Dear Chris,
The last time we talked, you asked whether I thought those who end their own lives could go to heaven. Since we didn’t get a chance to finish that conversation, I hope you don’t mind if I use this letter to say some things that I wish I’d been able to say at the time.
I responded to your question by saying something like, “Yes, those who take their own lives can go to heaven. Our last choice in this life does not determine where we go after death.” But then I hesitated, and asked why you were wondering. When you looked away and said, “Not now,” I heard the emotion in your voice and sensed that you needed some space.
A mutual friend has since told me about your heartache. I’ve learned about the loss of your son—and your uncertainty about where he was in his spiritual journey.
Your inability to talk about your loss is something I haven’t been able to forget. As I’ve replayed the moment, I’ve realized that you weren’t the only one who wasn’t ready to talk. Now I’m glad that I didn’t say something I thought would make you feel better. That would have been a mistake. I’m quite sure you were not looking for false assurance any more than you were looking for someone to tell you how you should be feeling.
Chris, I’m not writing to tell you more than I know. You know as well as I do that God alone understands the state of mind of those who end their own lives. He alone understands their pain and their confusion. He alone knows how to give comfort and courage to those who remain.
So why am I writing? I’m writing because I don’t want you to be surprised if you find yourself wanting to avoid religious people, the church, the Bible, or even God Himself. Emotional pain can put distance between ourselves and others. And there is no way to sort through our feelings quickly—especially in the middle of a heartbreaking loss.
God doesn’t want us to ignore our grief. What is happening to you right now is not something you can afford to deny. Even though David of the Bible was a man after God’s own heart, he spent long days and nights with his losses, his fears, his regrets—and his anger.
I also believe that if it were possible for you to meet face to face with the most compassionate Person who ever lived, you would not hear religious answers that told you how to feel. He wouldn’t condemn you for the waves of anger you feel toward heaven, yourself, or even your son, for leaving you in such agony. My guess is that He would put His arm around your shoulder and cry with you.
I admit that I don’t know what this merciful and honest Person would say to you. He was always so unpredictable. Not in a bad way, but with wisdom and understanding. He had a way of saying what His friends and enemies didn’t expect Him to say. He knew more about pain and evil than anyone else around Him—yet He didn’t teach His followers to wave their fists against heaven and to curse the darkness.
Chris, I believe we can learn a lot by thinking about the cursing He didn’t do, the battles against heaven He didn’t fight, and the despair He overcame. Even though He loved so deeply, He didn’t go mad out of His concern for others.
No, we can’t live with the same spiritual awareness that He had. Neither can we expect each other to trust heaven as implicitly as He did. What we can do, though, is remind one another that even Jesus cried out at the lowest point in His life, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?”
When the Son of God left heaven to become the Son of man, He voluntarily laid aside the boundless understanding that He shared with His Father. And when, in the dark corridors of human experience He walked into a house of mourning, He cried. As He approached moments of separation from those He loved the most, He sweated and struggled in great agony before saying, “Nevertheless not My will, but Yours be done.” In all these ways He showed that trusting the unseen hand of God is not just an event but a learned process.
Chris, I’d never wish your pain or loss on anyone. Yet this I’m sure of. If it were possible, you could find strength and endurance in a face-to-face conversation with the wisest and most loving Person who ever lived. Even if He didn’t answer all of your questions, you would hear words that would give you the courage you need to live the rest of your life in a way that would honor the memory of your son.
It is when our broken hearts drive us to the place where we wonder if we can continue that we have every reason to cling to the One who loves better than we do. He is the One who says, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Chris, please forgive me if I have in any way added to your pain. I want so much for you to find the strength and comfort that can only be explained by God’s love for you.
Sincerely,
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