I've been reminded over the past few weeks how difficult it can be to navigate through some of life's passages. As I have journeyed with my aging parents who are dealing with the crises of uncertain health and the pain of leaving behind a life that has defined them for years, I've wondered which is more difficult to embrace—a death that physically removes a person from our world, or a death that ironically requires a person to keep on living in a way they have not anticipated?

The question intensified for me as I attended the unofficial funeral of our family farm this past weekend. Packing up memories and dreams combined, I watched my mother courageously walk from the farm house door into a vehicle waiting to deliver her into respite care. It was not what she wanted to do but it was what she needed to do. Life sometimes does not give us a lot of choices. Meanwhile, in the hospital, my father was drawing upon every resolve of his will to overcome physical limitations and to find a new way to step into the future. Through the heartache of this process, I've been reminded of one unchanging truth. Where loss and grief bring us to the crossroads of doubt and uncertainty, we are met by Christ himself, a faithful Shepherd who gives us the grace to keep walking the distance.

I wonder if that's how it was for the disciples of old, as they navigated their way through the experience of Jesus' death on the cross. Struggling to move beyond the uncertainty of that moment, maybe they too thought about a funeral for a “life that would no longer be?” Gone were the familiar days of walking the countryside with Jesus. No longer would they enjoy the intimacy of his company. Memories of miracles and extraordinary occurrences were now simply experiences to be filed away; stories they would tell children and grandkids. All that remained on Good Friday was a defeated dead body in a tomb and a dark empty space that penetrated the hearts of those who had followed Christ. All approaching paths to this grave pointed to a sign that said “dead end.” No life. No hope. No expectations beyond this place.

Yet in the complexity of this aspect of the disciples' journey, there was a light shining. It was the glory and the hope of the resurrection morning! It was a sunrise unlike any other! From the empty tomb, the disciples found reason to keep on living beyond the death they had experienced! Their first steps out of the garden might have been a bit unsteady, after all this was quite a breaking news report they'd received. Jesus was alive. The tomb was empty. Death had been swallowed up in the victory of our God! Whether influenced by shock or sheer joy, no one in that moment could have calculated where the road ahead would take them. Maybe in the end, that is one of God's greatest gifts to us. We don't know what the journey ahead will look like, but we are given God's grace to go the distance, no matter what stage of the journey we might be navigating.

Major Julie Slous is corps officer at Winnipeg's Heritage Park Temple. She also serves as adjunct faculty at the College for Officer Training. In May 2009, Julie completed her doctoral studies in biblical preaching. Her thesis work centred on “Preaching a Disturbing Gospel─The Homiletic of The Salvation Army for Postmodern Times.” When not studying and writing, personal hobbies include reading, cooking, musical composition and, of course, listening to sermons! Married to Brian, she has three children.