Death


God in His grace is transforming my fear of death into reverence for the One who has triumphed over it. My thoughts on a post by Dr. Reynolds, and a great poem by Donne.

Dr. Reynolds had such a good post today - on perhaps THE most important topic - that I just had to stop my busy day and take time to post. Take the time and read his post first, I'll be here when you get back. He addresses the inescapable nature of Death, and what a daunting and terrible picture it paints for the secularist. But this is not the Death of the Christian, for we have a King who conquered even Death.

Dr. Reynolds touches on this briefly:
"Hope is a Christian virtue. Only the great monotheistic religions can believe in the face of death. Christianity does not avoid death for it contains a God who dies. "

Death is that one awesome thing that Man cannot ignore. It is perhaps the clearest vision of God's transcendence. What is the one thing we will never overcome, no matter how advanced we may become? The fact that we are finite, with a definite beginning and a definite end (at least to this life). God has neither beginning nor end, and speaking of death and God in the same sentence seems to be doomed to confusion.

And yet, what did the God who can never taste death do? He subjected Himself to become a man, to put on our flesh and our nature, and to subject Himself not only to death, but a cruel, painful death of shame and disgrace on a cross. In doing so, He proves Himself to be powerful in the chief weakness of Man. He confronts the very thing that we can never escape, and neither avoiding nor ignoring death, conquers it. How great a God is this? How thoroughly does He deserve our trust?

God in His grace is transforming my fear of death into reverence for the One who has triumphed over it. Thanks be to God that He has conquered death, and shall lead me to conquer fear of it through trust in Him. I know its the second time this week I've quoted John Donne, but this is one of my favorite of his poems and so apropos:

Death, Be Not Proud
by John Donne

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Posted: Wed - February 16, 2005 at 05:58 PM | | | | | | |

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