The Grave Shall Not Keep Him

His name is Ray Reddel, but for the last 21 years I’ve called him Dad. The government’s birth, deaths, and marriage department will register his death as 8 June 2020. But they are wrong. Dad has not died, he has only walked through the veil to meet the Saviour he has longed to see beyond his eyes of faith; now face to face.

This is the part where we, who are left behind, comfort each other with phrases like, “He was a good man.” But he wasn’t. Dad was a sinner. Like I am. Like you are. Dad’s confidence in this life wasn’t that he was ‘a good man’, it was that Jesus’ righteousness had been given to him in a great exchange, as Jesus took the punishment of sin, absorbing the wrath of God on Dad’s behalf, he not only paid a blood debt, but freely placed him in a position of worth and acceptance in the presence of God.

Dad’s favourite song to sing in his final days was ‘Amazing Grace’—it was more than a well known lyric to him, it was his only hope. The grave shall not keep him. He is sleeping now, and though the night is dark, we join with him through eyes of faith, to wait expectantly for the dawn. The Son is coming. The trumpet blast that Dad’s ears were tuned to for his entire life, will carry his name with an irresistible beckoning, “Arise!”

Through many dangers, toils and snares
We have already come
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far
And Grace will lead us home

Grace has led Dad home. He faced his fair share of trials, toils, and snares, yet even as he traversed that rugged narrow path, right until the end, he’d turn to those who’d bend to hear his faltering voice and whisper with all the might he could muster, “Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you.”

I loved my Dad. We weep at the parting that feels so raw and torn, but we grieve in the right direction. We grieve looking up. We grieve with hope. For the grave shall not keep him.