I saw on the news that Corey Haim died yesterday.  For me it was a reminder that much of the 80s, when he came into stardom, is our “lost decade” for U.S. cultural news.  From 1984 to 1992 Peggy and I lived in Sri Lanka.  In that time before the internet and e-mail there was simply no way to keep track of entertainment and sports news in the U.S.  As this was Haim’s era I knew little about him except his name.

But I was struck by how the reporter on the story was quite emotional, even citing the influence one of his movies had on her as she grew up.  She was not reporting objective news, she was feeling the story.  And it led me to ponder again what I have always thought of as the hardest grace.  How do you show grace to someone grieving the loss of a loved one when you have no confidence at all that their loved one was saved?  I confess I don’t know any easy answers.

I’ve heard people say that grief is a good time to talk to somebody about the Lord but that has not been my experience.  Emotions are just too tender at that time to process information well.  But how do we talk to the grieving in grace?  There are two principles that I feel apply but, as with all principles, they are just guidelines and they don’t give a lot of “how to” advice.

  1.  I am not called to pass judgment on the deceased.  No matter how confident I am that the person may not be saved the absolute truth is that I don’t actually know.  So I do my best to avoid any “where are they now” discussion.  Besides, I have no expectation that God is going to say to me on Judgment Day “Tom, I am going to take a break for a few minutes, will you sit in judgment while I do?” so I see no need to practice being a judge now.
  2. Theology, even good theology, is poor comfort.  People who are grieving are hurting.  They don’t want to be taught, they want to be loved and supported.  I can’t count the times I’ve heard well-meaning Christians spout theologically correct but emotionally hard lines to the grieving.

But these principles don’t give me words to say in specific instances and if you were hoping I was about to share some, I am sorry.  What I do want to share is a story in which a good example of the hardest grace overcame a bad example of it.

Some years ago, when Princess Diana of England died, we saw a global outpouring of what has since come to be called “virtual grief.”  Millions of people who never actually knew her shared grief-stricken postings on web sites that sprung up for the occasion.    This has since become commonplace.  Even Facebook no longer closes the accounts of deceased members, instead leaving them open as places for people to post grief comments.

In any event, shortly after her death I was on a long check-in line at the Miami airport to catch a flight.  The woman in front of me was on her cell phone talking about the tragic death.  As she hung up I could tell she was weeping.  In front of her on line was a family with a daughter about four.  The little girl saw the woman’s tears too and asked “Why are you crying?”

When told that is was because Princess Diana had died the girl turned to her father and asked who Princess Diana was.    As I recall what followed went like this:

“Daddy, who is Princess Diana?

“She was a princess in England.”

“Was she a Christian?”

“No.”

“Then she didn’t go to heaven?”

“No.”

The entire time the man never even looked at, let alone spoke to, the woman.  The grieving woman looked shocked and then angry.  My “ungrace” alarms bells were ringing loudly.  But then the woman noticed, and I noticed, the little girl.  Tears were welling up in her eyes.  She spoke to the woman.

“I am so sorry for your friend the princess.”

And then the family was called to check-in and the man dragged his daughter off to the counter.  The woman turned to me and I could see her anger was eased.  I shook my head.  Her last comment to me before she too left to go to a check-in counter was “He doesn’t deserve a daughter that sweet.”

“Rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.”  Romans 12:15