The Empty Seat

On Friday, November 17, 2023, while on my way back home to Detroit from Evanston, IL, after another week of classes, I began to meditate deeply about “the empty seat.” The holidays were approaching, and I had come to understand that for many, Thanksgiving and Christmas specifically, are intense times of grief. The Lord gave me a word, which I would go on to preach that Sunday, entitled “Living In Between ‘I Miss You’ and ‘I Will See You Again.’” I gave a sermon on Jonathan’s grief about an empty seat at his father’s table that was supposed to be occupied by a friend he loved dearly—David, and connected it to the reality that, for a time, we too miss our loved ones who no longer sit at the tables they once sat at, during holidays and even in general. And I pointed us to the hope of the gospel, which, in a sense, points us forward to a feast at the Lord’s table where we will see our loved ones again, and both souls and seats will be filled.

Nevertheless, my love for visual art and poetry drives me to minister in different 

ways, so I reached out to an artist, and gave her the vision. The vision was to create a work of art that visualizes my immediate family—including my parents, brothers, and niece—at a table resembling the one where we gather for Thanksgiving, with one empty seat that represents our loved ones who once sat with us but are no longer here. We never finished the collaboration on that project, and maybe someday we will, but it is probably more poetic if we don’t. In other words, we see in part, but it does not yet appear what shall be, what we shall be, and who we shall be.

Oddly enough, when God gave me this vision, God didn’t reveal that one of those filled seats last year at this time would be an empty seat this year. The empty seat was actually for my grandparents, great aunt, and second cousin—but not my brother. This time around, the empty seat is surely for my brother, who was at the Thanksgiving table with us last year but will not be around the table this year. Wow, James, you were right; life really is a mist.

And while I sit with my grief and prepare to sit at the Thanksgiving table with my brother William’s absence for the first time ever, I dare not overlook the presence of family who are still with me and I with them. I can’t help but notice the absence of my brother, and I finally look ahead to the Lord’s table where I will sit alongside my brother again as we eat off that unleavened bread and fruit of the vine with our Lord, thanking Him for making all of this possible. May these tears that flow as I write this continue to water the soil of my faith for that day which the Lord has promised and prepared for us. I wrote this for myself, and now I’m sharing it with you: “Hope does not disappoint (Romans 5:5).” And hope does not disappoint because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Receive that love, beloved; you need it and are “gonna” need it. Grief cannot overcome you when hope has a hold on you, and while grief may be your portion in this holiday season and beyond, may joy be your portion as well. With hope and memories, they can coexist. In fact, true grief and joy come from the same place—God, who gives us joy in and even through God-given emotions of grief. So, as you too, in some ways, live in between “I miss you” and “I will see you again,” brothers and sisters, keep hope alive. What’s empty will soon again be filled.

"Grief cannot overcome you when hope has a hold on you."

Just like on Christmas, Thanksgiving Day, and New Year when our stomachs growl as we wait to eat, taking in the smell of food that’s been prepared and is being prepared, so do our souls ache as we take in the reality of an empty seat—a reminder of those who aren’t with us. Yet, even in this emptiness, we hold onto hope, looking forward to a greater feast where empty seats will be filled, and every longing will be satisfied.