On three occasions, twice in 1 Peter and once in 2 Peter, the apostle Peter calls believers exiles.  For the first time in my life, I am beginning to understand.

Most of my readers will be aware that my precious Kathy, wife of 46 years, passed into the presence of her Saviour on August 17th of last year.  And you won’t be surprised that I have been meditating on Paul’s words in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 (ESV)

“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.”

My thoughts are taken in two directions.  First, with the death of a loved one—in my case, my wonderful wife—comes the overwhelming emotion of grief, loss, and loneliness. Initially, I was surprised that evenings were not as overwhelming as I feared they might be. However, as time has gone on, the emptiness of my evenings has grown.  But not just the evenings.  Whenever I experience something joyful or noteworthy, or even troubling, I still have the impulse of wanting to tell her of it when I get home, only to remember that she is no longer there.  When I am among friends, I do not burden them with my sorrow, lest I am only known as the grieving man.  I am determined to be as engaged in conversation as I always was.  I want to laugh, experience life, talk about the faith, and talk about the trivial.  But the grief returns with savage fury when I am again alone.  I am staggered at what I experience.  I did not know it would be this way.

But second, Paul’s words seem to indicate that my grief is substantially different from those who have no hope.  The easy explanation is surely that I am confident of the resurrection of my Lord and my being translated to be with Him in glory.  I will see my Saviour, and I will see Kathy.  Her absence is only temporary.  Against the endless delight of eternity, the present sorrow is only a light affliction.  Furthermore, the suffering I feel is not meaningless, for a good and merciful God has determined that my eternity will be fuller and more joyful because of this.  I have, in this journey through sorrow, not doubted the goodness, wisdom, or promises of God.  And I have not been angry with God.  But I have told Him how empty I feel, and how I am in anguish.  I have someone to tell.  I tell my God.

The glorious assurance of the promises has not lessened my anguish.  It has surely changed my anguish, but the troubling I feel in my soul is not relieved.  It is just as it is, not as if some non-descript thing is troubling me.  I am completely aware of what troubles me.  I continue to love her deeply, and I am strangely different without her.  I sometimes think that perhaps if I hadn’t loved her so, I would not grieve over her so.  This is the price of love.

Last Sunday in church, the pastor prayed for all in the congregation who were single, and as he prayed, the staggering reality that I now belonged to this group forced its way into my awareness.  I am now in the other group.  And I wish I wasn’t.  Oh, how I wish I wasn’t!

Some readers may resonate with this; there are times when I long for the life to come. I hold to the hope when my exile will be over.

I am deeply grateful for the ministry that Christ has entrusted to me.  Without something to do, and without a purpose in my activities, I fear I would not do well.  I am overwhelmed with gratefulness that I am allowed to be about my Master’s business.  I so desperately want to be faithful unto the time of my own appointed death, and my Saviour has shown me how: carrying on at Back to the Bible Canada.  How thankful I am for my work.

But there is another matter.  It is about Peter’s description of the Christian life.  He calls us exiles.  I am beginning to understand.  For never have I felt so much like a stranger in this world.  I feel I am not where I belong.  My home was never in this sin-ravaged, weary and suffering world.  And I am on a journey until I make it home.  I feel I will never be satisfied until I arrive.  In the meantime, I remain an exile. All believers are.