David Bryant Mini-Post / 5-minute read time
The Overflowing Grief in Kerr County, Texas, and the Supremacy of Christ
As a young pastor, the first memorial service I led was for twin daughters swept away by birth defects. The second involved a young boy swept away by cancer. My third was for a teen swept away while swimming. My fourth honored the life of a young man swept from this world by a reckless driver.
I’ve also had my own share of grieving—both with others and for others. At times, I’ve been swept away by the debilitating loss of those I deeply love—including someone who died just two weeks ago.
During all these events, one major truth I’ve seen ratified by God over and over is nicely compressed in the final line of this historic hymn, “Come, You Disconsolate,” which says: “Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.” Put in other words, “Earth has no sorrow that the King of Heaven cannot heal.”
Over and over, I’ve found that the truth of the supremacy of our risen, living Lord Jesus Christ over all things brings comfort and hope amid the darkness and brokenness that touch all our lives.
On July 4, in Kerr County, Texas, approximately 70 miles northwest of San Antonio, heavy rains triggered a massive flash flood of the Guadalupe River, which runs through the Texas Hill Country. As a result, more than a hundred lives have been lost, including at least 27 young girls who had been sleeping in their cabins along the river at a Christian summer camp. Because that region is such a close-knit community, thousands are grieving—weeping for their own loved ones lost or for those they know who lost loved ones.
What does the supremacy of Christ mean for us at times like this? In other words, how does the fact that the Son of God became one of us, defeated sin and death for us, and now actively reigns for us and over us to fulfill the promises of God in us bring any meaningful consolation or healing for shattered souls wandering in the “valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23)?
I give five strong answers to this perennial perplexity. I distill them here in this brief mini-post to simply start my readers looking more closely at grief through what I call “King Jesus glasses.”
The Presence
Ephesians 4 tells us Jesus ascended “in order to fill the whole universe.” Acts 17 declares that “in him, we live, and move, and have our being” and that “he is not far from any one of us.”
Whether we “experience” it or not at any given moment, every tragedy and every tear takes place in the very presence of our loving Master, Jesus. By the Holy Spirit, the one who has all authority in heaven and on earth resides and presides over our grieving—the one whom Isaiah 53 describes as “the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”
Joni Eareckson Tada, who has had quadriplegia for nearly 60 years, reminds us in her book When God Weeps that the Lord Jesus is so present with us in our seasons of mourning that he weeps right along with us!
Not the End
What feels like the end of a life is not the end. Paul tells Corinthian Christians that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Cor. 5).” He also claims that when our “earthly tent” (our body) folds, “we have a tent in heaven.” He wrote to the Philippian church, “To me, living means having Christ. To die means that I would have more of Him” (Phil. 1:21, NLV). In other words, the end is not the end.
Jesus’ words to the dying thief crucified beside him, who put his trust in our Lord, were simply, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” Note the word “today.” Once more, we see that the end is not really the end.
My dear friend Ed died of leukemia this month. Always full of joy in Christ, he told me this the day before he passed on: “David, I know my last breath on earth will be my first breath in heaven.”
Surely, that was the experience for many, young and old, swept away by the Guadalupe River.
Loss and Gain
This is a fundamental principle of Scripture: To gain more of Christ, we must lose more of ourselves. Jesus said in Mark 8 that to gain real life, you must “lose yourself for my sake and the gospel.”
Of course, this transaction is almost impossible to process in the emotional chaos of profound loss. But the truth still stands. Paul decided (recorded in Philippians 3) that he wanted to “lose everything” and count all that seemed “gain” to him as “loss” for the supreme value of knowing the Lord Jesus Christ more deeply and more intimately.
For every believer, each loss—even the most horrendous ones—is designed by our Father to ultimately take us further toward and further into all the glorious riches of our ascended, reigning Savior. In addition, as 1 Peter 1 reminds us, when our faith in Christ is put “through the fire,”—and grief does feel like an all-consuming fire!—the triumphant outcome will “result in praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”
That promise may not bring relief for our sorrows this day. Still, it points us to the way out of the gloom, toward the sunrise of lasting comfort and “abounding hope, by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15).
Greatest Good
Think about the blessing that came out of the greatest suffering in all human history: Jesus agonized both in body and soul, gripped by the cruelest form of execution ever invented. He suffered the unspeakable afflictions of a man who was also the Son of God. He not only bore the dreadful curse of humanity’s sin, but he also took our pain and bore our suffering (Isaiah 53).
What was the outcome of all his torment and grief? It achieved the greatest good in all human history. It brought about nothing less than the total reconciliation of all heaven and earth back to the Father by Jesus’ blood shed on the cross (Colossians 1).
This same perspective is Paul’s point in the one verse most often quoted to Christians in a tragedy, undoubtedly including the many grieving right now in Kerr County, Texas—Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
NOTE: He does not say God makes our tragedies turn into good—there’s no promise here that the drowning of sweet little girls can ever be seen as good. No, it is awful. Horrendous. Horrific. Words fail to describe such heartbreaking loss.
What Paul clearly does guarantee, however, is that God is working for “THE GOOD” with those who love him and are swept up by him—not into a raging river but into his gracious, grand eternal purposes in Christ Jesus.
And what is “the” good Paul refers to? Verse 29 answers us. All that we suffer—all times of grief and agony—is designed by our loving Father to shape us increasingly into the image of his dear Son so that he leads us as the head of an entire family of believers who have become Christlike themselves.
And that is precisely the “good” that is going on for a multitude of Jesus followers in Texas in the grip of unfathomable heartbreak, whether or not they can perceive it right now as weeping overtakes them for a time. Such is the tender, gracious, purposeful handiwork of our supreme Savior.
Volume II
For everyone who belongs to Christ, no matter what our lives may hold, no matter how many times we feel defeated, in despair, or lost in a darkness of soul—our story has a second volume. This life is merely Volume I. The best is yet to come.
For every loved one, young or old, saved by the redeeming work of Christ and living under his supremacy, the final outcome of our individual narratives remains the same. This life—this temporary, mortal life—promises us a Volume II. The second installment waits to open up when all the saints are gathered at the consummation of the ages—resurrected and marvelously human in a new heaven and earth, welcomed into a circle of love that will remain unbroken forever, and walking in the light shed on us by the Lamb “who is the light of the city” (Revelation 21).
There, we will see Jesus and experience the fullness of the love of the Triune God. We will grow deeper in our knowledge of our Redeemer and in our love for him as we breathe our worship and adore him, ready to serve him in the countless, blessed ways the Father intended for us from the beginning.
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That is the transforming view on grief when it is seen through “King Jesus glasses”:
The Presence / Not the End / Loss and Gain
The Greatest Good / Volume II
The Greatest Good / Volume II
Clearly, without any doubt, especially for all those justifiably grieving and weeping out their hearts today in Kerr County, Texas:
“Earth has NO sorrows that heaven cannot HEAL!”
Here’s the rest of the hymn. Lay hold of its truths, no matter how dark the night might be for you, knowing death has lost its power because we have been assured of victory through our Lord Jesus Christ (1 Cor. 15).
Come, you disconsolate, wherever you languish;
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel.
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
Come to the mercy seat, fervently kneel.
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
Here see the Bread of Life; see waters flowing
Forth from the throne of God, pure from above.
Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing
Earth has no sorrow but heaven can remove.
You can listen to this beautiful hymn here.
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About the Author
Over the past 50 years, David Bryant has been defined by many as a “messenger of hope” and a “Christ proclaimer” to the Church throughout the world. Formerly a minister-at-large with the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, president of Concerts of Prayer International (COPI), and chairman of America’s National Prayer Committee, David now provides leadership to ChristNow.com and Proclaim Hope!, whose mission is to foster and serve Christ Awakening movements. Download his widely read ebooks at ChristNow.com. Enjoy hundreds of podcast episodes. Watch his vlogs at David Bryant REPORTS. Meet with David through Zoom or in-person events through David Bryant LIVE!
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