When a Young Person Dies

So last Tuesday, I attended a funeral at Friedens Church of Washington, the church I used to serve. It was for a young man, William Lehrmann, who died just a month shy of his 26th birthday. I had William in confirmation, and though that was over 10 years ago, I can still picture him sitting in the room where we had class, quiet and reserved, yet always thinking … always thinking. The boy was bright, gifted even. I’m told he had a photographic memory. But being able to recall obscure facts or remember gobs of information was not his strongest attribute. It was the way he saw things—his perspective. Every so often, he’d ask a question, a very interesting question, one which showed a depth of understanding, approached usually from a bizarre angle. An onlooker may think he was just being odd or obtuse, but William was a serious thinker, and I greatly valued his insight, his perspective, his noble quest for understanding.

In my own view, this gift to be able to see things differently, a sort of “third way,” or bird’s eye view, is one of the rarest and most precious gifts of our Creator. Often misunderstood or taken as out-of-touch or just plain weird, such folks can see into this world with alarming precision, unmasking the truth from a sea of mirages. Their wisdom and insight is not often seen (or heeded) at the moment, but only with the passage of time do we give credence to their perspective.

At the funeral, I learned William claimed the life of the “road less traveled,” expressed so eloquently in Robert Frost’s poem. I see this to be true, and I am glad that William came to understand this about himself.

Though I have never had to preside at the funeral of a young person, I am not a stranger to the gravity of the loss and grief, emptiness and aimlessness. A friend of mine committed suicide when he was not yet 21, and Mark’s death had a profound impact on me, especially on my faith. Indeed, it was only in the pit of despair, the time I felt farthest away from our Creator, that God was ever able to quiet my soul and help me to latch on to the grace that frees us all. I do not wish that crisis of faith on anyone, so gut-wrenching as your very soul wrestles with the purpose of life. And yet, I also know that as stubborn and arrogant as we human beings are, sometimes it is only when we are in the belly of the whale that we can ever realize our dependency on the Lord. I pray for those near to William, that they will find their strength in God.

Still, it is so sad when a young person dies. You feel so bad for the family and friends, especially the parents. I can still see Mark’s mom during the funeral service, doubled over as she was, crying out in anguish, a kind of wail that comes from deep within the soul.

And then selfishly, you think of your own life. I’m a parent now. I wasn’t when Mark died, but I am now, and I don’t even want to think about the possibility that Ben or Aaron could die.

And when a young person dies, it disrupts our sense of the way the world should be. It’s so unfair, so utterly unfair.

If you are looking for words from me to explain all this, to answer, “why?” then I’m sorry, but I’m just as helpless in this as the rest of us.

But I do know this. If we are open to it, God can help us get through the trials of this life. The Lord doesn’t take the storms away; God helps us to weather them. Maybe that helps and maybe it doesn’t at this particular time in your life. And yet, one of the greatest gifts of God is that our Lord understands. Even when we don’t have the words to say, the words to even think cause the pain is so intense that we’re just numb, God hears the groaning of our hearts.

The family shared something William had written when he applied for law school. Interestingly, he wrote about his grandfather. Strange how he could have just as easily been talking about his own life and premature death.

On a cold day in February of 2003, my grandfather died. It was a premature ending to a life lived with passion, drive and purpose. … His life well-lived, yet a passion never quite satisfied. … Now that I stand on the brink of graduation, I understand his urgency and sense of immediacy. Life does pass by much too quickly, and our objectives must be clear, well-defined and urgent. In reviewing my own life, I find the common themes of honor, tradition and purpose mirror those of my grandfather. … Never one to just blindly follow, I have always taken the less traveled road and have sometimes been forced to walk alone. I am not afraid or ashamed to take my own path; I believe in doing the right thing. My parents say that I was “born old,” but I think that perhaps I was “born stubborn.” I do not believe in doing the wrong thing, and I do not have much tolerance for those that do. I believe in honesty, integrity, simplicity and character. These tenants make up the backbone of the individual. With these principles, everything else can be taught; without them, there is really no need to teach anything. In life, character is everything.

William—rest in peace. You lived more fully in your short life than most ever live. I will miss you.

My prayers are with the family and friends of William, especially his parents, Hollis and Elizabeth, and his sisters Victoria and Alex. May the loving presence of our God give you strength and comfort in your grief, and may you discover again the power of grace.

But now thus says the Lord,
   he who created you, O Jacob,
   he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
   I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
   and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
   and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
   the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
     -Isaiah 43:1-3a

Ron Trimmer is pastor of Hope United, a new church in Georgetown, Texas. Click here to visit Hope United’s website.