Death

By Phil Wood

Mark 15:33-39  At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)…

With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.

The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, saw how he died, he said, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”
                    
This year during Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about death – not in any morbid sense, but the subject has been on my mind for a couple different reasons.

First, I lost my younger brother on March 6, the first Sunday of Lent. After many years of dedicated service to God, mixed with long periods of suffering and pain, Mark now romps with the angels and saints in the presence of the one who is Lord of all. His transformation is complete. And mine got a little closer in the process.

Second, death is really a tough subject to avoid as Good Friday looms before us during this holiest of weeks on the Christian calendar. As we near the cross, we must face the fact that Jesus died a lonely, forsaken, brutal death.

Even though, in hindsight, we know he conquered death and rose again, we have to acknowledge that he did, indeed, die – as all of us must. We have to deal with the grief. We have to deal with the remorse of knowing he died to save us from our sin.

And, eventually, we must conclude that there is a lesson to be learned here – one we really don’t like thinking about. In his book, Wondrous Encounters, Richard Rohr writes, “We all find endless disguises and excuses to avoid letting go of what really needs to die for our own spiritual growth.”
 
In his book called Our Greatest Gift, Henri Nouwen writes, “Jesus lived less than forty years; he didn’t travel outside his own country; the people who knew him during his life scarcely understood him; and when he died, only a few of his followers remained faithful. In every respect, his life was a failure. Success had left him, popularity had dwindled…Still, few lives have been so fruitful; few lives have affected the thinking and feeling of other people so deeply; few have so profoundly shaped future cultures; few have influenced so radically the pattern of human relationships.”

There is something mystical that happens when someone we love makes that final transition and passes from this life to the next. Something that we who remain experience in a very deep way.  A window is opened and we see a bigger picture.

At my brother’s memorial service I witnessed a long parade of people testifying to the impact he had on their lives, and realized that his work is only beginning to bear fruit and will continue to do so for generations to come.

On a cold, gray, Michigan day, I helped bury his ashes in the memorial garden just outside the doors of his church, and marveled that beautiful plants and flowers will be springing up there soon.

I think of the centurion at the cross whose life was changed by witnessing the death of Jesus. I think of the millions and millions of souls whose lives have been changed since that day because of him.

I think of the many parts of myself that I’ve had to let go of over the years, and those that yet need to die for something more beautiful to happen.

And it is well with my soul.

Lord Jesus, here we are, more than two thousand years after your death, still mourning, still overcome by the cruelty you experienced at the hands of people you created and loved so dearly. Yet you, Lord, even in your death, you were teaching us. You opened a window so we could see that without death, there is no resurrection. And without resurrection, nothing changes. By your Holy Spirit – now alive in us – we are strengthened to let die those things that hinder our relationship with you. We are set free to share your love to the culture around us, and send it forward from our generation to the next. Hallelujah! Amen.