Approaching death: regaining proper perspective

I’m not exactly sure how to begin writing about this, but I had an experience that made me think I was going to die today.  As I was sitting in the break room at work, I had a very sharp, sudden pain in the left side of my chest, about where my heart is.  The first incident I took as a random occurrence, but upon my second breath I realized something was wrong.  Another sharp pain split my chest, and I began to wonder whether or not this was really… it.

There were a few things that popped into my head as it happened, the first two being “not here” and  “not now.”  I suppose everyone thinks this as their life is coming to a close, as they begin to realize how fragile they were the entire time, and how much they’d taken their strength–and every possible misconception of invincibility–for granted.  If there’s one thing we can be sure of, it’s that not everyone is fortunate enough to die in battle, or to die rescuing someone, or to die a martyr, or doing anything with any purpose at all.  Actually, quite a few people kick the bucket and don’t have enough time to realize they’re about to meet their maker, and even less are likely to find Him even if they did.  But for some of us, there’s enough time to ponder what they did–and didn’t–do with their time.

As I began to consider more seriously the potential of death, I was a struck by the fact that I felt a deep sense of shame.  The funny thing about this shame wasn’t that it was for the things I’ve done wrong, as many things as are on that list, but that I felt more deeply ashamed of what I hadn’t done.  Not as in the “I wish I’d gone skydiving” kind of way, but rather in the realization that I’ve done absolutely nothing with my life.

Of course, I realized that my family would suffer, and that also bothered me deeply.  But as I began to think about my destination, I realized that I’ve spent the talents God’s given me for practically nothing.  And then–when I’m looking Him in the face, what will I say?  “Oh, I’m sorry.  Thanks for everything you gave me, because I sat on it the entire time”?

Now, the whole purpose of having Christ in your life is supposed to allow you into God’s presence without sending you right into the path of His anger, a gift horse which no Christian will look in the mouth.  But that doesn’t mean you’re not going to have to confront Him as you are, and the moment the light of eternity shines upon your being, that’s it.  It’s too late to do it again.  He might not judge you, but believe me: you will judge yourself.

So I’ve had this question for quite some time now, as I’ve been reading Paul’s epistles, because he keeps mentioning this “prize” he’s fighting for, saying he doesn’t want to disqualify himself.  For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about, since salvation is already his, but now I know.  The prize is that he will be able to stand in front of his Creator and know that he fought alongside Him, instead of looking back at his life and not being able to figure out exactly what he spent all his time doing.   Paul wasn’t going to die in the break room, after spending his last days playing video games.  To enter into the gates of the Almighty and lay your conquests at His feet is your prize, and it is prize enough.

They say that men bond when they’re working on tasks together, and from what I can tell, this is the way it is with God, too.  You walk with Him, you learn with Him, you fight with Him, you suffer with Him, and you die with Him.  This is the most a Christian can ask for in this life: the chance to do what God would have you do, and to do so with Him alongside you.  Something which I irrationally discard on a daily, oftentimes hourly basis.  It is precisely this cavalier attitude toward this relationship with Him that struck me as I sat there, wincing in pain.

So what do I do?

I’ve determined that I’ve not taken writing and leadership seriously enough.  I have something to share: encouragement for some, salvation with others, His law for the wise, and all must be lacking in pride.  I need to stop talking like I’m on my high horse, because–and I felt this sincerely today–when you think you’re about to die, suddenly you’re not so special.  Suddenly, you’re just like everyone else: full of screw-ups and supported by a very impermanent cornucopia of biological machines.  When you think you’re going to see God face to face, comparing yourself with others doesn’t make any sense.  It’s you and Him.  Alone.  Regardless of how you felt about yourself while living a chemical existence, the truth is that you were always utterly dependent and helpless.

Second, I haven’t been charitable enough.  There are people in my life from whom I’ve withheld acts of kindness, and organizations from whom I’ve withheld my money.  There are people starving, and others dying from a lack of spiritual hope.  If I don’t have the time or the expertise to do the work, I need to pay someone to do it.  There are also people from whom I withhold smiles, greetings, and random acts of love, whether because I don’t “like” them, or for some other superficial and/or stupid reason.  This has to stop.  I have been commanded to love unceasingly, and although it will be difficult, I wasn’t given another option.  This is a great way to fight the fight, being an ambassador for Christ; a soldier controlled by a duty to love, not as a result of feeling, but with the will to act.

Third, if I can remember–and I’m willing to bet that I’ll forget–I must pray to my God as much as possible.   If I am going to actually die someday, my face had better have been turned toward Him for as much time as possible, keeping all my actions with His perspective in mind.  To be quite honest, nothing else really matters.  We’ve known for a very long time that every other earthly pursuit is just vanity.

On a slightly less serious note, I will also be reevaluating my consumption levels of butter and bacon.

So if there’s one thing I can convey to you at this point, it’s that you are not invincible.  Your safety is an illusion, a thin thread hanging you over a very certain destruction, and when that moment comes, instead of wondering whether all you’ve banked your life upon is going down the drain, I want you to be secure.  The worst thing that can happen to a person is recognizing at the very end that their life has been a waste, and that they’ve entered irreversibly into the courts of a righteous, disappointed, and/or angry God.  And if you’re thinking you’re not going to meet Him, all I have to say is that you’d better be right.

So I’m probably going to be heading into the doctor’s office, since it’d be a good idea to see if I’m going to be around for a while.  But before I do, I’m going to thank my God I’ve got a working heart and a second chance to walk with Him.  After all, not everybody gets such a kind reminder.

Grace and peace,

-J

“All men are like grass,
and all their glory is like the flowers of the field;
the grass withers and the flowers fall,
but the word of the Lord stands forever.”

This entry was posted on 10. June 2010 at 01:40 and is filed under Theology, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

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