I hate death. I hate it when people die. I hate having to go to the house. I hate seeings tears and feeling the grief and seeing grandchildren crying and sons staring into the space where their dad used to be. I hate wives now panicked to be widows and wondering how they are going to live.
I hate funerals and having to stand up in front of a grieving crowd and saying something. What am I supposed to say? I feel just like them. I am in the same hole.
But the hymns are sung and somehow the gospel is preached and the body laid to rest and in the midst of it all is Jesus. Not the idea of Jesus or the concept but the risen Jesus, present in the suffering of his body, the church, present in his word, present in the Holy Baptism his children wear in life or death.
But still I hate it. I hate death.