Comfort through worship
Martha Olawale
I still remember details about that day like it was yesterday. I received a call from my uncle, asking me to stop by his house when I get off work. It was not the first time I visited him and his family. As I left for his house that evening, there was no way I could have guessed the intensity of what was about to hit my heart.
I could only expect that he missed my pretty face and wanted to catch up. However, the news I received changed my view on life. After a quick chat, he told me that earlier in the day, he received a call that my brother just died. If there was ever a time, I had an out-of-body experience, it was that day. Until that night, I thought death was for older people and those distant from you. I was in my late twenties, but it was my first loss and the pain was indescribable.
I questioned my uncle and none of the answers to the why, how, or what, reduced my pain. I was so unprepared for the hard squeeze on my heart that I had no clue how to deal with it and all the questions jumping through my mind. What will happen to mum and how would the news of the death of her first son affect her already frail mind? I could not blame God because I knew it was not His doing. Nonetheless, I questioned how God could allow me to feel the immense pain that gripped my heart and the thought of waking up each morning was unbearable.
Often, we forget how much God is mindful of us and in our quest to alleviate our uncertainties, we ignore the soothing touch of the father.
We blind our eyes of faith momentarily and surrender to the pressure of our present predicament. We nudge off that gentle tug that reminds us we are not alone but loved by a gracious God. Psalm 46:1b (NIV), states “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Truth is, as children of God, He is committed to making sure we pull through all the challenges that come with walking through life.
Going to church the Sunday following my brother’s passing was out of “nowhere else to turn to.” I did not expect a simple act of worship to be refreshing enough for my wounded heart. I did not want to dance, but I felt such a relief in worship that I did not want to stop either. I was held by my father and unrestricted by the tears that poured down my face. I realized that as I worshipped, my focus was more on Jesus. It made me more conscious of His presence and tenderness, reducing the pressure of my discomfort.
The pain was present but so was God and the joy of knowing that I had the Almighty holding me at such a time became an anchor for me. Sixteen years after, I still cry sometimes because I miss my brother, and God does not judge me for that. He is committed to standing by me for as long as it takes for me to heal.
The act of worship is not tied to the pleasant moments of our lives, but our determination to honor God regardless of the dictates of the moment. Like the fig tree without its leaves and the vine without its grapes (Habakkuk 3:17-18), regardless of my present, I will rejoice in His presence. Through worship, we enjoy the majesty of God’s splendor, leading us to experience a wealth of joy despite our pain.
I lost another brother just a few years after and then my mother. While each loss was as painful as the first, I knew where to turn to—God’s presence. I have tasted the comfort and joy that comes through worship from my first loss, and I now crave it as my sacred place. It weakens the catalyst for the pain and magnifies my focus on Jesus. Worship is more than how I feel; joy, gratitude, pain or weakness. It is about trust in the God I cannot see yet honor with my emotions.
I find peace in the fact that through worship, it is possible for me to face many mornings, not because I am strong but because God is strong for me. Martha Olawale
