Could God's Grief Bring Silence

As I climbed into my truck and closed the door, my head was nowhere near where I expected it to be. We had just moved the youngest of our three kids into his Clemson University dorm room. We were officially empty nesters! We had raised three children to adulthood. We were starting a new season of life. I anticipated an immediate celebration. Wrong! Instead, my head was full of this rolling, bubbling jambalaya of emotions -reminiscence, pride, joy, emptiness, uncertainty, loneliness... As we waved good-bye, I was smiling on the outside and weeping on the inside, completely unprepared for such an emotional collision.

Driving away, I pushed the lump in my throat aside to comment about the beauty of Clemson’s rolling hills and got nothing. No response. Then I pointed to the incredible sunset toward Lake Hartwell. Again, nothing. I pulled into a QT to get gas and slipped inside to get my wife one of her favorite mango iced teas. Nothing. It sat in the cup holder untouched as we started the drive back to Georgia. We drove several hours… in silence.

Our yellow lab, Molly, met us at the gate. She knew something was wrong. She gave us each a long, concerned look before turning toward the truck, clearly waiting for our son to emerge. Then she dropped her head and walked away into a week-long sulk.

For two weeks, our house was eerily quiet. I assured my wife that our son would be perpetually homesick and calling soon. Wrong again. Each day without a call seemed to pierce Jo’s heart a little deeper. At the end of the second week, I called him and suggested that he call his mama. Later, I would ask him to call her every week.

Grief became the predominant emotion in our home. In the grand scale of our life and marriage, it was a just a breath, a brief period of only a couple of weeks. No one died. Our son was preparing for great things. He would return. Yet, we missed him. There was a void. Our daughters had left before him, and we missed each of them. But this was the first time in twenty-three years that our house was empty. It was just us. No children laughing. No teenagers chatting. No wrestling practices. No homework. We bought that home to raise our kids there. Tire swings hung from the live oaks outside. The hammocks, the barn, the porch swing, and the ring of stones around the fire pit had each served a purpose. Life was lived together there. Lessons were learned. Memories made. Now it was empty and quiet, without purpose. That emptiness brought grief and that grief brought silence.

God made the garden for us. We were meant to be there. Every aspect of the garden is perfectly suited for his children. The trees, the animals, the river, the light were made for us. Then Adam and Eve chose otherwise. The garden was left empty. Silence. Its purpose removed. In the scope of eternity, the absence is brief, a mere vapor. Man will return to the garden. God certainly knows that. He planned for our return before we even left. Yet, he grieves. He grieves our departure. He grieves the empty garden. He grieves our absence.

In the story of the Prodigal Son, the father grieved his younger son’s absence. Yet it was the responsibility of the older son to search for the younger son. There is no record of the older son doing so. Is it possible that the father also grieved the fact that his eldest son made no effort to bring the younger son home?

Grief often brings silence. When we’re not hearing from God, seeing evidence of his work in our lives, it’s easy to assume that he’s angry or ambivalent. But that’s not his nature. Perhaps he’s grieving. Maybe he’s grieving us as younger brothers, choosing a life without him, without as much as a prayer. Or maybe he’s grieving us as older brothers, safe in his grace and mercy, but unwilling to make real efforts to bring loved ones back home. Perhaps our complacency puts a lump in his throat.

Perhaps if we could see our grieving father,

if we could see the tracks of his tears,

if we were simply present with him, listening,

if we could begin to grasp his yearning for us to search for our brothers,

if we could put our gratitude and love into action,

then

perhaps we would hear him more clearly,

perhaps no church would have an empty seat as we celebrate our way home through the cross and the resurrection of Jesus.