Grief, Christmas, a Manger

It was a few days before Christmas and I was driving north on a deserted rural two lane highway. When I left the sun was shining, but as I drove northward the clouds darkened and the north wind began to blow. I would turn at the eight mile corner, eight miles north of a larger main highway and the road would be marked, cemetery. I found the corner, turned onto the gravel road and headed east. I arrived at the little country cemetery. I saw no tent, but a few cars were already around a fairly new metal shed. The shed had two roll up garage doors, one door opened and one door closed. The fresh grave could be seen forty paces or so away. Inside the shed chairs had been set up and arranged facing a sturdy old pulpit. In front of the pulpit was a small table and on it was placed the tiniest casket I had ever seen. A few electric heaters were placed at the side but the chill filled the little shed. Soon the grieving family would arrive and the coldness of grief would add to the chill. Twins had perished even as they were born, still and lifeless. “Briefly in our lives, but forever in our hearts” the memorial folder read. I felt a knot in my stomach as I turned away from the tiny casket. And then I thought of another country shed, more primitive with no electric heaters and the words of a song echoed in my head, “Away in a manger no crib for a bed, the little lord Jesus lay down his sweet head…” Surely the hope, grace, and love assured to us from Christmas would bear this family through this dark, dark hour. A few days earlier the dad in his grief had raged against God and the church. He would come to this service not out of his own faith, but out of love and respect for his wife’s faith. I was instructed to quote no scriptures and say no Christian prayer. The dad did give me a Native American prayer and it actually was quite well written. A nearby country preacher would also participate, he had ministered to the mom’s family since before she was born. I promised the dad and the mom that I would walk beside them in their grief. I had no answer for the depth of their pain and so I would offer none. I would pray for them silently and hope that by their sharing their pain with me and the rest of their large extended family that their grief would be diminished and they would know they are not alone. Two sheds 2000 years apart: One a shed of hope, the other a shed of grief. I’m sure I could not enter the shed of grief without knowing and singing the story of the shed of the manger. With a song in my heart, SoulSongWriter