"Let the Dead...

... bury their own dead."

These words of Jesus have always puzzled me. I had always thought them insensitive and callous... that is until I received a phone call in the midst of packing and preparing to leave... two weeks before leaving Alabama.

As a youth pastor, you hope that you never have to get a phone call like that one. He was dead. Thrown from the vehicle. Didn't even make it to the hospital. He had just turned 21 less than a week before.

Michael was my first baptism as a pastor. He had a very special place in my life as a friend and someone whom I had poured endless hours of ministry into. Though he was no long technically part of the youth ministry, he always had a chair waiting for him if he decided to waltz into church.

The family had asked if I would perform the funeral. Again, one of those things you never think about doing while you're making teens eat chocolate covered onions and tomatoes or when you're playing dodgeball or when you're just simply hanging out and talking about life. I'm not sure that any class in college prepared me for that moment.

And there I was, standing in a crowded funeral home observing a mourning community over the loss of a dearly loved young man. I lost it and began to sob right along with them. My heart hurt. Though I had baptized him, I knew of decisions that he made after that which were contrary to a life renewed in Christ. Yes, we all have struggles and deal with sin in our lives, but we will all have to give an account of them before the Father. How do you tell a mourning family that you, as their son's pastor, are uncertain his eternal destination?

As all of this was going on, I began to wonder about leaving. The questions rolled through my head about each person that had been impacted by this event: his family, his friends, his girlfriend... what could I do? And then I remembered the words of Jesus:

"Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God."

As callous as it may sound initially, I had to remember that I am no superman. It's not my place to be people's savior, but to point them toward Him. At the end of the day, God was prodding me to move forward, pressing on toward what was ahead. There will always be opportunities to be the hero... but that's not who we are called to be.

And at that funeral, people were pointed toward Jesus - who is familiar with the pain of loss and the depths of human sorrow. This same Jesus who wept over his friend Lazarus and chose to enter into suffering with Mary and Martha was the same Jesus who was there that day entering into the sorrow of loss over Michael.

Though it is true that I miss him and still wrestle with just where he is, I trust that God is true to His word and that ultimately, His decision on the matter is the right and just one. As for me, I continue to seek His kingdom and pray that not only my words, but my actions will bring me into contact with more "Michaels" in the future... ultimately leading them to the Kingdom.