The Uncomfortable Reality of Death

On the first Wednesday of this year, three of my kids and I were involved in a pretty major car accident. By God's grace, we were mostly okay, save for bruises and seatbelt burns and sore muscles (and the disturbing mental loop of that night that played over and over in my mind for weeks to follow). Riding home from the accident, I commented to my kids that it was no small thing that our lives were spared. That reality came to the forefront of my thoughts in the days that followed in such a vivid way, I thought I'd never lose sight of how grateful I was to be given more time on this earth. I was less irritable when my kids made messes. I looked at little things with a renewed sense of wonder. When I consider the world around me, it's clear there's plenty of work left to do, and I'm glad God saw fit to spare me. Lord willing, there will be many more days to come.

And yet...  

As the days turned to weeks and months, I began to forget about the imminence of dying. Or maybe, like Kevin sort of said to the bird lady in Home Alone 2, I "forgot to remember" death in my daily grind. 

You may be thinking that's great. Dwelling on death sounds like a drag. To which I would say, I respectfully disagree. Allow me to change your mind.  

You see, we're all given limited time in this life. From the moment we're born, we're on a sure trajectory towards our demise. You've heard Benjamin Franklin's maxim, "Nothing is certain in this life except death and taxes." We don't have the luxury of skipping death. Mortality is a fact. It might be easier to go through life pretending that's not true, but I contend life is so much more meaningful when the reality of the temporal nature of life and time takes a front seat in our thoughts.

I'm not saying everyone needs to plan their funeral right now. (That said, please preach the gospel and play "Softly and Tenderly" and the Natalie Merchant version of "When They Ring the Golden Bells" at mine.) I do think, though, that when we consider that our lives are like a breath, a mist, grass that withers, it brings into clarity the urgency of using our time well and intensifies the gratitude we should feel when we wake up another morning with the privilege of doing the work God as prepared for us. 

We have been reading The Little Pilgrim's Progress at bedtime with my little four. (They're not all that little anymore, but that's a different blog post.) Along the journey to the Celestial City, Little Christian and his friend, Faithful, pass through Vanity Fair, a city full of every kind of pleasure cleverly placed along the route by the Wicked Prince to tempt pilgrims away from their path on the King's Way. Before they enter Vanity Fair, Little Christian and Faithful learn of the dangers of traversing the dangerous city from their friend Evangelist, and they resolve to be brave. Ultimately, Christian and Faithful find themselves arrested and Faithful reminds Christian, "Evangelist said that they might hurt us, but if we die we shall go straight to the Celestial City. I shall think of the King, because he is sure to help me, and I will not fear." For Faithful, to live was Christ and to die was gain. 

For the Christian, death has lost its sting. The promise of eternal life in the presence of our perfect Holy God and Savior is our hope in life and death. Our life is not our own. It's a gift we have received to be used up and poured out for God's glory whether it ends before our first breath outside the womb or carries us across a long and beautiful ninety-five years. 

By failing to think about death, we take for granted the life we have been given. We might be tempted to squander it. We assume there will be more time tomorrow and the next day and the next. But when we remember that God knows the number of our days, not us, we can find the encouragement to make the days count. 

One of the hosts on a podcast I love shared a story about her grandmother, whom she credits with teaching her a healthy view of life and death. She told her granddaughter that when she dies, not to put flowers on her grave, but rather to take them home and enjoy them. The grandmother won't want them because she'll be having the best day of her life. This side of eternity, we're the ones who will want and need the beauty of those flowers in our grief. Grandma will be worshipping and dancing on streets of gold in a house prepared for her where there will be no more tears. Hallelujah! 

Admittedly, I have not been to a lot of funerals in my lifetime, but I can say with conviction that there is a marked difference at Christian funerals. They are, of course, sad because death was not the original plan and losing our friends and family is always hard. However, we do not grieve as those with no hope. Death does not have the final word. I once heard it said that the hope of resurrection doesn't eliminate tears, but it does redeem them. 

So, where does this leave you, dear reader? Do you have this hope? If not, I'd love to tell you about my Jesus. If you know Jesus already, do you consider that your days are numbered and act accordingly? If not, I would challenge you to think about redeeming your time. Check out this podcast episode for more on what that looks like.

Don't fear death, friends, but fix your gaze on Christ and eternity. It will change your life.