On Wednesday, November 13, a young man who graduated last spring from the school where I teach died from injuries he sustained in a motorcycle accident a month earlier. His name was Bennett. He was 18.
For exactly one month, hundreds of people prayed for a miracle. Every movement Bennett made, every evidence of awareness, every piece of tissue that seemed to be healing brought a little more hope. The students at school prayed, the teachers prayed, his family prayed, but the miracle we all hoped for, that some of the kids were so sure was going to happen, didn’t happen in the way we all wanted. The Lord took him home.
When we were told of Bennett’s death, the shock blew into Dayspring Christian Academy with palpable force. It’s overwhelming, the loss of a child. We grieved for his parents, his brothers, and for his friends who would be trying to make sense of all of this the best they could. But added to my grief on Wednesday was a deep sense of worry. What would Bennett’s death do to the faith of the children in the school? Some were already steeped in doubt, questioning their faith, our beliefs, and sometimes God himself. Would they be driven away?
Even when the headmaster spoke at a special chapel the next morning, I worried that his words, comforting to all of us whose faith is strong, would anger the kids who have been wrestling. Would what some of us welcomed as a balm of healing truth sound like trite Christianeze in the ears of the kids who may be feeling anger toward God and toward us? Several teachers spoke beautiful words of encouragement, pleading with the students to fall on Christ for comfort. Bennett was a believer, and assurances of his joy were expressed again and again. I watched some of the students carefully for any signs of disdain, but found none. All I saw was a room full of a hundred or so kids in pain. But there was more.
After the adults spoke, most of the children stayed in the auditorium. There were pastors, teachers, and counselors on hand to help them work through their grief. But instead of reaching out to the adults, the students reached out to each other. And not just each other. Collectively, they reached out to God. They huddled together in little groups, praying and weeping. They opened their Bibles and read Scriptures of comfort to each other. They embraced, laid hands on shoulders, and mourned together in the presence of their Savior. And they worshiped. My worry was needless. The God of all comfort was reaching out to his own, and they were leaning into his embrace.
A few years ago, my little granddaughter was unhappy about a decision her mother had made. She raged and she questioned, she cried and lamented. But ultimately, through her anger and confusion, she threw herself into her mother’s arms for comfort. The person who afflicted her was also her source of peace. It was the same for the students at Dayspring on Thursday morning. They raged and questioned. They were confused and devastated, afflicted by something that God had allowed to happen. But through it all, they ran into his arms, the only real source of comfort and peace.
Bennett’s parents, his teachers, and his sweet friends have realized what the Apostle Peter had in John 6, when some of Jesus’ followers left him when the teaching got too hard. When Jesus asked his disciples if they would leave him too, Peter replied, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (verse 68).
The mind of the Lord is vast, his will is sovereign, and, even in the midst of this unspeakable tragedy, he is supremely good. Through the ages, God’s people have leaned into him in their affliction and grief. Followers of Christ know there is no better place to be than in the safe arms of God. We know that “the Lord is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). We never doubt that God is the “God of all comfort, who will comfort us in all our affliction, so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4). We witnessed that first hand on Thursday morning. We trust that God “heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds” (Psalm 147:3). We remember that Jesus said, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). We are not “uninformed about those who are asleep, that we may not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13).
Christians also understand that
(Jesus) has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned-every one-to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. (Isaiah 53:4-6)
And, we are comforted knowing that in his sorrow for his people, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35).
Bennett is with Christ. There is no greater joy than that, no higher goal. Bennett was a runner. And his race is won. Past that finish line is a place where there is “no mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4).
God has kept count of every tear those sweet students have and will shed over Bennett, and will put them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). They will be kept in his book until the time when we will all be where Bennett is. We cannot imagine it, because “no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). But Bennett knows. He is in the presence of the Lord, who has hastened the day when Bennett’s faith became sight. And we wait in God’s strong arms of comfort for the day when ours is too.