“Provide for those who grieve in Zion-to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”
Isaiah 61:3 (NIV)
My mother passed away twenty years ago at the age of 92, but just five years ago, her good friend, Elsa, passed away at the age of 102. I learned of her death, too late to attend her funeral service, but her family recorded the entire funeral on YouTube. Each of her relatives gave a touching eulogy, and it was obvious that Elsa lived a very love and faith filled life for the majority of her 102 years. I say the “majority” of her years, because her childhood was cruelly interrupted by the holocaust.
What I remember most about Elsa were the numbers tattooed on her forearm. She grew up in Hungary, during WWII. When the Nazis took over Hungary, her family was taken from their home, and Elsa was separated from them. At the age of twelve, she was sent to a concentration camp, and became a number instead of a person, never to see her family again.
I cannot recall the details of how Elsa escaped her captors and made it safely to America, but she later married and raised a family, settling in the Chicago area. She lived a long, good life, with those numbers permanently tattooed on her arm, a reminder that beauty comes out of the ashes, as she overcame the sorrowful time in a Nazi camp.
I found it interesting that not one of her family’s eulogies made mention of Elsa’s time spent in the concentration camp. At first I was perplexed by their neglect of such a sorrowful phase in her life. Each eulogy described who Elsa was and what she meant to her family. Her children, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, and great grandchildren all gave eulogies describing how much love and joy she brought into their lives.
Then it occurred to me that her early period of suffering was not disregarded, but the person she became had overshadowed the tragedy she overcame. During the years of her long life, her family celebrated who Elsa was and what she meant to them, which was greater than the tragedy of her early life. As I listened to the last and final eulogy, I felt hope that all people can become the person God intended them to be, which overshadows all sorrow.
In that moment I imagined Elsa and my mother together in heaven, joyfully reunited in a warm embrace.
The numbers on Elsa’s arm remind me of the ashes of mourning in today’s scripture, which God can turn into a crown of beauty and the oil of gladness. Sorrow, injustice and a spirit of despair can keep us too focused on the ashes, but God gives us immeasurable grace to overcome the most unimaginable sorrows. We have the potential, like Elsa, to rise above our ashes and become a beacon of hope, love and strength for others.
The cross of Christ reminds us of the ashes of mourning, symbolic of His suffering, like numbers tattooed on Elsa’s arm reminded her of a time of great sorrow. Everything Jesus suffered was for us, and later turned into a crown of beauty and a garment of praise through His glorious resurrection.
Jesus is now our beacon of faith, hope, and love, who gives us strength to rise above the ashes. When we wear His cross, it’s a reminder of the grace and mercy that forever exchanged our ashes for a crown of beauty and a garment of praise.
Lord, thank you for bringing beauty from our ashes, and give us the wisdom to know we are much more than the sum of our suffering, but made to reflect your love into the lives of others. Amen










