I think I bought the pants before the pandemic began. I can’t remember, to be honest. But we’d had a series of deaths in our small congregation, and being a work-from-home mom, I didn’t own anything quite right for a funeral since I hadn’t attended one in a while. I found myself standing at a rack of black slacks in the women’s department of a chain store, rifling through the sizes and styles, checking the price tags. Don’t spend too much, I thought. You won’t need to wear these that often. I grabbed a pair, tried them on, and then wore them to three funerals in less than a month.
I wore them twice last fall for two funerals of church members who’d died of Covid. I put them on again this spring when a church member lost her brother after a long illness. I refused to wear them to my friend Sue’s funeral; I just couldn’t bring myself to put them on because these pants meant someone had died. I never wore them for any other reason.
Yesterday, I reached to the back of my closet and pulled out my funeral pants. I paired them with a flowy top and some heels that have seen better days. I grabbed a cardigan since the weather had turned cool. And I prayed for my husband as he prepared to preach the funeral of the twin daughters born prematurely to one of his closest friends. Two nights in a row this week, the phone has rung with calls from church members, both of whom suddenly lost their adult children to death.
“How long, O Lord?” I have prayed many times this week. In the night while fighting with my own body and the pain that seems to rule it. After phone calls that break your heart for the suffering of others. In a funeral service where the parents weep for the babies whose lives ended on the day of their birth. In my journal where everything pours out in an inky, messy lament. Psalm 13 becomes a litany of broken prayers when suffering and sorrows feel too heavy to bear.
“How long, O Lord?”
“Have You forgotten me down here?”
“How long will I have sorrow in my heart?”
What are we really praying for when we cry out “How long?” Are we praying for an end of our present sufferings? Yes. Are we praying for life circumstances to change? Yes. Are we praying for physical or emotional or relational healing? Yes. Are we praying for everything that’s wrong to be made right? Yes. Are we praying for an end to death and sorrow? Yes.
So really, when we’re praying “How long, O Lord?” we’re praying, “Come quickly, Lord.” Because it’s the return of Christ that will set everything to right. It’s the return of Christ that will raise the dead in Him in glorious resurrection. It’s the return of Christ that will soundly defeat our last and final enemy—death. Come quickly, Lord. Come get us. Come free us. Come win the final battle. Come back, Jesus.
The last enemy to be destroyed is death, and its days are surely numbered. There will come an end to weeping and suffering and pain. An end to loss and grief and missing people so much you can’t breathe. An end to the empty side of the bed. An end to arms that ache for missing babies. An end to loneliness and mortality and fear of what may happen. Jesus will make all things new. It will all be a brand-new beginning that lasts forever. No endings. No goodbyes. No death.
We won’t need funeral pants in heaven.
It will all be a brand-new beginning that lasts forever. No endings. No goodbyes. No death. We won't need funeral pants in heaven. Share on XGlenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
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