I was recently talking with another
pastor and our conversation had to do with death. He was referring to a recent
incident for him and he remarked that he had been present at the time the lady
had passed. He was expressing the feeling he had at the
moment. “You know,” he said, “I’ve been present now for three deaths.” He was
talking about how affected he had been at the passing of the lady, so I let
that statement go. But I thought to myself, ‘only three times?’ Granted, my
ministry has been much longer than his, but being present only three times
seems like a small amount for someone who truly takes being a pastor seriously.
And this pastor does take it seriously. When we pastored in the same town I
would often run into him at a hospital or nursing home. It is just how his
ministry has developed, I suppose, that has caused him to only witness three
deaths.
A
few days later I watched an interview on the internet where a supposed expert
was talking about what happens at death. He was talking about the body and what
happens to it starting at the moment of death. The interviewer asked about the
soul. “I used to believe in a soul, but no longer. There is only a shutting
down of our brain and body activity and then darkness.” The interviewer nodded
and proceeded with the rest of the interview.
What
stirred me about both of those events was, first, I have been present at a
fairly large number of deaths and, second, the expert on death probably was
never in the same room when someone died. Or, if he was, the person dying was
filled with morphine or some form of pain killer that rendered him or her
unresponsive.
I
have seen Christians approaching death and struggling against it, but only
because they were leaving loved ones behind. Spouses, children, grandchildren,
special loved ones they didn’t want to be parted from. Maybe loved ones who
were not believers. I had one lady grab me by the shirt front and pull me
close. With my ear an inch from her mouth she whispered in a fierce whisper,
“Tell them at the funeral how to be saved. It’s your only chance!” And that’s
what I did. Usually, as death gets closer, the dying Christian begins to relax
as they realize it is going to happen. I would have to say, it almost seems as
though they are enjoying the passage. I have seen beautiful smiles. I have
watched the dying see someone I could not see and I have witnessed joy spread
across their face. One lovely gentleman, just before he died, looked up at me
and said, “I’m going to see Jesus! Is there anything you want me to say to Him?”
A minute later he was telling Jesus face to face.
Then,
there is the other side to that, as well. On a few occasions, I have been
present when someone died who had never trusted in Christ. One lady let out a
piercing scream as she passed. It completely unnerved me and everyone in the
room. On the way home, I told myself that I would never do that again, but I
did, the next time I got a call. For a period of time I worked at a funeral
home, dealing with families in grief and helping to prepare bodies for burial.
One morning the owner of the funeral home told me that we had brought in a
woman during the night and the family was going to come in around noon for a
private viewing before cremation. Could I prepare her for the viewing? Of
course, I said yes and went down to the prep room. The woman had died
screaming, a look of unimaginable fear on her face. Rigor mortis had set in and
her face was frozen in the scream. When the family got there, their mother
looked normal, but only because I had spent over two hours rubbing her facial
muscles to relax them.
History
is filled with stories of famous people, rulers and philosophers and great
thinkers, and their reactions as they passed from life to death. Their deaths
were rarely quiet. They weren’t drugged out of their minds but rather, they had
all of their mental faculties. They were witnesses to their own deaths and they
were witnesses to their passage to their eternal reward.
Edger
Allen Poe, the famed American horror writer, looked up and, with wide eyes,
said, ”Lord, help my soul!” Harriet Tubman, the former slave who had helped to
organize the Underground Railroad, by which many slaves gained their freedom,
started to sing the words to the old Negro spiritual, “Swing low, sweet
chariot…..” Then she died. The whole phrase is, Swing low, sweet chariot,
comin’ for to carry me Home! Charles Darwin, son of a minister and the man who
gave the theory of evolution its great shove forward, supposedly recanted the
whole thing as he died. And my aunt Evie, a true and loving Christian, refused
medication for the last two days of her life because she wanted to see Jesus
come for her. “Here He comes!”
There
is a privilege at being in the room when a believer leaves this earth. When the
gentleman asked me if there was anything I wanted him to tell Jesus when he got
there, I was stunned and tongue tied. He was about to see Jesus and he wanted
to be a messenger for me. Wow! One of the more impactful moments for me was a
time I walked into a hospital room at the frantic call of a young mother. She
was frantically pacing with her tiny daughter in her arms. When I entered she
thrust the child into my arms. Maybe she thought I could heal the little girl.
But that precious face looked up at me, wide eyed, and she gave a shudder and
died. The thought I had later was that the last face she saw here was mine and
the next thing she saw was glory.
But
there is also an immense sadness when you witness the death of a lost person.
Their passing is to eternal damnation. Think whatever you will think, but I
have seen them pass to horror. It is something I wouldn’t want any of you to
witness, but it is also something I wouldn’t have wanted to have missed. Not
for any joy, but for the lesson.
I
never have a doubt about what is coming. I have seen the reactions of people as
they slip away. I feel sadness for that ‘expert’ who has it all figured out.
His faith is in science, his god is a microscope. I fear that when he realizes
the truth, it will be too late.
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