The Next Stop

Death. 

From behind the curtain, it has come, entering the lives of dear and precious friends.  Three lives in a matter of weeks - a baby, a brother, a father.

My heart has been heavy.  I weep.  I pray.  I love from afar.

As I stood in front of the mirror this afternoon (trying to upgrade my reflection through various cosmetic means), my thoughts wandered.  Death brings a somber reality to living; one we cannot escape.  I considered what happens once this life comes to a close, when our very breath is snuffed out in a moment.  Some believe that we soon re-enter this world, perhaps, though, in a different form (i.e., animal, insect, tree, etc.).  What creature you return as depends upon the kind of life you lived formerly.  That, to me, sounds incredibly depressing.  I don't want to come back here as cow or crow or worse.  I don't want to live in dread of the consequences of my misdeeds.  How often have I done what I ought not?  How often have I not done what I could have?  The answer is convicting.

Ancient Eqyptians, on the other hand, taught that you would leave this earth and pass into another place.  There, the dead would cross a dark river to stand before a judgment seat.  Their heart would be placed on a scale - opposite a feather; truth of heart would (somehow) make this organ lighter.  If the feather descended, the dead would be rewarded with all the good things he enjoyed upon earth.  If, however, the heart was heavy with sin, an attentive beast would devour the man.  The lesson seems the same; it is your efforts that make the difference.  Live well or else!  What a frightening prospect!  Honestly, whose heart is lighter than a feather?!  Our consciences betray us.  No one.  Not one.  (Romans 3:10-18)

Fear of punishment, judgment, consequences (returning as spider, per say) or future have made many a man do many things.  But, in truth, we need not be overwhelmed by fear.  Not because we are good enough; we are not.  Not because we can do more good than evil; we cannot.  Not because there is nothing else after death; there is.  We know what comes next: eternity.   

As I mull over this, I begin to rejoice in the midst of sorrow.  Why?  Because, I believe something else.  I believe in a Savior who rose from the dead.  I believe in a God who resurrects His people.  I believe we live forever - just not here, forever.  Sounds crazy, doesn't it?  But, I know my heart.  Jealousy, selfish ambition, pride, impatience and rebellion lurk therein.  If my final destination depends on the culmination of my decisions, actions and priorities, I am doomed.  Physically.  Forever.  So are you.  Yet, if my hope is in the only perfect Man to ever live (and, it is): if I get His record of obedience and He takes my record of sin (almost to good to be true, but it is): if I believe the witnesses to the Resurrection (and I do), I AM SET FREE.  Fear no longer holds me prisoner.   

Paul writes, "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ.  For in Him all the fullness of Deity dwells in bodily form, and in Him you have been made complete, and He is the head over all rule and authority; and in Him you were also circumcised with a circumcision made without hands, in the removal of the body of flesh by the circumcision of Christ; having been buried with Him in baptism, in which you were also raised up with Him through faith in the working of God, who raised Him from the dead."  (Colossians 2:8-12)

So, while I grieve along with those I love, I have a great hope.  I hope in Christ.  I hope in Heaven.  And, I hope to spend the rest of my forever with God's people, worshiping our risen and reigning Savior.  For me and the many who share my hope (here and gone), death is our one-way ticket to unspeakable joy.   

And, as for my fear... Well, it is buried outside an empty tomb.