The last hymn in my dad's Thanksgiving Service was amazingly opposite in origin to In heavenly Love Abiding, with which his service began. Far from being written as calm poetry, this hymn was penned in the midst of almost unspeakable tragedy.
It stands as a beacon to all of us who pass through vales of suffering that a confident faith in Jesus is utterly transformational and offers the brightest of hope in the most overwhelming sadness. Let us be clear - my dad knew little such deep personal sadness as Spafford's but he shared in that of others and did not enjoy the experience of a month dying in hospital in accelerating weakness.
But hey, where, indeed, O death is your sting? All death has done when it has done all is usher a soul to his previously purchased-by-Jesus home.
It stands as a beacon to all of us who pass through vales of suffering that a confident faith in Jesus is utterly transformational and offers the brightest of hope in the most overwhelming sadness. Let us be clear - my dad knew little such deep personal sadness as Spafford's but he shared in that of others and did not enjoy the experience of a month dying in hospital in accelerating weakness.
But hey, where, indeed, O death is your sting? All death has done when it has done all is usher a soul to his previously purchased-by-Jesus home.
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