Weep Not For Me
For the Christian, death is the doorway to the truest life he or she could ever know.
Paul declared this truth beautifully in 2 Corinthians 5:4, and it has been echoed by many in both song and sermon. They are undoubtedly accurate.
But they always resonate more fully when you’re on the steps of that doorway. Admittedly, they don’t become more accurate; one simply becomes more acutely aware of their truthfulness when you’re on the front porch of that human reality we know as death’s doorway.
In light of several of our sheep who have stared at that doorway recently with a loved one, I wanted to share a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It originated from my time in God’s Word one week, and culminated days after Julie’s father went to his heavenly home.
May this poetic meditation be another echo of the promise God has given us in times of death and sorrow—we grieve, but with hope (1 Thess. 4:13).
Weep Not For Me
Weep not for me, weep for yourselves
You who still linger here;
I’m finally home, not merely near,
Why mourn for me with tears?
You pilgrims traveling yet on earth,
For you, your tears are shed;
For I no longer wait or wish,
Or battle doubt and fear.
It’s true—my eyes were growing dim,
My lungs were gasping deep;
My back was bent, my heart was weak,
At last, I went to sleep.
But death was not arresting me,
Nor was it grimly reaping.
True life was overtaking me,
Why sit you there still weeping?
You now behold my former shell,
My tent that faded fast;
But my mere mortal, passing days
Gave way to what will last.
Ah, “last”—that’s where eternity
Rolls on like endless waves;
God’s glory as the centerpiece,
Our tongues in ceaseless praise.
So mourn not for my journey there,
It’s where I long to be.
His presence is my fullest joy,
So please, don’t weep for me.
Instead, weep for the exiles here,
The strangers plodding ‘long.
The ones enduring, by God’s grace,
Sin’s presence, evil’s wrong.
It’s they who need your mourning cries,
Your sorrow and your prayers.
Not me, for I’m inheriting
God’s riches as an heir.
I ran my race, I fought my fight,
My ordained days are done.
Now God has borne me to his home,
Through Christ, the Risen One.
That’s why I urge you not to weep
For me, I’m not in need.
But rather weep for you and yours,
Who have yet to be freed
From all you know as toil and strain,
And from its final blow;
You’re body-bound until that day
It wears a dusty glow.
But death, with all its weakened wails,
And empty, hollow sting,
Could not shut tight the grave that held
my Savior, Jesus—King!
His resurrection led the way,
believers follow suit:
Because he rose, then so will I,
Because he lives, I, too!
Thus weep for you, weep not for me,
I’m more alive than ever!
I’ll see you, saints, when Christ returns,
And then we’ll be together.