I’ll Be Around

Joshua set up the twelve stones that had been in the middle of the Jordan at the spot where the priests who carried the ark of the covenant had stood. And they are there to this day.

All across small New England towns, monuments stand on quiet town greens memorializing lost soldiers. Long ago stonecutters carved into small granite obelisks the names of local boys who fought and never came home—from the American Revolution, the War Between the States, World Wars I and II. On an average summer afternoon, these monuments stand in silent testimony as kids throw footballs and families picnic. Many names are known now only to genealogy buffs, but nobody would ever think of taking the monuments down. After all these years, those names still matter.

Throughout the Old Testament, the people of God created altars and monuments at places where God met and sustained them. It’s not much of a surprise, then, that here, as the Israelites crossed the Jordan into their new home in Canaan, Joshua built a monument to commemorate the moment. The event called for celebration and remembrance. For as long as people came down to the Jordan to water their cattle or wash their clothes, they’d see the stone pile and recall God’s care.

While the creation of this monument made sense at the moment, the author of Joshua included an interesting phrase that he repeats elsewhere in the book: “And they are there to this day.” Years after God’s miraculous acts, the monuments still stood. Generations later, when the particular names and faces had been forgotten, the testimony of God’s presence and provision still summoned the people to awe and praise. These altars weren’t to recall the Israelites’ victories but God’s.

Much of grief work is monument building. We remember our loved one and create monuments—physical and emotional—to cement our people forever in our hearts and memories. We’re worried we’ll forget, so we save their clothes and create photo albums and form nonprofits. But like all human endeavors, these mini memorials will fade and crumble with time. Their importance will be forgotten, like those obelisks in New England towns that few will even stop to look at.

Our passage today offers us a hopeful contrast, however. God’s testimony of faithfulness will last forever. Like the memorials Joshua built in the Promised Land, the altars to God’s glory that we build in our grief will never crumble away. As you grieve the loss of your person, consider the altars and memorials you are building today. Whose work are you celebrating? Let your grief manifest worship for our unchanging, almighty God.

I remember the days of long ago; I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done.

I have set the LORD always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

A Prayer: God, I miss my person. I want to keep and create and build things that last to remind me always of him/her. I’m afraid that I will forget and that my person will be forgotten. Keep me from unhealthy striving to preserve what has been lost. Remind me that all people are like grass that withers, but you, Lord, last forever. Open my eyes to your work all around me, and give me the courage to build memorials to you above all others. Don’t let me forget how good you have been and always will be to me. Amen.

An Activity for Today: Get creative and draw! In the blank space on this page, create two monuments—one to your person and one to God’s work in your life. Monuments signify our accomplishments, but they also mark moments in time. Think creatively here, and don’t let your drawing skills (or lack thereof!) inhibit you. What shape will your monuments be? What writing will be on them? In what context will you place them? Let this artistic exercise open your heart to a deeper understanding of God’s goodness. Let it be a celebration, not only of your person, but also of the God who promises to never leave you.

A Song to Encourage Your Heart: “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” by Eclipse 6