It’s hot for April in Virginia. Ninety degrees. The breeze keeps things bearable on the porch. Not my porch, however. It’s a Mennonite store in rural Virginia that my mom has always liked to visit. She is eighty-seven now, so she can no longer come on her own. Time has a way of slowing all of us down. Me included. I’m almost sixty-two years old. For 35 of those years, I have served as pastor of the same Baptist church in Richmond, Virginia. It has been more time than I ever imagined when I first accepted the call. Today, however, I am away from the church. I’m on the porch in a rocking chair with a book. My wife and mother are inside the store.
I welcome the rest. I’m glad to be away from the office and my work. Yesterday I spent time with a newly married couple and officiated the funeral of their three-month-old baby, who had been tragically killed in a driveway car accident. Now, I’ve done hundreds of funerals over the years, but this one was challenged by the complicated grief. The sadness of yesterday still remained with me today as I rocked back and forth in the chair.
A wasp hovers around me as I try to read. I’ve always been scared of them. I keep one eye on it as I read. A woman walks past me, greets me with a friendly hello, and asks, “How are you today?” I respond with a cordial, “I’m good,” but that’s just a surface answer. In reality, I want to tell her I’m tired of the sadness. The wasp buzzes by again. It just seems as though the sadness in other people’s lives has seeped into my own over time. The infant’s death cemented it all yesterday. The sun is out, the breeze is nice, and the rocking is therapeutic, but the sadness is heavy.
People continue to walk in and out of the store. I wonder what is going on in their lives. Are they sad? What burdens are they carrying? Life can become so heavy at times. Sadness can seep deep into our souls. It can also hide beneath our smiles, greetings, routines, and busyness. The wasp just will not leave me alone. I change chairs to get away from it.
A family joins me on the porch. A mom, a dad, and two children. One of the children is small, several months old. They are feeding him ice cream. He is trying to learn to talk. I keep making eye contact with him as his baby sounds brighten my mood, even though they remind me of the still body of the child from yesterday. So much joy on the bench with this family. So much sorrow yesterday. Lives are moving in opposite directions.
Yet our lives are a mixture of joy and sorrow. Either can crash upon the shores of our hearts and lives at any moment. There is no way to prepare for the tides’ changing. Faith does not prevent sadness from seeping into our lives. Sometimes it seeps slowly; sometimes it soaks us. That wasp will not just leave me alone.
My wife and mom finish up. My rest is over for now. It was good. I go inside to help them check out. Someone else is now sitting in my chair as we come back outside. I wonder what they are thinking about. I wonder if the wasp will be bothering them. Life stings sometimes. We’ve all been stung. But even when I’m sad, I still believe in the power of hope in Jesus Christ. As Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 15:55: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” At some point, life will no longer sting. We just are not there yet. Pain, suffering, sorrow, and sadness will continue to hover around us. Not forever, however. I truly believe it. I it what allows me to rise up from my sad days and move forward again. A person can become stuck in sadness if they let it. The sting of sadness will not always be painful. This is my hope. This is my faith. I don’t see the wasp as we pull away.
Conversations from the Couch 
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