A few weeks ago I sat across from a woman who was probably my mother's age. She had gone through some kind of health issue in the past and was facing it again, struggling with the purpose God had for her in this somber do over. She wondered what the point would be if she died and what purpose did she have?
My friend saw her this Sunday and said she was really at peace about the whole thing. Good timing, because she went into surgery this week. And everything did, in fact, go quite well. Success.
Then early this morning she woke up, couldn't feel her legs and died.
She just died. This woman who sat across from me, who I had been so certain would be just fine, leaves behind her husband, children, two grandchildren and friends who I'm sure are reeling from the news.
How does somebody just die? Death is easy to dismiss when you hear about it on the news or about someone you seldom see anyhow. When my grandfather died it meant a hole had been ripped in the universe, but I lived 3,000 miles away. At least I could imagine all I had to do was jump on a plane and he could be there to meet me. Plus, he was old, and there was warning.
But this lady sat next to me at Bible study, and she wasn't old or sickly. She was vibrant, strong, very much alive.
After getting the news, many thoughts chased themselves through my head. I didn't think about the hope we have because she belonged to Jesus Christ- though that is true. Instead I thought about how random it seemed for her to die. And I wondered about the same thing she did- what was the purpose?
I believe God has a plan, down to the smallest detail. But it was frightening to consider that He is God, sovereign over life and death and if He decides your time is up, make no mistake, it's up and there may be no explanations. Absolute helplessness is inescapable.
These thoughts brought fear. If Lindy could die, so could I. And what would I do? Stand before God and apologize that I didn't do more with my life? I always figured I had more time.
The starkness of death is unshakable for mere mortals, and the faith that I profess was brought forefront and challenged: A person was cut down in front of you; What do you believe now?
In one sense, Christianity all comes down to trust. Do you trust Jesus? He's calling the shots-- is He on your side? A random death isn't random, nor is the life that preceded it wasted. Can't tell you His purpose, but I do trust Him. More than that, He is trustworthy. It's not just what He's like, it's Who He Is.
So then, what about fear? Death comes to us all. The reality of that just knocked the wind out of me when I heard about Lindy. Once I started breathing again, I did so slowly, wondering which breath would be my last and how precious and fragile that breath seemed.
Fear of death makes no sense. Fear of the unknown beyond the grave, maybe. But my fear was born of the known, it appeared in the wake of this vision I had of trying to explain myself to God-- I would fail. What do I have to offer, to say? It's like a sick man telling his doctor how good he feels as he withers away and dies.
What's more terrifying than standing before a holy God, alone without escape? Herein lies my only hope, that I will not be alone.
Jesus is called our intercessor, and He pleads for us even now. He stands before God on our behalf. When I am before God, as everyone will be, I will still have nothing and Jesus will speak for me. It's all Him.
No matter how hard we work, we will never live this life the way we should. And the fear of standing before God is real and will not be explained away or dodged or side-stepped. It's the discovery that monsters are under your bed, and what you fear is real and it's coming to get you. Right standing with God requires, demands grace. It's free for the taking.
My friend saw her this Sunday and said she was really at peace about the whole thing. Good timing, because she went into surgery this week. And everything did, in fact, go quite well. Success.
Then early this morning she woke up, couldn't feel her legs and died.
She just died. This woman who sat across from me, who I had been so certain would be just fine, leaves behind her husband, children, two grandchildren and friends who I'm sure are reeling from the news.
How does somebody just die? Death is easy to dismiss when you hear about it on the news or about someone you seldom see anyhow. When my grandfather died it meant a hole had been ripped in the universe, but I lived 3,000 miles away. At least I could imagine all I had to do was jump on a plane and he could be there to meet me. Plus, he was old, and there was warning.
But this lady sat next to me at Bible study, and she wasn't old or sickly. She was vibrant, strong, very much alive.
After getting the news, many thoughts chased themselves through my head. I didn't think about the hope we have because she belonged to Jesus Christ- though that is true. Instead I thought about how random it seemed for her to die. And I wondered about the same thing she did- what was the purpose?
I believe God has a plan, down to the smallest detail. But it was frightening to consider that He is God, sovereign over life and death and if He decides your time is up, make no mistake, it's up and there may be no explanations. Absolute helplessness is inescapable.
These thoughts brought fear. If Lindy could die, so could I. And what would I do? Stand before God and apologize that I didn't do more with my life? I always figured I had more time.
The starkness of death is unshakable for mere mortals, and the faith that I profess was brought forefront and challenged: A person was cut down in front of you; What do you believe now?
In one sense, Christianity all comes down to trust. Do you trust Jesus? He's calling the shots-- is He on your side? A random death isn't random, nor is the life that preceded it wasted. Can't tell you His purpose, but I do trust Him. More than that, He is trustworthy. It's not just what He's like, it's Who He Is.
So then, what about fear? Death comes to us all. The reality of that just knocked the wind out of me when I heard about Lindy. Once I started breathing again, I did so slowly, wondering which breath would be my last and how precious and fragile that breath seemed.
Fear of death makes no sense. Fear of the unknown beyond the grave, maybe. But my fear was born of the known, it appeared in the wake of this vision I had of trying to explain myself to God-- I would fail. What do I have to offer, to say? It's like a sick man telling his doctor how good he feels as he withers away and dies.
What's more terrifying than standing before a holy God, alone without escape? Herein lies my only hope, that I will not be alone.
Jesus is called our intercessor, and He pleads for us even now. He stands before God on our behalf. When I am before God, as everyone will be, I will still have nothing and Jesus will speak for me. It's all Him.
No matter how hard we work, we will never live this life the way we should. And the fear of standing before God is real and will not be explained away or dodged or side-stepped. It's the discovery that monsters are under your bed, and what you fear is real and it's coming to get you. Right standing with God requires, demands grace. It's free for the taking.
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