Impossible Joy

Caitlan Rangel reflects on going to the funeral of a friend’s son and the stunning witness to Christ she experienced there.

Christianity: Superficial or Shocking? 

Sometimes we forget how shocking Christianity is. When we have, we’ve lost something monumentally important. 

Do we experience Christianity as an add-on to a life of our own design, or as that which both grounds and animates us? 

Sometimes, it is suffering that forces us to seriously reconsider: Do I choose and believe in Christ and all his promises, or do I not? 

A Friend in Christ via Cancer 

I belong to an email prayer chain, and about six months ago there was a prayer request for a 5-year-old boy named Stephen who was battling cancer.  

I emailed the woman who sent the prayer request to ask if she could connect me with Stephen’s mother, Olivia. I had just been through a year of journeying with my mom and her serious diagnosis, and she was experiencing healing against all odds. I wanted to offer Olivia my companionship and any resources that might be helpful. 

Before I could receive an email response, the Holy Spirit saw fit to introduce me to Olivia at the birthday party of a mutual friend’s child. 

And so began our friendship: a connection through Christ and caring for someone dear to us with cancer. 

Olivia and her husband, Yovany, poured themselves into caring for Stephen and looking for ways for him to heal. They worked for his physical healing and also poured themselves into loving him emotionally and spiritually. There came a point, though, that the cancer could not be stopped and Stephen was called back to his heavenly home. 

The Funeral: Impossible Joy 

I’ve never been to a child’s funeral before, and felt deep sadness and some anxiety leading up to Stephen’s.  

When I arrived at the church, instead of a church dressed in black, most everyone was dressed in white. And the congregation was at least half children; his school had cancelled classes that day so students could go to the funeral. 

Of course the funeral was solemn, but sadness was not the final word or tone or emotion. What resounded instead was gratitude, hope for heaven, and almost impossibly — joy. 

Stephen’s parents, Olivia and Yovany, are both pillars of authentic faith. As such, they both gave eulogies.  

I listened and cried during Olivia’s, which expressed the total tenderness of a mother’s heart and invited us into sacred last moments with her son. 

I took notes during Yovany’s eulogy: five lessons he had learned from the last two and a half years of the cancer journey with Stephen. He wanted to share these as a thank-you for so much love given to their family. 

I’d like to pass on his lessons to you: 

• When you are bearing a heavy cross or your loved one is bearing a heavy cross, check in with how it is affecting you in spirit, mind, body, and heart. Our crosses affect all of these areas, and it is good for us to be mindful of the different ways we bear and respond to our sufferings. 
• Sometimes we face impossible situations. Nevertheless, show up. Remain in faith. 
• The shortest verse in Scripture is “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Jesus knew heaven better than anyone, and He still wept. Jesus knew Heaven would raise Lazarus, and He still wept. It’s okay to weep even when we know Heaven is the end. 
• Losing Stephen is a real loss — the loss of a son physically present, the loss of expectations for him and their family. However, more than a loss, it is a gain — the gain of a saint in Heaven. Only five when he died, Stephen is surely in Heaven’s total bliss, praying for us, life not ended but changed. 
• In the last weeks of Stephen’s life and after his death, heaven became a frequent topic of conversation. If we are to be reunited with our loved ones in Heaven, we too must live lives worthy of Heaven. We must strive to become the best versions of ourselves each day, strive to become saints. 

Convinced of Christ 

After the funeral, people gathered outside the church, talking, smiling, and embracing. Olivia stood behind the hearse, dressed in stunning white and holding sunflowers. She hugged people and thanked them and smiled and smiled. It was like a glimpse of heaven — sorrow being redeemed and swallowed up by something greater: hope. 

As I walked away from the church and drove an hour and a half home, I found myself stunned. I smiled and thought to myself, “I forgot how weird Catholics are.”  

How could joy exist in the midst of such sadness and loss? There is only one answer: Christ. His radical love, His presence with us, His promises — they are all true. 

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Copyright 2025 Caitlan Rangel
Images: (top, bottom) iStockPhoto.com, licensed for use by Holy Cross Family Ministries; Canva