Recently I watched the film Hamnet. It reminded me of moments in life when parting from someone dear to us can weigh heavily upon us: whether at a quayside, watching a ship fade from sight; pacing a station platform as the train prepares to depart; or leaving the sanctuary of home unsure of what changes may come. Farewells often carry an agony that seems to silence all joy. The grief of separation can be profound. How, then, is it possible to sing or rejoice at the moment of goodbye?

John Wesley the founder of Methodism tells us in his Journal of his mother Suzanna’s last hours. “From three to four the silver cord was loosing, and the wheel breaking at the cistern; and then the soul was set at liberty. We stood round the bed and fulfilled her last request: ‘Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God.’” That is noble response, for there are partings that can wring the soul with misery, reminding me of David’s weeping over his son, “O my son Absalom! My son, my son Absalom! Would to God I had died for you, O Absalom, my son.”

Jesus leaving the scene of time (at his ascension) stands as a profound paradox for we are told that the disciples, having lost the dearest companion their hearts had ever known, returned from the Mount of Olives not with sorrow, but “with great joy,” praising and blessing God. This is wholly unexpected; for weeks prior, the mere thought of his departure had filled them with dread even as Jesus gently prepared them, “It is expedient for you that I go away.” But at the time, they could not comprehend how their loss could be to their benefit. Yet, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that Jesus’ parting from them was not the end of hope, but its glorious anticipation.

My mother taught me as a little child never say ‘Goodbye’ as that means for good, it is always ‘farewell’. And so will see our loved ones again as we will see one day the face of Jesus. On that we can depend.