind locked doors, cowered in fright, and pretended not to have known Him. Then one day, fifty days after His death and resurrection, something strange happened. The Holy Spirit descended upon them. In the chaos and confusion of atmospheric storms, they experienced winds of change that caused them to breathe freely. They received the promise of Christ, the gift of love, and the grace of the sacred ghost that enveloped them. They saw flames of fire flickering, and they were suddenly able to speak in ways that others understood while they could also comprehend what others were saying (other voices in other languages). The holy dove touched them, and they became bold, brave, and courageous. They didn’t understand it fully, but they grabbed onto this new-found strength and, in doing so, realized it was Him.
When we carry a hole in our heart because of the death of a loved one, we slowly learn more about the person and relive memories that we shared. Then, one day, we get caught off-guard when their favorite song sounds from the radio, or a cardinal lands on our windowsill, or a beautiful deer wanders into our backyard, or someone says something that only our deceased loved one might say. And we know s/he is present; their spirit is real. Though dead, we know they are very near and dwelling with us. The hole in our heart begins to heal, and we take on a new feeling of confidence or faith; and we quietly realize that they will be with us until the end of time, that we are connected by an unbroken continuity, and that all is well.