Lament for a Son

Nicholas Wolterstorff is a professor of philosophical theology at Yale Divinity School. In Lament for a Son, he reflects on the loss of his twenty-five year old son Eric, who died in a mountain climbing accident. Wolterstorff recalls fond memories of his son and the pain of his absence. Wolterstorff gives advice for those who want to comfort grieving friends and reflects on hope. The depth of reflection in this brief book has been helpful for me as I am living alongside people who are grieving. In our congregation, a mother recently lost her son. I plan to reread this book again and again. I would do a terrible injustice to this book if I merely described or summarized it. I would encourage any and all to read it; it’s brief but deep. The following are snippets from the book.

“Born on a snowy night in New Haven, he died twenty-five years later on a snowy slope in Kaisergebirger.”

 “He loved the mountains, loved them passionately…his love was his death.”

“We took him for granted. Perhaps we all take each other too much for granted. The routines of life distract us; our own pursuits make us oblivious; our anxieties and sorrows, unmindful. The beauties of the familiar go unremarked. We do not treasure each other enough.”

“It’s so wrong, so profoundly wrong, for a child to die before its parents. It’s hard enough to bury our parents. But that we expect.”

“Death is the great leveler, so our writers have always told us. Of course they are right. But they have neglected to mention the uniqueness of each death – the solitude of suffering which accompanies that uniqueness. We say, ‘I know how you are feeling.’ But we don’t.”

“I shall look at the world through tears. Perhaps I shall see things that dry-eyed I could not see.”

“There’s a hole in the world now. In the place where he was, there’s now just nothing. A center, like no other, of memory and hope and knowledge and affection which once inhabited this earth is now gone.”

“What do you say to someone who is suffering? Some people are gifted with words of wisdom. For such, one is profoundly grateful. There were many such for us. But not all are gifted in that way. Some blurted out strange, inept things. That’s OK too. Your words don’t have to be wise. The heart that speaks is heard more than words spoken.”

“The world looks different now. The pinks have become purple, the yellows brown. Mountains now wear crosses on their slopes.”

“For a long time I knew that God is not the impassive, unresponsive, unchanging being portrayed by classical theologians…but strangely his suffering I never saw. God is not only the God of the sufferers but the God who suffers. The pain and fallenness of humanity have entered into his heart. Through the prism of my tears I have seen a suffering God…Instead of explaining our suffering God shares it.”

“In the valley of suffering, despair and bitterness are brewed. But there also character is made. The valley of suffering is the vale of soul making…How do I receive my suffering as blessing while repulsing the obscene thought that God jiggled the mountain to make me better?”  

“Will I hear Eric say someday, really now I mean: ‘Hey Dad, I’m back.’ ‘But remember, I made all this, and raised my Son from the dead, so…’ OK. So goodbye Eric, goodbye, goodbye, until we see.”