Jesus died for our sins—committed and inherited. And what that means is that Christ’s death has transformed this death. Because of His death, this death is not merely a return of dust to dust. This burial today is not an act of finality. It is an act of gardening—yes, even on this frigid February afternoon. We are planting a seed today, a seed that will one day bloom into beauty unimaginable.

Yesterday, I had the heartbreaking privilege of conducting a graveside service for Constance Neudorf, the daughter of a young couple from our church, who passed away on the same day that she was born. Several dozen of us gathered in the cold to pray, sing, and cry together. What follows, with permission, is a slightly edited version of the message I shared.

Today, together, we’re here to face the awfulness of death. We’re not going to hide from that or run from that. As we commit the body of little Constance to the ground we remember God’s curse on the sin of our father Adam: that because of his sin, he and his children would “return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return’” (Genesis 3:19).

Adam was a gardener, used to putting things in the ground, and one day he himself would go into the ground. It sounds so symmetrical—from the ground, to the ground; dust to dust—but it’s not the way it’s supposed to be. We were supposed to go from dust to glory. We were made from the dirt to be more than dirt; to be living images of the living God who would walk with him in eternal fellowship. We came out of the ground, but we were never supposed to go back to it.

There is something about death, no matter the age of the one who dies, that shocks us with its unnaturalness and its wrongness. This is not how it should be. And the shock and horror of death is accentuated when the one who dies is not old and aged, but young and small and innocent. There is one kind of sadness in seeing a blazing fire slowly burn down into ashes until the last glowing coal is extinguished. It is another matter altogether to witness the kindling snuffed out before the fire even has a chance to burn.

Nothing here seems right. Death seems wrong, and this death seems especially wrong.

But if I may, I would draw our attention to another death in history that, if it is possible, is even more wrong, even more shocking in its sense of un-fittingness.

I speak of the death of a son who was more perfect than any human child. A son who filled His father with delight. A son who was truly perfect, unstained by Adam’s sin; a son who had been given many chances to do wrong and never caved in once over 33 years. A son who took upon Himself the sins of the world and suffered in the place of His people from all time and all places.

I believe we have good reason to be confident that on the cross, Jesus died for this little one we’ve gathered here for today. We know that we are all sinners, not only by choice, but also by nature.

Read More