God Loves Orphans

by Christopher C. Thompson  |  14 June 2024  |  

I met a man a couple weeks ago who recently lost his wife. I had met him once before, but this was the first time that we had had a real conversation. As we talked, I shared about the difficulty of losing my mom, and he shared a bit about losing his wife. 

Then he said something that struck me. I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit since then. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes, and said, “You know, you and I, we have something in common. We’re both orphans.” I did a quick mental check and suddenly knew what he was saying about himself. And in that moment, I recognized that he was right. 

I had never thought of myself as an orphan. Yet, sure enough, Merriam-Webster defines an orphan as “a child deprived by death of one or usually both parents.” I have previously shared that my father died by suicide back in 2011. Now here it is in 2024, and my mom has been suddenly snatched from us by the enemy of death.

And so, as it turns out, he is right. I am indeed an orphan. 

The child, the man

Here’s the curious part about that. I am obviously not a child. I am a man. I’ve been married for nearly twenty years, and I have a teenage son. I left my mother’s house when I was seventeen, when I went to college. I have only stayed under my mom’s roof for short periods of time since then. I have been grown and on my own longer than I was a child in my mother’s house.

Nevertheless, in this moment, I am aware that I am but a destitute and helpless little boy who has lost his mother. I recently shared with some friends that the depth of this loss caught me off guard. 

I never imagined that I would one day have to live without my mom. I realize that for people who have had a strong parent(s) such an idea is counterintuitive. Parents are part of the core of how we learn to exist, and be, and show up in the world. Losing them shakes the very foundation of our existence and what we know to be real. I love her, but I can’t tell her and have her say it back. I want to stop by the house, or call her on the phone, but I know she can’t answer. I didn’t realize how much I depended on her random calls, her prayers, her words of encouragement, and reminders to “stay humble.”

And so in actuality, I’m like a lost little boy without a home. The world seems so vanilla, so bland, so blah without her in it. I love my life. I love my work. I love my family. Nevertheless, in this moment, the beauty of it all is lacking in its luster. And so I’ve found myself shying away from things that don’t really matter all that much to me. Maybe that’s just a part of grieving. Maybe that’s a sign of depression. I don’t know. I feel fragile, exposed, vulnerable. What I do know for sure is that this loss has changed me. Actually, the entire world feels different now. 

Right now, I only have energy for the essentials. And that list of essentials is still shifting and morphing. It’s almost as if my entire life is being reorganized and reoriented. I think it may be a survival mechanism. Cutting back the superfluous to conserve essential mental and emotional energy. 

God’s priority!

That’s when it occurred to me. Wait. I qualify. All this time, and it never occurred to me. I qualify as one of God’s top priorities.

“Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds; rejoice before him—his name is the Lord. A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land” (Psalm 68:4-6, emphasis added).

“You shall not mistreat any widow or fatherless child. If you do mistreat them, and they cry out to me, I will surely hear their cry, and my wrath will burn, and I will kill you with the sword, and your wives shall become widows and your children fatherless” (Exodus 22:22-24, emphasis added).

“Religion that God accepts as pure and without fault is this: caring for orphans or widows who need help, and keeping yourself free from the world’s evil influence” (James 1:27, emphasis added).

There are numerous others like these. It is evident that God prioritizes the needs, the heart, and the hurts of those who are most vulnerable. And, boy, am I glad that I qualify, because I desperately need God right now. 

It got me thinking. How many other vulnerable people do I know?

I met a man tonight who lives on the campus of our church. He and his wife have been living on the edge of our property for some months now. I instructed the members not to harass them. Some members took it upon themselves to offer them Sabbath dinner here and there, but for the most part we have allowed them space just to be. It’s delicate. Dignity matters. Tonight he approached me for the first time and asked for something to eat. I introduced myself and asked his name.

Then it occurred to me: we are both orphans. A member of our community service team took them to get food from the deli at the grocery store next door. We still don’t know what to do, but that’s the nature of this kind of exposure. There are no easy answers. But I do know that I’m predisposed to care now. And that’s what matters most. 

I got a call from a dear friend today. After we talked for a while he counseled me to go to therapy. He’s right. I know I need to go. And while running to sessions with my therapist, I’ll be running towards the arms of God. And I will carry with me all of the rest of the vulnerable ones I can carry. We all need God so much right now. 

Christopher C. Thompson is a pastor in Beaufort, South Carolina.

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