Dear sisters,
I was born in 1948. That makes me 70 years old this year. None of my decade birthdays bothered me much, but this year is different. I didn’t mind being in my 60s, but 70 seems old somehow. I don’t feel old. It just sounds old. My life flashes before me in all its fullness, joys and sadness, ease and difficulty, without Christ, in Christ. And I think of the future more these days. I think of my 95-year-old mother and all the things I did for her as her caregiver and I wonder who will care for me if God gives me that many years. My daughter has special needs. She won’t be caring for me.
God requires many things of us, some posing as choices with various consequences, depending on our choosing. Some are imposed. We have no choice. Some are easy if our personalities lend themselves to the required behavior. Other demands are more difficult and require much chiseling and refining from God’s hand. And occasionally God insists we undergo circumstances which are downright scary.
When I called 911 the other morning, I expected to follow the ambulance in about half an hour, knowing it would take awhile to get a patient situated in the emergency room. Had I not done this countless times? Little did I realize this would be the last time for my mama. I knew the symptoms were different, but I hoped against hope the doctors would fix it like every other time. As I prepared to get in the car, my phone rang and I immediately knew that on this occasion my husband would have to accompany me—and I was scared. And now, after that fateful and fearful day, I’m still afraid (when my thoughts become unharnessed from captivity to Christ’s truths), afraid of my unbidden and uncontrollable sobs, afraid of recurring black thoughts in the night hours, afraid of too-real dreams, afraid for my future, afraid of unknown prospects for the rest of my family and loved ones.
Those of you who have watched death in all its horrors head-on know the severing, the cutting in the heart, in the surroundings. Breathing and alive—and then the still chest and motionless body—all from one moment to the next. The beautiful blue eyes which warmed our hearts were closed, never to see this creation, this family, in this form, again.
Don’t tell me death is just passing from this life to the next. Well, actually that is what happens at the moment, but no matter how peaceful, no matter how much we believe the truths of the gospel and the promise of the glorious resurrection of our bodies, no matter that, for the believer, absent from the body is to be present with the Lord, death is ugly and an enemy—and enemies are frightening, in spite of how much preparation against them, no matter how much time we have to steady ourselves, no matter how much skill the undertaker plies. When it happens, the shuddering and sobs, even primal anguish begin, and we are never fully ready for the amputation from our lives, the phantom pain which continues long after the initial loss. We come home and the symbols of life are everywhere. I open a drawer and there lie her pills. In the frig, her orange marmalade and queso. Her chair where her beautiful head once rested, now empty. The side table still holds her Bible, Tabletalk, and latest book she was reading. Her nightgown hangs in its usual place and her walker seat compartment reveals her glasses where she had just placed them the night before her breath was taken. I take out four forks to set the table before remembering we need only three.
This is not how it was supposed to be way back when God formed Adam from the dust of the ground which He had spoken into being just a few days before. Everything was perfect and death was barely a concept to that first man and his mate, until the tree, the fruit, the great deceiver and underminer…Then fear came into his heart, fear in living and fear in dying, never the original design, and he was banished from perfection and life in that lush garden forever while time remains.
I’m scared of death, the process, the missing, everything preceding and succeeding for the victim and the remaining living. But, if I were to leave you there it would be tragic and hopeless and frightening indeed. God warns us of the horrors of the final, universal humiliation (Hannah Anderson speaks beautifully of this in “Humble Roots”), but He gives us the remediation, the balm, the victory in the midst of great trepidation and sorrow. In John 11:25, Jesus comforts his dear friend, Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die [spiritually].” Therefore, for the Christian, in the middle of terrifying events for one’s self and for the in-Christ loved-one, there remains a joy and a victory based on the sovereign power, goodness, and control of Almighty God. This final event will come, but He walks through it with us, and He has promised never to leave us or forsake us.
And then, Jesus says to Martha, after His resurrection promises and condolences, “Do you believe this?”
Oh, my sister and friend, how do we answer the Lord’s query? If this is not true, if our belief is not based in fact, we are undone in the face of death. But it is true. Christ is proof. Trust Him in the middle of grief and tears and confusion. His inexplicable peace will fill your soul and your shudders will subside and find rest and refuge in the One who walked this path to death, then resurrection, in front of us, in complete victory.
As for me, I believe what Jesus said, wholeheartedly believe it. But I also believe that there is a generation who will not taste death and I long to be in that company. Jesus is coming back and “…we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore, encourage one another with these words.” (1 Thessalonians 4:15-18)
Fear is meant for our good. It means to warn and keep our lives straight. It means to drive us to Christ, the One who alone can relieve the deep-seated fears of our souls by His grace. John Newton says it well. “Twas grace that taught my heart to fear—and grace my fears relieved…”
At the graveside, as we sat and reminisced and wept, my shy adult daughter with special needs astounded us all when she commanded, yes, commanded us to all turn and face the box in which my mama’s body lay. Then, in her broken way of speaking, reminded us all, “Grandma not here. Grandma get new body. Grandma with Jesus. Remember that.”
Yes, I am afraid of the death process. It can hurt. It’s not pretty. But, like everything God ordains in our lives, He gives grace in the journey, in the moment, in the final place. He never leaves. He never forsakes. Right up to the end. And then, our eyes are truly opened and we are safer than we have ever been. Completely and forever safe, never afraid again.
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
Your sister,
Cherry