It’s never easy or pleasant to lose a friend to death, so how should a Christian respond to this event that is, according to Scripture, part of life?
Hi, I’m Rex Rogers and this is episode #161 of Discerning What Is Best, a podcast applying unchanging biblical principles in a rapidly changing world, and a Christian worldview to current issues and everyday life.
From time to time, I find myself talking to a younger person or persons who indicate they have not experienced something like awaking to aches and pains that occur seemingly for no reason, or a highly stressful or traumatic challenge in their education, career, or life, or the death of a loved one or close friend.
When I hear this, I usually respond by saying, “Well, you just haven’t lived long enough.” What I mean, of course, is that these things happen in every human being’s life, sooner or later, because we live in what we learn in Scripture is a fallen world.
Life happens, and one of the things that happens is that eventually we hear of the death of a loved one or close friend, maybe even a lifelong friend.
This recently happened to my wife, Sarah, and me, and within a week we traveled to West Virginia to support his wife and attend our friend’s funeral.
Our friend was Robert, or Bob, Opperman, with his wife Carol. We first met just three years after Sarah’s and my marriage when we accepted a teaching position in a Christian school in Cross Lanes, WV.
Sarah and Carol hit it off as young moms trying to figure out how to raise little girls, and not long thereafter, little boys too. We did not know it then, but there were more children yet to come.
Bob and I were social studies and history teachers, and we liked to talk politics and current events. Bob was originally from Oregon, and I quickly discovered that his ancestors crossed the country on the Oregon Trail. As a guy who read a lot of Western history then and now, I found it fascinating that I actually knew someone whose great-grandparents had trekked the Oregon Trail, and since then I’ve read everything I could get my hands on about the trail.
When I first heard Bob had passed at age 77, slipping away in a matter of a week after experiencing a medical episode, I thought about our relationship. The first thing that came to my mind was a line from a movie. In the movie, “Robinhood,” starring Russell Crowe, an older gentleman, a Baron, approached Robin about conveying a message to another older gentleman. The Baron mentioned his elder friend’s name to Robin and said, “We were young men together.”
I don’t know why that line hit me the way it did the first time I heard it, but it did, and as I said, it was the first thing that came to my mind when I thought about Bob’s passing. We were young men together.
Most of our time together took place in our twenties. Later in life, because of where we lived, we’d see each other maybe once or twice every year or so, but the friendship we forged as young men lasted a lifetime. Just a few months before, Sarah and I had been in the area for her eldest sister’s funeral, and that night we had a 3–4-hour dinner at the Cracker Barrel with Bob and Carol. We picked up right where we left off. We talked, caught up, laughed, and had a great time rooted in a friendship that had been established more than forty years before.
Bob, as I said, was born and raised in Oregon. He loved Oregon and talked about it if not every day, then every other day. We’d say, “Bob, why don’t you and Carol move to Oregon?” And nothing happened. Again later, “Bob, why don’t you and Carol move to Oregon?” Nothing happened. Then we discovered that Carol was a West Virginia girl all the way through to the bone. Bob loved Oregon and Carol loved West Virginia. What are you going to do? Well, Bob loved Oregon, but he loved Carol more, so he chose to live out his life in West Virginia and came to love the history of his adopted state too.
One year, the four of us flew to Portland, rented a truck, and traveled east into the mountains to Bob’s home territory. We met many of his relatives. And from the vantage point of high on a range of hills we looked out and saw 10-12 plumes of smoke from forest fires, and one morning we exited the hotel to find ash covering the ground, amazing experiences for Midwesterners. Eventually, we got to Greenhorn, the location of Bob’s family’s old cabin, a shack really, and a closed down goldmine. That, too, was an amazing experience and one Bob reveled in sharing with his friends.
Bob was a man’s man and as such from time to time he’d say or do something goofy or illogical. We all do this, men. It’s built into our DNA, and the ladies know it. God knew it. In the Garden of Eden God looked at Adam and said, “It’s not good for man to be alone,” so he created women to help keep us out of trouble.
But being a guy, Bob would periodically say or do something goofy or illogical. When he did, his wife Carol would look at him, look at us, roll her eyes, and say, “Well, he’s not very smart, but he’s cute.” Every time I heard that comment, and I heard it a lot, I thought it was fall out of your chair hilarious. He’s not very smart, but he’s cute.
I’ve thought about this, men. The ladies know we’re not very smart, but if at the end of the day our wives still think we’re cute, well, I’ll take it. You can build a good life on that.
Bob was also a guy who cared about people and liked to help people. He helped me at times. Along the way, he developed several handyman skills. One summer after school was out, which turned out to be the last year we lived in West Virginia, we decided to take on the project of re-shingling a house with a good-sized roof. Bob knew more about this than me, but I was young and had muscle, so it worked out. At some point in the project, we sat down on the roof peak to take a break and for reasons I do not remember, I chose that time to tell my friend that I was enrolling at the University of Cincinnati in the fall to pursue a doctorate, which meant I would not be returning to our Christian school.
Bob looked at me and said, “Wow, where do you see yourself in 10 years?” That question stopped me in my tracks. It’s not that I hadn’t thought about the future, making the decision I was making about more education. It’s just that that question made me stop and think about things with a bigger, broader perspective.
Turns out, over the next forty-odd years of working in higher level administration, I had many occasions wherein a younger staff member would come to see me seeking counsel about pursuing advanced degrees, putting their hat in the ring for another position, or considering leaving one organization to join another. Every time, I’d eventually ask them, “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?” Or sometimes I’d shorten it to 5 years because thinking out ten years seemed too daunting to some people. It’s a great question, and I was able at least twice to remind Bob that he’d asked me this, tell him how I’d been able to pay it forward, and thank him for blessing me with his insight.
Losing a lifelong friend is not easy or pleasant. We grieve. Sometimes you hear people say Christians should not grieve, but this is incorrect. Of course, Christians grieve; we just should grieve differently. Grief is remembrance. We remember the one who has passed. If that person did not matter, we would not bother remembering. We would not grieve. But they do matter, and death is a transition.
God never told us we had to like death. In fact, death is described in Scripture as the enemy (1 Cor. 15:26). So, we don’t have to like death, but we need not be afraid of it (Matt 10:28).
Still, death is a separation, so there is a sense of loss for those left behind among the living.
But I like to remember the biblical theology that when one of God’s saints—people who know the Lord as Savior—passes on, he or she is absent from the body, present with the Lord (2 Cor. 5:8). So, a Christian friend like Bob who has passed is not “gone,” as in no longer in existence or somehow extinguished.
Nor do I believe Bob is sleeping, because I do not think Scripture warrants that.
No, our Christian friends like Bob who have passed are not “gone” but merely “absent,” now more alive than ever in heaven, not simply R.I.P. “Resting in Peace,” but R.I.P. “Rejoicing in peace.”
The beauty of the Christian faith and of the Word of God is that the Lord did not leave us wondering. He told us exactly where our dearly departed loved ones and friends are. If they were believers, they are now in heaven with the Lord.
Bob and I were young men together. He has crossed over Jordan. Someday, when it is my turn, I will see him again.
Well, we’ll see you again soon. This podcast is about Discerning What Is Best. If you find this thought-provoking and helpful, follow us on your favorite podcast platform. Download an episode for your friends. For more Christian commentary, check my website, r-e-x-m as in Martin, that’s rexmrogers.com.
And remember, it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm.
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