It is one of the realities of a life in the ministry, that we spend a great deal of time with people on the edges of life. There is, quite frankly, no time that is more frightening for many people. We spend our entire lives trying to avoid, delay, and stay away from death. We follow (or at least listen to) the doctor's advice, in the hopes of delaying death. We change our diets with a view to longer life. Even the cars we buy are sold, at least in part, on the idea of helping us avoid death. And so, is it any wonder that when death does approach, we are totally unprepared?
Between my CPE at a hospital, my year at Prairie Hill, and a lifetime in churches, I have been present at the end of a life more times than I really care to count. It is often the case that the person dying has made peace with the fact - their body is failing, and they are ready to stop fighting. But, for family and loved ones, such a peace seems harder to find.
Part of it is that, despite a lifetime in the church, many of us still view death as an ending. And it is an ending of sorts - but not one with the finality we often grant to it. No, death is a beginning - a beginning of eternity lived in the light of the glory of the Lamb.
The other point is that we avoid talking about death. We use euphemisms and circumlocutions like "He passed on" or "She went home" -- so that we don't even have to say the word "death." Is it any wonder then that we are unprepared for death? In a generation when less and less people have seen someone die at home, when less and less people have even seen a dead body, we need to be more intentional about talking about death.
So let's do it. Let's strip death of its mystery - remove from the fear of death the fear of the unknown. Tell me about your experience with death - especially the things that surprised you and the unexpected ways that you have seen God in the midst of death.
One of the my favorite experiences in the ministry was a death-bed experience. It was during my CPE, at a hospital in Chattanooga. I was the chaplain for a number of ICU units in the hospital, and was there when an elderly woman was helicoptered in from the Sewanee area. I remotely knew the family before the experience.
The woman, let's call her Miriam, had had a stroke. Her entire family was there, gathered in the waiting room and in the ICU when it was possible. After a couple of days, it was clear that Miriam would not pull through: her body had failed, and she was ready. When it came time, the family decided that Miriam would not want extensive life support. And so we gathered in a circle around the ICU bed. Each member of the family walked up to Miriam, told her how much they loved her, thanked her for the gifts she had given them in life, and said good-bye. We then joined hands around Miriam, bowed our heads, and I led the family in prayer. When we opened our eyes, Miriam was gone.
It was a blessing to be a part of that death; to see the family ready for whatever was best for Miriam, and to be present as Miriam left us. Death came, not as an enemy or as something to be feared, but as another one of the great gifts of God that had sustained Miriam throughout her life.
Tell me, O Death, where is your victory? Where is your sting?
.JPG)
