worship with a Kleenex

I attended a memorial service for Ben yesterday, a service that served both as a worship event and a time to reflect on the extraordinary life of young Ben Entwistle. I'm having trouble dislodging an image from the service from my mind. It's something that I will cherish for some time.

As we sang, a woman a few rows ahead of me lifted her hand in a gesture of worship. In her hand was a crumpled facial tissue.

Our posture in this life was captured in this image. We worship. We recognize God's worth. Yet (often at the same time) we cry.

We sorrow, but we have hope in the sovereign grace of God. We are never very far from pain, but we can rejoice in the hands of a savior whose hands also bear the marks of pain.

We worship....anyway.

We cry.....but not as those who have no hope. We have a savior who joined us in our suffering and we worship in response. But often, in our hands we hold the evidence of our own struggle.

Our hearts were heavy for the loss of our dear friend and for the void left in the hearts of his family. We cry, wondering why things could not have been easier another way. But we rejoice in our Savior, thanking him for a life lived without reservation, one who obviously touched and inspired so many.

When we finally surrender and worship from a platform of pain, we may find new strength from the suffering hands of our God.