How do people face death without a relationship with Jesus Christ? And how can unbelievers comprehend the joy, peace and encouragement Christians sense at the memorial service of a saint?

I attended the funeral for Sharon Epps-Bailey, known to most of her family and many friends as Shell. Although I never knew Shell, I had prayed for her, because Oscar Epps is a friend of mine, and he asked me to. But sitting in her service, I felt a kindred spirit with her and realized that, someday, we will be friends in heaven. And she’ll make me laugh.

Shell and Oscar enjoyed a dual relationship. She was his big sister. But he was her pastor at Community Missionary Baptist Church in DeSoto, Texas.

Hundreds of family, friends, church members and co-workers packed the congregation’s sanctuary for her memorial service June 25. That room became the epicenter of hope, the ground zero of promise, the calm eye of the hurricane of disease that blew across Shell’s life and impacted so many people who loved her.

She struggled with sickness four years. The battle was long and hard. The death of her body provided sweet release for her soul.

A better place

Her family and friends know that. That’s why her memorial service was a joyful celebration. As speaker after speaker affirmed, Shell doesn’t suffer anymore. She’s in a better place than she was last week.

Shell’s mother, Pearl Epps, stood before the crowd and gratefully proclaimed, “Thank you, Lord.” She asked why a mother could thank God at the funeral of her daughter, and she eloquently explained the peace she and all of her family feel knowing their precious wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt and cousin is with the Lord. She asked prayers for the family, who misses Shell terribly. But lest anyone misunderstand, Pearl told them: Don’t pray for Shell. She’s better off than we are.

Moments later, I thought my heart would break when Oscar described the time his daughter and niece came to see him—“as their pastor, not their daddy and uncle”—to ask why God wouldn’t heal Shell.

Healed, at last

“Shell is healed,” Oscar insisted, pointing out the complete deliverance from pain she received when God took her to her home in heaven.

Contrasting the difference between short-term medical progress and complete restoration that comes in heaven, he asked, “Why would you want God to patch somebody up instead of heal them?” He contrasted the agony of her illness with the peace she felt the morning of her death, as she instructed him to tell her daughters, “Don’t worry about me.”

Mining meaning from misery, Oscar assured everyone in the room they could find the same peace and security Shell experienced, if only they would accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

Oscar acknowledged Shell’s family and friends are not through crying. They’re going to miss her, and they need much prayer. But he insisted they won’t grieve for Shell, because—at last—she has been healed.

Looking on Oscar’s smiling face, I knew he means what he said. And watching Shell’s family’s glowing faces as they filed out of that room, it was obvious that they believe it, too.