Two and a half years ago, I came across a young church plant in Columbus, Ohio called Veritas Community Church. It is no surprise that the last two and a half years I have been challenged, healed, and matured by my faith that has been cultivated by the teaching and community to which I have been led. But in my time in this community, when I have seen God move across this city and in His Church do miraculously, I have seen such tragedy that would shake the faith of even the least tepid man.
In a year, we have lost two children whose ages don’t even add up to four years: Deacon DeGarmeaux, a two year old boy who was hit by a car nearly a year ago, and Hudson Beisel, an 11 month old girl at 7:30 this morning.
When we think of death, we tend to think about older folk passing away after almost a century of life, or maybe an adult cut down in their prime by cancer, or least often a teenager dying in an accident as their future was budding in front of them. So rarely do we think of children, babies being struck down in the closest thing to innocence that we humans can know; before they can walk or talk and when they still hold on to their parents with unbridled faith for their protection and provision. How can that be so rare yet strike the same community twice in less than 365 days? How can “the God of All Comfort” be just that—or even existent—as good and loving parents sit in Nationwide Children’s Hospital and have their child die in their arms?
The day before Deacon died, his father, Gabe, preached at our Church. He told stories of how Deacon loved to clean tables and always called Gabe “My Daddy.” Gabe even pointed us to him when one of the people doing childcare that day took him to the bathroom. The next day, Deacon unknowingly darted behind a car that was backing out of a driveway, and the teenage girl behind the wheel had no chance to avoid him.
I talked to Hudson’s father Jeff just last week. He is such a kind man. Whenever he walks by me, he gives me a pat and a smile at the very least, and if he has a second on his busy Sunday asks me how I’m doing. I asked him just last week how Hudson was doing, and he was thankful that I asked even though he had to explain just how pivotal this next round of chemo was going to be and all the things that could (and apparently did) go wrong; about how this tumor was so aggressive that the amount of medication and fluid they had to pump into her tiny body could suffocate her before the tumor took over her body.
I saw both of these men yesterday—one forever changed a year ago and one who would be forever changed in a matter of hours. I sit here at 21 years old never knowing the joys and challenges of being a husband and a father and broken from seeing tears fill our sanctuary this morning not knowing how these men muster up the strength to face the days after losing a child—to love their wives and other children who are facing the same stress, to have the memories of their children and dreams of what they could have become constantly in their mind, and working to support their families and spread the Gospel across the city. I at times feel like I am hanging by a thread in my life and can feel by knees start to buckle under the weight of this world, let alone feel my faith begin to uproot as I question God. And what have I lost? Look at them! They have lost children!
But these men are quick to remind me that their children were never really theirs at all…
They reminded me that they were blessed to be a steward and a shepherd to these children during the first 18 years of their lives by the Father of us all. They were told to speak to and teach these children by word and deed the goodness and provision of the Lord by living out their identity as an Image-Bearer of the Everlasting Father. And they did just that. I have seen it and felt it from both of them in my life. What is more, when the Lord took away little Hudson and Deacon, they sang out with Job, saying “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; May the Name of the Lord be praised.” And they remembered that though the Lord has taken their children away from them, He brought them to Himself (the Father who knows fully what it is like to watch His Son suffer and die). They are not only away from the pain of this sinful and broken world where our fragile bodies are destroyed and abused, but they are in the arms of Jesus Christ where not a single tear will fall from their eyes and not another whimper will sound from their mouths.
What an encouragement it is to see these men simultaneously mourn the loss and rejoice in their children’s newfound peace; who admit the struggle yet press on in hope and faith. Though they are in darkness, they will arise and say “Where, O Death, is your victory? Where is your sting?”
We know that Satan is raging here on the earth because he knows his time is short. He is trying to destroy the Church. He is trying to destroy our bodies and undermine our faith. He sees the heel of our Redeemer and Avenger swiftly coming to crush his head and silence his accusing tongue. The victory he thinks he has because this morning was full of tears and mourning will soon be squandered because he forgets that the mourning will be comforted by the arms that hurled him from Heaven and will shackle him for good.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
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