On Death 

I’m at the age where more and more of my friends are dying. I’m approaching threescore and ten, and a lot of people start really paying attention to the subject of death around that time. A friend of mine gives talks at churches about how to prepare for death—getting all the paperwork in order, writing important things down, all of that. I’ve done that for my wife, on the assumption that I’ll go first. (If she goes first, I won’t be able to find anything without just randomly opening doors and drawers.) 

There’s something to be said for good stewardship, for thoughtful preparation for the inevitable, and I’ve tried to do that. 

But I don’t obsess about death, and I certainly don’t fear it. 

It’s normal to not want to go through a painful dying process, and there are certainly possibilities in aging that are not pleasant. My Dad went through dementia for the last 6 years of his life, during which I was his primary caregiver, and I know the frustration he felt with his limitations, and especially with recognizing those limitations and being unable to do anything about them. At one point during that time I asked God to allow me to get hit by a truck the day before my mind goes, and I still nourish that thought. 

But fear death? Obsess? No siree. 

There are lots of reasons not to. 

First, death is a deliverance. All our lives we’ve been frustrated by our limitations, physical and mental, even though we can experience great joy and fulfillment from life in this world. We get used to the fact that we can’t do everything we want to, and just as a fish probably isn’t aware of the water he swims in, we get used to living in this mortal coil. 

But this is not what we’re designed for. We’re Ferraris driving on crowded city streets, and we long to be delivered from the constraints, the frustrations, the inefficiencies, the misunderstandings of life here (Ro 8.21-23). 

Death puts a stop to all that nonsense. 

I’m looking forward to that. 

Second, death is more than just leaving the old behind; it’s being ushered into a new kind of existence—most especially, personal and visible presence with Christ himself (2Co 5.6-8). The Scripture doesn’t give any detailed description of what that will be like, but it promises that that state will be far superior to this one. I believe what it says. 

Now, it’s true that we will apparently be reunited with loved ones who have gone on before, but the Scripture doesn’t pay much attention to that. To listen to some old hymns, you’d think that a family reunion is the most important part of heaven. “Will the circle be unbroken,” and all that. “I’m just a poor, wayfaring stranger … I’m going there to see my mother.” “I will meet you in the morning, just inside the eastern gate.” 

Sure, I’m looking forward to seeing Mom again; she may be mildly surprised to see me there at all. But family reunion is a byproduct, not the point of it all. To be with Christ, to meet face to face, to serve without failure or frustration—that’s going to be really something. 

Third, death is better, but still anticipatory. What do I mean by that? 

Scripture speaks, but only briefly, of what we call “the intermediate state,” the time between our death and our resurrection (2Co 5.1-10). Paul confirms that we will put off our current bodies and await our resurrection bodies. In the meantime, he says, we’ll be “unclothed” (2Co 5.4)—and, he implies, that’ll be just a little strange; we’re not designed to be unembodied. He’s very clear that we’ll be better off than we are now (2Co 5.8), but—and I love this—we will be looking forward to something even better yet to come. Anticipation is a powerfully good thing, and I’m delighted that God has designed our death to improve our state but also to leave room for further improvement to be joyfully anticipated. 

And that is why “we sorrow not as others, who have no hope” (1Th 4.13). 

Live with joyful anticipation, and welcome every next step. 

Further thoughts on the topic here. 

Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash