Family reunions? (Job 17-19)

If a family reunion means going six feet under,
and the only family that shows up is worms,
Do you call that hope?
Who on earth could find any hope in that?
No. If hope and I are to be buried together,
I suppose you'll all come to the double funeral! Job 17:14-16

I remember the conversation clearly. If I could have taken the words back, I would have.

Mom was 76 or 77 or so. The youngest child in her family, she had already lost all of her siblings. Neither parent had lived past the age of 78 (and half of them had died in their 50s. At 58, I feel like I've passed the first genetic hurdle.) Not only her siblings had died, but her husband.

And sadly, at the age 76, her granddaughter had died.

I said something along the lines of, "They've gone ahead of you to heaven."

She said, "Don't say that."

Within two years she had joined them. Leaving me the one behind, waiting for that reunion.

Job had lost all ten children. No wonder he said, "a family reunion means going six feet under."

I'm sure their images burned through his dreams at night. Waking or sleeping, he couldn't get away from them. And if for just a second he could get away from the loss of his family, he had to think of all the other losses. Family servants--some of them as close as family--had died. Animals he had raised from babes had died. Food he had grown from seed, gone.

His last lifeline--his wife--said something about as sensitive as my comment of "they've all gone ahead to heaven."

They're there. I'm not.

No wonder that Job cried, Do you call that hope?

Bart Millard of Mercy Me wrote "I Can Only Imagine" before he wrote "Homesick." Both of them speak of heaven, and death.

"I Can Only Imagine" expresses in music that incredible glory and hope of heaven. I cry every time I hear it.

"Homesick" expresses the other side of heaven. That even though our loved ones have gone to heaven, those of us left behind miss them. I wish I could quote the whole song, but since that is illegal, I'll settle for these two lines: "But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry, is how long must I wait to be with you."

That is the pain, the loss, the grief, the loss of hope that Job talks about here. Sooner or later, most of us experience it at least once in our lifetime.

Job knew that pain--ten times over.

But Job doesn't stay there. The same man who cried out in pain, sounding hopeless in the face of death, spoke with longing of the day he would see God:

Still, I know that God lives--the One who gives me back my lfe--
and eventually he'll take his stand on earth.
And I'll see him--even though I get skinned alive!--
see God myself, with my very own eyes.
Oh, how I long for that day! Job 19:23-27

When someone is in grief, your reassurance that they are in a better place may not give the comfort you mean to convey.

If you are there right now, know that Job was there before you. As I and thousands, probably, millions and billions of others, have been.

If you are there right now, know that the day will again come when the thought of heaven once again brings hope and longing and comfort.



If a family reunion means going six feet under,
and the only family that shows up is worms,
Do you call that hope?
Who on earth could find any hope in that?
No. If hope and I are to be buried together,
I suppose you’ll all come to the double funeral!” 17:14-16

Still, I know that God lives—the One who gives me back my life—
and eventually he’ll take his stand on earth.
And I’ll see him—even though I get skinned alive!—
see God myself, with my very own eyes.
Oh, how I long for that day! 19:23-27