We are called by Christ, among other things, to mourn with those who mourn, to weep with those who weep.

This sometimes happens, suddenly and briefly, in the emergency room.  I was sitting at my desk one quiet morning recently.  EMS traffic caught my ear and I learned that there had been a terrible accident not far from the hospital.  However, far enough that the regional helicopter had been called to the scene.

One patient would fly out.  One patient, one poor girl, one daughter, would not fly out.  And she would not come to me for care.  She died on the road at about 7:15 am.  She died on the road I sometimes drive to work, about 20 minutes after I would have passed the exact place she passed from this life.

I was stricken, I was saddened.  Father of four, I was nauseated and heart-broken.

That evening, after work, I drove down the same road.  There was no sign of twisted metal, no sign of spilled gasoline or burnt rubber.  There was an empty road, in counterpoint to the hearts of her loved-ones, now full of pain, full of sorrow, pierced by loss.

I don’t know them.  But I mourn, in a small way, with them.  And especially as I drive down that bit of highway on my way home, knowing she will not go home the same way ever again…at least not in this life.

It makes me long for the day when our Lord will wipe away every tear from our eyes.  The day when death will not stalk fresh victims.

And no road in all that kingdom will hold any memory of sorrow, or leave anyone mourning.

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