Death is difficult. I don't fear it, but I can’t honestly say I embrace it. Politically correct Christians say they can’t wait to go to heaven. Not me. Heaven can wait. I have a lot to do here on earth. Conceptually, I feel a peace about it, but I do have normal concerns about my final exit. Will my own death be painful and drawn out? Will I go to sleep one night and sail right on through the pearly gates? My gene pool suggests I will leave this planet due to cardiac failure. That does not seem as horrific as suffering with a lingering disease but the rapture or a chocolate overdose would be preferable to all other scenarios. For now, I’m pursuing life to the fullest and I will go on doing so until it comes. And death will come. Each one of us has an appointment with it—make no mistake. (I dare you to find a prosperity preaching faith healer born before 1910.)
During the weeks before Christmas (known to some Christians as "Advent"), I wear a pin that says "Happy Birthday Jesus!" It sparks a lot of interesting conversations—especially at check-out counters. During the weeks before Easter (known to some Christians as "Lent"), I wear a pin that says "Born once, die twice. Born twice, die once." That one gets even more responses than my Christmas pin. The conversations immediately expose people’s theology (or lack thereof). There is an awful lot of "misinformation" out there. In the words of my wise husband, "information is power."
Jesus Christ said "I am the way, the truth, and the life." Notice that He didn’t claim to be "A way," but rather, "THE way." What a difference a word makes! Jesus is THE way. I cringe when some affirm His goodness, wisdom and morality, but then deny His deity. These are the people who compare Jesus to Mohammed, Buddha, Moses and Gandhi. To be sure, there were noble traits in each of these men. But in the final analysis, they were all just that…mere men. Jesus Christ claimed to be God. That’s why they killed Him. How good, wise and moral was Jesus if he told lies and allowed His disciples, the early church, and countless millions to die for a myth? How moral was Jesus if He led His followers astray—if He knowingly promised "a place in my Father’s house" when there was nothing behind that promise? How wise was Jesus if he taught people to take up their cross and follow Him if indeed He was not worth following?
I am saddened as well as deeply sympathetic with people who are angry with God because of the loss of a loved one. Where was He? How could He? Why didn’t He? For these tortured souls, the questions are endless and often go unanswered. They will not be comforted if they will not seek the Comforter. I am taken back by the people who insist that this life is hell. They will not be enlightened because they will not turn toward the Light of the World. Then there are those who are confident that except for Herod, Hitler, and Hussein--we are all going to heaven. After all, isn’t that where good people go? They don’t know the truth because they do not know the One who is truth.
A few weeks ago, my friend Maggie awoke on a Saturday morning to find her sweet little boy’s lifeless body in his bed. In disbelief, she carried Cory (who was about to turn three) to the master bedroom where she and her husband Rick applied CPR and prayer. Both seemed to be futile. Maggie has been attending my neighborhood Bible study for about a year and just last month, she e-mailed me with the words "I finally get it." I knew what she meant and God knew what she meant and there was celebration in heaven.
I wondered what those same angels were doing that Saturday afternoon as Cory’s body was sent to the medical examiner.
Four days later, I spoke at the funeral and reminded family and friends of the great promise of the One (the only one) who conquered sin and death. The tiny casket which sat between the altar and the front pew brought many questions to the hearts and minds of each person in that church. It’s hard enough to be near a casket—but this one was so little---caskets are not supposed to be so little. After the funeral mass, I hugged Maggie in the lobby. She brought her wet face near mine and whispered, "I don’t think I get it."
I reassured her and walked to my car wondering what I "get" about the mysteries of life and death. There is so much that we will never understand on this side of eternity but I have placed my stake in the ground about the fact that Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. He is my hope, my strength, and my song. There is no pain or difficulty that He has not taken upon Himself. I am so comforted to know I trust in the God who has gone before me and yet comes alongside me. He is my Savior and my friend.
I glean a great deal from the sermons and books of Chuck Swindoll. Formerly a pastor of a mega-church in southern California, he is now serving as President of the highly esteemed Dallas Theological Seminary. Allow me to share a true story from one of Dr. Swindoll’s Easter sermons.
It was 1948. The setting was a small town along the great Mississippi River. The bridge-keeper was responsible to raise the drawbridge to allow boats to pass on the river below and to lower it again for trains to cross over on land. One day, the bridge-keeper’s son came along to watch his father at work. Quite curious, as most boys are, he peeked into a trap door that was always left open so his father could keep an eye on the great machinery that raised and lowered the bridge. While the bridge was up, the boy leaned too far forward, lost his balance, and tumbled into the mighty gears. As the father reached down to pull him out, he heard the whistle of an approaching train. He knew the train was full of people and that it was impossible to stop the fast-moving locomotive, therefore, the bridge had to be lowered.
What a terrible dilemma to be in; if he saved the passengers, his son would be crushed in the cogs. If he saved his son; hundreds of people would die when the train plowed into the bridge and plunged into the river. Frantically, he tried to reach for his son, but the boy was too far down. Finally, the father put his hand to the lever that would start the machinery. He paused, uttered a loud groan, and with tears streaming down his face, he pulled the lever. The giant gears began to work and the bridge clamped down just in time to save the train. The bridge-keeper saved the passengers’ lives at the cost of his son’s.
This heart wrenching account echoes what was done at Calvary. What an incredibly clear illustration we have of God’s sacrificial love. He, too, let his Son die in order for others to live. God gave His only Son to save you and me. How great is His love to do such a thing. God’s son…Maggie’s son…the Bridge-keeper’s son. Though they have died—yet they fully live. At times, it is too difficult to grasp, but I am holding on for dear life…and death.
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