While bowing in the shadow of the cross and kneeling in the radiant light of the empty tomb as it radiates past Holy Week and through Easter Tide, I am reminded of the stunning hope there is for those who have “fallen asleep” in Jesus (1 Thess. 4:13–18). And I am reminded, too, of a couple of Shorey shivas which have strengthened that hope in me.

The Jewish word shiva means seven. It’s the term used for what I view as a quite enviable ancient Jewish practice, in which family and friends gather for seven days to grieve, weep, laugh, remember, pray, sing, eat, and comfort one another—all in the shadow of a loved one’s death. Having experienced something very like Jewish shivas when my dad and brother died, I sometimes wish that we would practice Christian shivas to experience the healing and hope we all need.

My dad fell asleep in Jesus on December 25, 2005. People have often expressed sorrow that something so sad happened on Christmas Day. But it is meaningful that Dad’s death is linked to Jesus’s birth. Dad went to live in heaven on the day that celebrates when Jesus came to die on earth. Dad is with the One who came here to be with us. And because Jesus was born, Dad was born again. It just seems fitting, beautiful, somehow right. It doesn’t make Christmas sadder; it makes it happier.

We were grateful, as well, that Dad died during the holiday vacation season because it enabled most of his kids and grandkids to get together. This crowd of 50+ family members, consisting of students, military personnel, teachers, pastors, nurses, teachers—and lots more who would normally have found it hard to get away—was able to free up at least some of the holiday week that followed. Nearly all of Dad’s children, their spouses, and his grandchildren gathered from far and wide, as they were able.

For days we cried, reminisced, told Dad stories, laughed, ate, and then repeated all the above multiple times over. It was a Shorey shiva. This week of mourning death, remembering Dad, and loving on Mom and each other, lives on in our memory as among the sweetest memories of all.

Mom certainly thought so. She has gone Home now, too. But if you had observed her during our Shorey shiva and heard her during the eleven months she outlived Dad, you would know that she considered our shiva a life highlight. She treasured that memory. All the people she loved most in life were gathered to cherish the one person she loved the very most (other than Jesus). Amazingly, according to her own words, it made the week after Dad died one of the happiest of her whole earthly journey.

Another Shorey Shiva

Years later Gayline and I drove several long hours to be with family for a couple of days. This time, we journeyed to remember, weep, laugh, love, and comfort in the shadow of my brother’s passing (he and I were members of the same “cancer club”).

We traveled far to linger long, in order to enter more fully into the family’s grief and to allow each other to find comfort together. We overcame my own poor health, some serious pain, and a long trip to share the family embrace that awaited us; and we did so almost as much for our sake as for the sakes of our sister (in-love) and nieces and nephews. We needed it, as did the family. We had loved and had been loved by my brother. And it hurt that he was gone.

This was another Shorey shiva—a loving time of family gathered, a sad time of losses grieved, a comforting time of presence felt, a bonding time of hugs exchanged, and a happy time of memories cherished—all bathed in true Christian hope because Jesus died and rose again.

Human grief is not meant to be borne alone (Rom. 12:15; Acts 8:2). Somehow it feels a bit lighter when others are around. Not always, but at least sometimes. I wish grief were always that predictable and tame! If only merely getting together would banish grief for good! But no, grief stalks more relentlessly than that. And yet, being together provides help to cope with it all.

Lingering in the Shadow 

Such extended times spent while lingering in the shadow also have a healthy sobering effect on those who remain (Ps. 90:9–12; Eccles. 7:2–4). This may be especially so with me, since I am engaged in my own battle with a deadly disease. Our Shorey shiva couldn’t help but make me wonder: “O Lord, will the next one be for me?” Who knows? All I can say is: It made me think, and such thinking is good.

How Is This Not Depressing?

Some may wonder how this is not depressing and why I’d write of it during the Easter season. But I write this precisely because it is the resurrection season. The resurrection of our Lord is what gives hope in our grief. Shivas without an Easter-embracing faith are exercises in despair—tragic reminders that loved ones have died and they are no more.

But our Lord Jesus Christ has reformed and revolutionized shivas into celebrations of the death-defying and conquering work of Christ. We who live on this side of his resurrection do not grieve or keep shiva in hopeless despair. Without denying the horror and grief of death, we grieve in hope. And we do so because our grief is informed by the empty tomb.

We are going to be with the Lord and with all who believe. There, we will live forever in glad reunion with the Living God and with all who trust in his Son. And there, we will always “be with the Lord” (1 Thess. 4:13–18). My dad and my brother woke up to the smile of Jesus because they fell asleep in his arms. The risen Christ has produced that hope through his conquest of death (1 Cor. 15:50–57; Heb. 2:14–15; 1 Pet. 1:3–5).

And so, we conclude that because Christmas has led to Good Friday, which has led to Easter, which has led to the ascension and coronation of the Christ, Christian shivas do not end in despair. Rather, they culminate in everlasting comfort and hope.