Death Doesn't Have The Final Word

About a year into the pandemic, my morning was interrupted by a tragedy in my neighborhood.  My elderly neighbor was pacing on my porch debating whether or not she should ring my doorbell.  I pushed myself from my work desk and greeted her on the front porch.  This definitely wasn’t normal behavior.  She told me that a few people had called to tell her there were police cars at her adult son’s house a mile up the road and her car wasn’t working.  She didn’t even have to ask; I locked the front door and we got in my truck to see what was going on.  She tried multiple times to call her son to no avail. 

As we got closer, I felt a sinking in my gut as I saw a myriad of police and emergency vehicles with lights strobing against the A-frame house.  I weaved between the flashing blue lights and walked with her to the front door of her son’s house.  As we were about to cross the threshold a police officer barred the door and backed us back into the front yard.  After explaining she was the mother of the homeowner the police officer’s countenance softened.  “Mam, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your son over dosed last night and is no longer with us.”

I stood shoulder to shoulder with that grieving mother, my neighbor, after the officer informed her of her son’s tragic death.  She melted.  As any of us would.  It was heart wrenching to watch.  Her grief was palpable as she wailed and cried in the dirt driveway.  I really wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do in the moment and just felt that I was put there for a reason.  I knew there were no words, so I just stood there and put my arm around her feeble shoulders. 

That event really got me thinking about death, about life, and most importantly about faith.  When the world is crumbling around us, what do we put our hope in?  Some people choose religion, community, and even drugs to help them cope with the travail of life and in that moment, I just leaned into my faith and prayed silently for this sweet lady.  I didn’t have to say a word to my neighbor, but she knew I was there for her both physically and spiritually.  I held her as she cried and prayed God would either give me the right words or at least help her find some sort of peace in this moment.  I remained silent, but after a few moments when the initial shock wore off, she shifted gears and went into detective mode.  She instructed me to go back home and she would catch a ride with one of her son’s roommates as she sorted through the tragedy.

On the surface you may see a heavily tattooed foul-mouthed heathen, all coping mechanisms to deal with my soul crushing abandonment and anxiety issues, I’m working on it, I digress. What you don’t see, or maybe if we have spoken in person you’ve seen, is that I am a person of faith.  I’m not just a person who has faith in the random, I believe firmly in Jesus, the resurrected son of God.  I wrestle with more doubt than you’d ever want to believe.  I’m skeptical when people tell me “God said this” and have been at the receiving end of people using religion to manipulate those around them.  Yet I still believe, even if my faith looks different than yours, it’s still there at the core.  I don’t care to debate anyone on apologetics or theology, I don’t care.  I believe we are ALL loved and most importantly that Jesus offers us a grace that I can’t even comprehend.  I am thankful to be measured by his standard, and not the whim of politics and shaky church doctrines made by men.

Why does God allow tragedy?  That’s a good question, but perhaps a better question is why do we align ourselves with ideologies, teams, nations and etcetera that cheer the death of our “enemies” and blame those tragedies on God.  We often seem to lack the empathy to see that maybe the bigger tragedy is we simply fail to find the good in the “whosoevers” that Jesus died for.  Sometimes we get so wrapped up in “preaching” and quoting scriptures that we miss the entire point of what Jesus taught.  It is fairly simple actually; we are supposed to love God and our neighbors as ourselves.  If we do those things, the rest will sort themselves out.  It’s hard to love either when we are constantly trying to intellectually or theologically battle one another.  My favorite quote from Saint Francis of Assisi says, “Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary, use words.”

Why am I saying all of this?  I think the jarring reality that morning reminded me that death doesn’t have to have the final word.  Our lives don’t have to be boiled down to what we did and didn’t do.  Our own shortcomings don’t have to be weighed against us because the beauty of the Gospel is that if we truly believe verses like John 3:16, as is often espoused from pulpits around the world, then we know that God came for ALL of us.  What I’m saying is no matter what you’re struggling with, no matter what you’ve done or are doing, there is hope, and most importantly grace.  If nobody has told you today, you are loved and you are worth it.  Stop beating yourself up and don’t let death have the last word. 

---

Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting? (1 Cor 15:55)

---