Death

Written for The Body Builder, the church newsletter of Highland Park Church. Used by permission.

We have recently seen a number of our dear folks promoted to glory. It is hard to say “goodbye” to loved ones, even if we know they know the Lord and are happier than they have ever been.

Believers in heaven are rejoicing before the throne of God, serving Him night and day. Revelation 7:13-17 describes a scene in heaven, perhaps referring mainly to believers who will be martyred during the coming seven-year Tribulation:

Then one of the elders asked me, “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?”

I answered, “Sir, you know.”

And he said, “These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore,

“they are before the throne of God
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne
will shelter them with his presence.
’Never again will they hunger;
never again will they thirst.
The sun will not beat down on them,’
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb at the center of the throne
will be their shepherd;
‘he will lead them to springs of living water.’
‘And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’” (NIV 2011)

Reprinted with permission from Dan Miller’s book Spiritual Reflections. The text appears here verbatim.

A forgotten country cemetery sits atop a windswept hill not far down the gravel road from where my parents used to live. While living at home, my attention was always drawn in the opposite direction of that cemetery.

In the other direction was “town.” School, friends, athletic events, parades, concerts, restaurants, church—everything exciting was in that direction. But as the years passed and occasion afforded a brief visit home, my interests were strangely drawn toward that quiet graveyard. On occasion I would walk there and stroll among the tombstones.

Bordered by a shallow creek and cow pasture, nestled among a few gnarly trees, this little cemetery is one lonely place. I never saw another person there. There is no marquee, driveway or parking lot. No flowers, shrubs, benches, sidewalks or manicured lawn. Nor are there any impressive monuments—just simple, weathered tombstones rising in obscurity from the prairie grass. Some of the stones, as if too weary to stand any longer in their struggle against time, have been toppled over and rest on top of the graves they mark.

by Pastor Dan Miller

^{Editor’s Note: This article was reprinted with permission from Dan Miller’s book Spiritual Reflections. It appears here verbatim.}
On Palm Sunday, 1996, a young couple visited our church. That was the first day in a seven year saga no words could justly recount, but let me try.

^{Note: This article is reprinted from The Faith Pulpit (May/June 1999), a publication of Faith Baptist Theological Seminary (Ankeny, IA). It appears here with some slight editing.}

Fourteen years ago, my brother was hit by a truck. This past week, after living in a persistent vegetative state for all this time, he went home to be with the Lord. I shared the following at his memorial service on August 14, 2008. (Follow this link to view a YouTube tribute that was played at the memorial service.)

Talley-Cunningham, Marian. The Faces of Grief: A Women’s Bible Study. Greenville, SC: BJU Press, 2007. Paperback, 112 pages. $7.95.

Reviewed by Barbara Ritsema

(Review copy courtesy of JourneyForth.)

Yesterday, I preached at the funeral of a very dear friend. Over the last 10 years, Cindy had become “family” to me, my wife, and our four daughters. For six of those years, she battled cancer valiantly and selflessly. On Sunday afternoon, Cindy finally won: the cancer is dead, and Cindy is in the presence of the Lord whom she loved, proclaimed, and served. She enjoyed gazing on Christ from afar, but now she is doing so face-to-face. Victory!