Saying Goodnight, Not Goodbye

I am now an orphan. My dad died in 1993. My mother died April 3, 2020. I was on the other side of the country when my dad died –  4,500 km away. I was 800 km away when my mum died. But I had said my farewells to my mum four years before. You see, my mum had dementia over the previous four years. She did not recognize any of her four children anymore.

Was I sad to see her buried beside my father in a lovely setting where the kangaroos hopped majestically through the cemetery? Absolutely. But I had had time to adjust to the fact that since she was 90 – time had had no meaning for her. 

But I have the absolute assurance that I will be seeing both my dad and mum on that Resurrection Morning. Both lived their relationship with God. Both died knowing Whom they believed in. Both went to their graves needing to be restored to new bodies and new minds. Both went to sleep knowing the next thing they hear will be the trumpet call of God. They will rise renewed. For me it was “Goodnight – see you in the Morning.”

I contrast that with a situation I had to deal with as a school principal. A 16-year-old student was instantly killed while riding his motorbike in the bush and collided with an immovable object. His younger brother on a motorbike behind him saw it all unfold in front of his eyes that Sunday afternoon nearly 30 years ago. The family were not Christians. I remember the look of overwhelming despair in the eyes of the parents as the chaplain and I visited the family on Monday morning. There was no sense of an eternity to follow. It was the absolute end as far as they were concerned.

With permission from the family we took his class down to the funeral. It was a celebration of his life. His sporting memorabilia were on display in the hall. In attendance were the “Who’s Who” of the Australian sporting world. But the thing that caught my eye was the large banner that was spread across the stage. It read “Vale Phillip.” For the mourners – it was a final “Goodbye.”

And again I contrast that with another funeral – this student in early primary school. Killed in a tragic playground accident. The parents and school community were devastated. A promising life cut tragically short as well. A small white casket placed into the ground. But there was also a sense of hope that the Resurrection Morning would bring a great reunion. 

Schools have more than their fair share of pain and loss within their communities. Adventist Schools can provide a sense of hope in the midst of grief. It is not that it hurts less. The pain can be overwhelming at times. But we can provide a context of God and eternity. We can simply be saying “Goodnight”, rather than a final “Goodbye.” Adventist Education is indeed distinctly different. There is Hope. There will be a Great Reunion.

Author

David McClintock

David McClintock has served as a Bible teacher for most of his professional life. He has also been principal of six schools and a Conference and Union Education Director. He has twice returned full time to the High School Bible classroom from administration and has stepped back from being the Associate Education Director at the South Pacific Division when he was invited to be the principal at Avondale School, Australia, as school land is what he enjoys. He most enjoys engaging learners in knowing, loving and serving God. In July 2019, he was appointed the SPD Education Director.