My friend, Ryan, slipped through the veil last night. I found out this morning as soon as I woke. A cloud of grief has cluttered my thoughts and feelings today. Tonight, I’ve found some comfort in a strange place: reading and re-reading Isaiah 21:1–10, especially the first four verses. Whatever the historical referent of these words, they are poignant expressions of grief, grief over the sight of destruction. It is helpful to have words to say, especially words we would consider to be from God.

An oracle of the wilderness of the sea

Like the storms in the Negev roll through, from the wilderness, from a scary land it has come.

A hard vision has been declared to me. The traitor betrays, and the destroyer destroys .

Come up, Elam. Besiege, Media. All her groaning I have brought to an end.

So my insides are filled with anguish. Pain has taken hold of me, like the pain of one giving birth. I’m too twisted up to hear. Too horrified to see straight.

My heart has staggered. Horror has taken hold.

The sunrise, something desirable, has become a source of anxiety.

Each line in some way seems fitting, but to explain would be too personal. I know these sentiments are not shared on the other side of the veil, where Ryan is. I do, however, think they are understandable, even there, at least by Jesus.

Ryan and I shared a lot of conversations over the top of Greek and Hebrew Bibles. We blogged. We talked about word processors and workflows for taking notes. It feels fitting to type this up in some way for him. Scripture is an unsearchable source of comfort. I know Ryan would agree.