I can still remember the tears as they came washing over me when the first note of “Come Thou Fount” began to play that Sunday morning in April. It was a few weeks after the COVID-19 pandemic halted society, and our church, like most, had moved to online services. In our little apartment in Louisville, my wife and I turned on our church’s livestream and wept throughout the service, but especially as we struggled to sing the words of the song:
Come Thou Fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy Grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
In the early hours of that Saturday morning, we received the news that no one wants to hear—doctors in the emergency room of a local hospital located a tumor in my mother’s brain. Seemingly healthy, my mother had been dealing with severe headaches, vomiting, and fogginess that week, so my mom and dad decided to go to the emergency room the night before.
My mother was transported that morning to a hospital in St. Louis and began her (and our) journey with cancer. What ensued was a series of doctors’ appointments, testing and lab work, conversations about treatment plans and survival rates, radiation, and more. Initial testing provided an even more concerning diagnosis, an aggressive cancer had metastasized throughout my mother’s body—affecting her brain, lungs, and uterus.
The next few weeks were a whirlwind. My mom returned home and began treatment. We took each day one at a time as a family and initially saw her body respond well. Her energy and functionality returned and there was hope. The next weekend we celebrated Easter together with our whole family—her parents and sisters, my mom and dad, siblings, and their kids. It was a sweet time spent crying with one another, encouraging my mother, and celebrating our risen Savior. What we didn’t know was that this Easter would be our last one together.
In the following days, my mom’s treatment became less effective and by the weekend she was in serious pain and lost nearly all motor functionality. On Monday morning, we made the decision to take my mother to the hospital for what turned out to be the last time. I drove home to Illinois early that morning and helped my dad and sisters pack up the car. Bound by a wheelchair, she left her home as I pushed her out to the car. I buckled her in, and she faintly said her last, “I love you, Luke.”
My mom spent the next four days in the hospital alone due to the pandemic while my family stayed in a local hotel tethered to our phones for any chance to FaceTime with her with the help of her nurses. As she deteriorated and after doctors gave their last prognosis, she spent her final four days in hospice care as my family huddled outside her window; while my siblings and I spent one night each inside with her.
My mother, Linda Kay Hahn, passed away from endometrial stromal sarcoma (uterine cancer) on April 28, 2020, with a peaceful smile on her face. Twenty-three days after we discovered a tumor, her battle with cancer ended as she entered the presence of the Lord.
In less than a month, the very real and tangible effects of sin and our fallen world made its presence known in our lives. Unfortunately, so many of us have experienced similar stories marred with tragedy and devastating loss. Whether you’ve battled cancer or a miscarriage, mental distress or the loss of a job, life is bound to make the effects of sin known to you.
Within that first week of discovering the tumor, my mother was resolved and at peace with any possible outcome of her diagnosis. She frequently would say, “God is in control,” and this new battle did not deter her from reiterating this belief. In fact, it seemingly strengthened her trust in Him. She maintained her kind demeanor, joyful disposition, and smile up until she began to lose her ability to speak to us and function on her own.
How can a woman facing an end stage cancer diagnosis do that? How could she go from normal life to holding her radiation mask with a smile?
Only by the power of God and a steadfast hope in the promises of God.
For my mom, her joy was not tethered to her circumstances. Her joy was not affected by the fact that outwardly she was wasting away. Her joy was rooted in the hope of God.
In a sermon on Romans 5:1-8, John Piper said, “The chief cause of joy in the Christian life is the eager expectation that we will see and share in the glory of God. Hope for God’s glory is the heart of our gladness.”
Though her suffering and trial was short, she understood that hope in God was reason enough for her to rejoice. She was able to embody the truths found in passages like Romans 5, Romans 12, and 2 Corinthians 4, where hope and joy are closely intertwined. The affliction and suffering she encountered could be tackled head-on with joy because she trusted in the promises of God and His plan for her life.
In my mother’s cancer journey, she discipled me on how to find joy amidst sorrow. I hope the lessons I learned can be helpful to you if you’ve walked through a similar season or whenever you do. So, what have I learned from her example?
LESSONS LEARNED IN SORROW
She taught me to place my hope in eternal things. Much like what Paul wrote in his second letter to the Corinthians, “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” Or in his letter to the Colossians, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” Amidst trial, it is hard to look above the cancer, the loss of life, or the struggle with sin, but Scripture continually points our focus upward. In seasons of suffering and sorrow when hope seems absent, we hope in not what is earthly and temporary, but in what is eternal and certain. We should seek to rejoice in our sufferings because we know what it produces—even more hope (Romans 5:2-5).
She also taught me to hope in the finished work of Christ. Seeking things above without the finished work of Christ could result in a spiritualism that’s dead and a hope that is still hopeless. But Jesus is alive, and He is making all things new. As her body was wasting away, my mother knew of her new life to come in Christ. In Christ, she was a blood-bought new creation, even as cancer spread rampantly throughout her body. In the face of trial, we can find hope in the finished work of Christ because in and through Christ we overcome death. He is still good, and His plan is for our good.
She taught me to pursue joy in Christ by tuning my heart. Whether it was for special music in church or just around the house, my mother loved to sing. She had an alto voice that was simply beautiful. Some of my earliest memories of her, as well as some of my last, are of her singing. During our last Easter together, I can still remember her faint voice singing of our risen Savior. For my mom, she embodied the scriptural calls to “sing for joy” (Psalm 95:1, Psalm 98:4) and “worship with gladness” (Psalm 100:1).
My mother’s example has been so instructive and helpful for me in the years since she passed, and I think it could be for you too. As I’ve reflected on losing my mom, making sense of what happened and how to respond, I realized that her consistent habit of singing fueled her joy. When she was worried, she sang. When she was stressed, she sang. When she was happy, she sang. When she was dying, she sang. Oftentimes, habits can remind our hearts of what is true. Like my mom, I’ve learned to pursue joy through song.
The lyrics of “Come Thou Fount” could only have been sovereignly placed in my life that Sunday morning in April.
Come Thou Fount of every blessing
Tune my heart to sing Thy Grace
Streams of mercy never ceasing
Call for songs of loudest praise
I’ve discovered what it means to be sorrowful, yet always singing. I’ve found that tuning my heart to sing thy grace has a way of centering my hope in Christ and restoring my joy. Even in death, His promises are still true. His streams of mercy never really cease.
For those that are walking through trials and tragedy, there is joy to be found in Christ. Hope centered on God, His goodness, and His promises throughout Scripture build the foundation for joy.
If hope is the anxious anticipation of a promise fulfilled by God, then joy should be our response when God fulfills His promises. This joy is not necessarily a feeling or outward expression, but an internal gladness and contentment rooted in Jesus. It is a posture that can be displayed outwardly but is truly reflective of inward stability and hope.
In every season, even in the darkest nights this world has to offer, Christians who are rooted in hope can still sing with joy.
Lucas Hahn | Director of Marketing & Content Strategy; Chief Editor, Midwestern Magazine; Managing Editor, For The Church
