Gripped by Mercy in a Land of Death.
Death makes me angry. It makes me angry because it has a facade of finality. It makes me angry because it seems to be the last word–it steals, destroys, and lies. Death never feels like the next chapter, it always feels like the conclusion. I utterly despise death. Something wells up in me when the pure evil of death seems to eclipse the glorious grace of life. Such an emotions paints the skies of this dark day.
Months after the anniversary of her husband’s death, a friend of mine has lost her only child. The confusing complexity of bearing life in the wake of death is only further complicated by the addition of more death. Death disguises truth, questions faith, and hides hope. The valley of death seems to move Scripture to the point of cliche, often keeping silence as a solitary ally. This seems to be a companions only true response–silence.
But in the hauntingly comfortable echoes of silence…we pray mercy. We pray mercy to grip life in this land of death. We pray mercy.