It Is Well With My Soul

During the season of Easter, I love to focus on the life and resurrection of Jesus. It is THE reason I celebrate. It offers the hope that infuses every pore of who I am and what I do. It is why I can live the life that I live. It is the reason that I hold fast to a faith that defies the logical thoughts of my mind.

I do not like to pause, however, on the part of the holy week that precedes the resurrection. This element causes me pain. It involves loss. This part of the story forces me to gaze into the eyes of darkness and death. In the midst of this reflection, there is one phrase that helps as I ponder the great sacrifice that Jesus made for me and the powerful effect of the greatest death in all of human history. It is not dissimilar to “It is finished,” the phrase that the Son of God uttered in his final minutes on the cross. The expression that comes back to assure me in my reflections of death is “It is well.”

There is power in the hymns of old.

Of the many hymns that I remember from my childhood growing up in a traditional Baptist Church, a single hymn bears a distinct honor in my young memories. There were other hymns like “Just As I Am” and “I Surrender All” that would probably qualify as the most sung in my church. They were ready for immediate deployment as an altar call when the last reluctant soul would need all 6 of the stanzas to make a decision to come forward. Of course “Amazing Grace” and “Nothing But the Blood” stand as bedrock in the foundations of my youth.

I remember singing another hymn as clearly as I remember what I had for breakfast today. I was 16-years-old and the song was “It Is Well With My Soul.” At the time, I was a part of a teen ensemble, a group of young kids who knew they liked to sing and couldn’t find a garage band to join. The next best place to showcase your voice was in church. My group had been asked to sing this song for an occasion which would become a repeating theme throughout my life. I was singing at the funeral of a high school student who had been fatally killed in a car crash.

I don’t always understand death.

Death is difficult to process, regardless of the circumstances. However, some deaths are more understandable than others. An aging grandparent whose demise comes in gradual steps through a progressive disease that slowly erodes their vitality. An excessive and overworking man who drives himself to a heart attack through systematic stress and bad habits. An obese woman who slowly eats her way to multiple organ failures. These I can at least understand. They make sense in some small way. But looking into the eyes of death in a child or teen is something that still tightens around my heart like a vice-grip.

I was to see more than my share of those eyes that should have held a sparkle of possibility, a hint of wild dreams. After the first memorial, my young married life led me to more encounters with young lives cut short. As I learned that I was carrying my first child, those lifeless eyes entered my sphere again. We were invited to a hospital room where a mom delivered her anencephalic baby, one that would not survive for more than a few minutes. He had been born without part of his skull and brain, and the parents hoped for life until his last extinguished breath.

Later that same day, after grieving with our friends, my husband and I drove to attend the funeral of a young teenage girl, who suffered an abrupt end in a fiery car crash. I did not have the heart to share my joy at the life growing inside me as my friends endured pain and sorrow.

Sadly, the number of grieving parents I have encountered didn’t stop there. Young children who fell victim to cancer, car accidents, suicide, accidental death. Each time I felt like some unseen force was sucking the very breath from me. My heart felt as heavy as lead within my chest.

With each devastating blow and my subsequent attempt to comprehend, I returned again and again to that first time. I returned to that first song, chosen by the parents of the teen, that somehow released comfort in my heart. “It Is Well.” It was a song that breached the depths of my despair, and I didn’t quite know why until I learned of its origins.

Pain, Heartbreak, and Loss

Horatio G. Spafford was enjoying a successful life as a lawyer and businessman when he abruptly lost his only son to scarlet fever in 1871. In the same year, the great Chicago fire consumed most of his real estate investments, with this devastating financial loss compounding his personal loss. His wife and four remaining daughters offered solace and love, however, as life continued on and his business eventually began to revive. Two years later, he planned a trip to Europe for the family. In November of 1873, Horatio’s wife and four children set sail on the long voyage across the Atlantic. At the last moment, an unexpected business situation arose that detained him and forced him to defer his trip for a few days. He would shortly join his family when the problem was resolved.

Four days into the transatlantic voyage of the French ocean liner Ville du Havre, a collision with another ship occurred. Quickly the mother of Spafford’s children gathered her daughters and prayed for God’s will. She prayed that He would spare them or help them to endure whatever might come. In only 12 minutes, the ship sank, the icy waters swallowing Spafford’s four beautiful daughters. His wife, who survived amidst only 25% of those on board, telegrammed him nine days later from Wales, “Saved alone.”

Grief stricken, with only two words of communication from his wife, Horatio began the long journey to meet her. After four days of sailing, the captain informed Spafford that the ship was approaching the site of the tragedy. He looked at the rolling waves of the ocean and stared at the black depths that held his beloved children. He then penned the words of this song.

It Is Well With My Soul

When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul. (Chorus)

 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate

And hath shed his own blood for my soul. (Chorus)

 

My sin, oh, the bliss of his glorious thought

My sin, not in part but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

Praise the Lord, praise the Lord O my soul. (Chorus)

 

Oh Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight,

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul.

 

Chorus

It is well (it is well)

With my soul (with my soul)

It is well, it is well, with my soul.

 

Reflections on Mary

I believe somehow that Mary, the mother of Jesus, found this peace when she watched the soldiers beat and crucify her very own son. In “The Passion of the Christ,” there is a vivid scene where Mary wipes up the blood after Jesus was scourged until his bones were exposed. What pain, what suffering for a mother to endure the loss of a child. For Mary, it was a loss that was especially brutal and incomprehensible. To a mother, losing a child is gut wrenching, whether the child is stillborn, 7 years old, 19 years old, or 33 years old.

I do believe that Mary, like Horatio, found a way to settle her soul in peace with the divine help of the Creator. She found a depth of trust in God that transcended her desire to understand what had happened. She found a hope that anchored her soul in the expectancy of life that would follow an untimely death. She found an abiding, deep and profound peace that enabled her to say, “It is well with my soul.” I am sure that she cried many tears. Perhaps you find yourself crying many tears in the midst of a loss or difficulty.

Tears

A close friend of mine revealed a fascinating aspect of emotion brought about by God’s own design. “Tears that you cry due to strong emotions contain chemical anti-depressants, chemicals that control pain and hormones that reduce stress.” The Bible tells us that the tears that we shed in our sorrow are important to God.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”    — Psalm 56:8

Hope Springs Eternal

But death and tears are not the end of the story. Jesus led all who came before him and all who would come after him into a victory of life after death. His suffering, his blood, and most importantly his resurrection have given us the pathway to finding peace in the midst of any of the challenges we may face on earth. Even the tears, a visible sign of grief, will be wiped away when we experience the life that follows death.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”   — Revelation 21:4

This Easter season and at every challenging season of your life, may you experience anew the profound strength and peace that only the hope of Jesus’ blood, his death, and most powerfully his resurrection can bring. May you find a place of serenity where you can decisively proclaim, “It is well with my soul.”

This blog was inspired and dedicated to my friends who have experienced the loss of a child, especially those who are walking through this season right now. Our prayers are with you.