Is death our friend, our enemy, or just a biological process? What better time
to ask that question than Ash Wednesday, a day on the Christian calendar devoted
to our mortality? Lest you think Ash Wednesday too morbid, and many Christians
do (You can tell it is not our most popular service of the year.), remember it
is the beginning of Lent, and Lent leads to Easter. You might say we ponder the
problem before we celebrate the solution. But Ash Wednesday is more than that.
We need somber occasions because life is serious and at times painful, and we
have to be honest about that. Also, Lent itself, although somber, serves a
purpose. Christians in an earlier era spoke of mortification. A part of us needs
to die, and we need to put it to death. Call this part our sinful self, the old
self. Paul called it “the old man.” If you are in Christ, you are a new
creation. You are a new man or new woman. The old has to die, because when we
die to sin we live to Christ. Lent, then, is like chemo. We kill off something
bad so that we might be healthy and live.
If Lent is chemo, Ash Wednesday is the diagnosis. We intentionally reflect on
our own mortality. So I will ask it again: Is death our friend, our enemy, or
just a biological process?
Right away I am going to rule out biological process. Death is of course a
biological process, but it has to be more than just that or else our very
existence is meaningless. If your life matters, how can its end mean nothing? So
that leaves us with friend or enemy.
I have seen death welcomed as a friend. As a pastor I have prayed with many
people at the end of long, terrible sufferings. Some diseases do not just kill;
they kill slowly and painfully. I will spare you the details, for you do not
need them. You know I am telling the truth, and maybe you have walked with a
loved one through such a death. If you have, you will understand how death can
be merciful. We grieve the loss of our beloved, but we find immediate and real
comfort in knowing that the suffering is over.
Many times, even when suffering is not severe or prolonged, people have
confessed to me that they are ready to die. If death is an enemy, they will not
be sorry to meet it. They have lived a long, full life. Their strength has gone.
They have no unfinished business. They believe God’s promises. It is not that
they want to die. Rather, they know death is inevitable, and they are prepared.
Let it come.
On the other side, we all know death as an enemy. Each of us has an instinct for
self-preservation wired into us. We naturally seek life. We also recognize death
as an enemy when someone we love dies. Even if that person is ready, and even if
we want their suffering to end, we are never fully ready to let go. Maybe mostly
ready, but their absence leaves a hole in us. Of course death is an enemy. Ask
anyone who has lost someone who did not live a long full life with no unfinished
business. We have a lot of them in our church. I have never known a congregation
in which so many people have lost children—either in childhood or after they had
grown.
Scripture also teaches us to call death our enemy. Death is a punishment imposed
on sinful humanity in the Garden of Eden. Paul, in his great chapter on the
resurrection, calls death “the last enemy to be defeated” [1 Cor 15.26].
What then is our verdict? Can sin be both friend and enemy, depending on our
circumstances? I think not. Even when death appears merciful, the disease it
rescues one from is part of our mortality. Two wrongs do not make a right. The
disease is an enemy, but so is death, even if some good comes from it.
Christianity teaches us to view death as an enemy, but as a conquered enemy.
This makes a difference. Because death has been conquered, God can use death as
a tool for his own good and loving purposes; but,death can never thwart, or even
get in the way of, God’s purposes for us. This comforts and puts everything into
a new perspective. We know death has meaning because our lives have meaning. We
know death is not our friend. Yet it is not an enemy with the power to take from
us the very things death always threatens to take: our existence, our self, our
relationships, and our significance. All those things are in the hands of our
Father in heaven. Death has no power.
Jesus conquered death through his resurrection, but do not think the issue was
in doubt until then. The power that raised Jesus from the dead is the same
life-giving power that created the universe. God has always been stronger than
death, as Jesus pointed out to the Sadducees when he argued with them about
resurrection. What does the Law say? At the burning bush God told Moses, “I am
the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” Jesus added,
“He is not God of the dead, but of the living” [Mark 12.26-27].
We see this same power at work in the account in John 11 when Jesus raises
Lazarus. One feature of the account I find amusing: Jesus keeps getting blamed.
When he is still a little ways off, Martha comes out to meet him. The first
thing she says is: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
Later, when Jesus sees Martha’s sister, Mary, she says the same thing. Even the
crowds, although they do not say it to Jesus, murmur among themselves, “Could
not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man this man from
dying?” Poor Jesus. He goes to mourn the death of a friend, and everyone blames
him. This response is so typical. How often I have seen it. Someone dies, and
the spouse or children begin heaping blame on someone. It was the doctor’s
fault. Something more should have been done. Or it is the deceased’s fault. Why
didn’t she take better care of herself? Others blame themselves. “I should have
been here sooner. I should have spent more time with this person.” And so on.
Anger is a phase of grief. I am hurting, so someone must be to blame. And the
anger looks for an outlet. People blame God. Even when they don’t blame God,
they often wonder why things have to be this way. That is a legitimate question.
But God does not give an explanation. Instead he acts.
When people try to blame him, Jesus simply invites faith. Jesus told Martha,
“Your brother will rise again.” She replied, “I know that he will be raised
again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said, “I am the resurrection
and the life.” Believe in me is what he is asking. Jesus neither excuses himself
for his tardy arrival nor defends God for making a world in which death occurs.
What does he do? He makes a promise … he invites faith … and then he acts with
the power of God. We want an explanation. God does something. He acts with
power.
We Christians must accept the reality of death, but also the reality of its
defeat. Jesus accepted the reality of death. Twice the passage says he was
greatly disturbed. It even admits he wept, which was a shocking admission when
you consider it was written in a world that saw that sort of emotion as weakness
by someone who pushed hard for his reader’s to believe Jesus is divine. In this
passage death is real. It is not a mere foil for Jesus’ power. See the mourners;
hear the weeping; smell the stench they were so concerned about.
Accept the reality … not only of death but of its defeat. “I am the resurrection
and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.” Not
just words. Power! “Lazarus! Come forth!”
What does it mean that death is defeated? It means God can use death as a tool
for his own purposes; but death can never thwart, or even get in the way of,
God’s purposes. It means we do not have to like death or accept it as
conclusive. It means we need not fear death. It means we can live with joy. That
is so important. Don’t miss the joy. I am convinced you can never go far in the
Christian life on penitence alone. Yes, you need to discipline yourself to not
do bad things, but it takes much more. You need the joy and peace God wants you
to have. You never mature to where God wants you to be without the joy. Do not
miss it. Do not let fear rob you of it. There is no need. Your greatest enemy
has been defeated.
When I am with someone who is dying, there are only two things I can say that
really matter. The first is: “We love you.” I love you. Your church loves you.
Your family loves you. That matters, and it is worth saying. Some people are not
comfortable with that sort of thing, but when death is near powerful truth needs
to be spoken. Especially if someone grew up with parents who were reluctant to
say, “I love you,” it makes a difference.
The second is: “God is faithful, and his promises are good.” I might read a
passage or two, such as John 14, “Let not your hearts be troubled. You believe
in God. Believe also in me. I go to prepare a place for you,” or Romans 8, “You
have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very
Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God,” or
Ephesians 1, “God destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ,
according to the good pleasure of his will.” I remind the person of God’s
promises and share my conviction that those promises are good.
That’s all I have: our love and God’s promises. I offer them to you now, before
I mark you with the sign of the cross in ashes: We love you. I love you. This
church loves you. Most importantly, God loves you. If you belong to Jesus
Christ, through baptism and faith, you are in his hands and he will never let
you go. There is no condemnation for you. Instead, you have peace with God, and
he has adopted you as his own dear child. Be not afraid.
I offer you these. Jesus gave these too. He expressed his love for Lazarus and
for Martha and Mary. He promised Lazarus would live again. But Jesus, being God,
had something more to give—the power of God. The miracles Jesus performed were
never gratuitous. He did not just raise Lazarus because Lazarus was his friend.
He did it to reveal something. He did it to show that he is the resurrection and
the life.
Our journey to Easter begins tonight, with this reminder both of our morality
and of God’s power and promise. Amen.