Better Off Dead

Philippians 1: 21-24   "For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body."

I was reading tonight about Said Musa, an Afghan man who was arrested and faced with the death penalty for having converted to Christianity.  He has endured beatings, sexual abuse, sleep deprivation, and other horrors for the crime of choosing the Christian faith.  My understanding is that he was recently released, an outcome that was not expected.  Yet just as easily he may very well have been executed, and I am certain that his life is still in danger as it is.

At moments like this I have to contemplate just how utterly coddled I am, and most of the rest of us are, as Christians.  I hear a lot of talk about the "persecution" of Christians in America.  We have no right to use the word. 

Paul knew what it meant to be persecuted, and he knew what it meant to see beyond persecution to the promise of eternity with Christ.  He states here plainly that he yearns for the day when he can join Christ and abide in paradise, leaving the problems of this world behind.  Yet he also knows that for the fleeting moment of his life, he has a job to do, and so he grudgingly accepts his present work knowing that the future is not that far away.

How is it that a persecuted Christian, an embattled Christian, an imprisoned Christian, can stare death in the face and accept it with open arms while we, in the modern, safe, Western world, remain petrified of our end?  Why can't we grasp the fact that when we, as believers, come to the end of this life, eternity begins?  Too often we see our death as a thing to fear, when we should be seeing it as a tremendous gift.  The great Christian apologist Malcolm Muggeridge may have said it best: "I rejoice in it.  I love it.  If it weren't for death, life would be unbearable."

I would maintain that there is indeed a healthy form of Christian fatalism.  I say this because I also know the unhealthy form. It was a burden I carried for years, and I know I am not alone it that experience.  As a younger man I was steeped in depression, though I managed to function despite its effects.  In fact, I saw it as an inspiration, a form of impetus, and a companion of sorts.  It was that part of me that forced me to work harder and think harder in order to avoid the pain of meaningless despair.  It drove me toward a deeper spiritual journey as I sought out purpose, and it made me gain a sense of empathy for others as I felt a lingering pain in my heart almost all the time, and I therefore realized better the pain others feel. 

As I struggled with depression, I found myself realizing again and again how much I yearned for it to finally be over in a complete and permanent sense.  I found myself yearning for death, as it was in death that joy would finally enter my heart.  I was not suicidal, as I had no thoughts of taking matters into my own hands, but I was indeed guilty of what I have heard described as the worst of sins -- despair.

But then, out of the blue, God came to my aid.  In May 2005, I had an awakening that changed my life forever.  Here is how I described it in my journal:

I had a great epiphany last week, on the 12th I believe, while in the midst of one of my depressions.  I have long struggled with thoughts of and desires for death, and have wished many times for my death when in the midst of depression.  But after having heard the hymn "He Touched Me" on the radio, and somehow having been deeply moved, I realized that all along it had been an illusion -- it had been the devil who wanted me dead, not me.  All of this time, all of these years, my fatalism had simply been placed there in my mind by the enemy, and it was not natural to me.  I have been greatly strengthened by this realization.

I still remember standing there in my living room, awestruck, almost stricken, by this simple, seemingly obvious revelation.  But I had been blind, and then suddenly, I could see.

And what did that song say?

Shackled by a heavy burden
'Neath a load of guilt and shame
Then the hand of Jesus touched me
Now I am no longer the same.

He touched me, oh He touched me
And oh the joy that floods my soul
Something happened and now I know
He touched me and made me whole.

What I may have recalled as I listened to the radio was the fact that I had suggested this hymn for my grandmother's funeral service just a few months earlier.  After decades of bad health, she had been made whole at last.  And that was the lesson that stuck with me.  Death is not the panacea, but it is the reward.  For people of faith it is indeed to be hoped for, looked forward to, but it must never usurp the work of the present day.  It must never usurp the joy of the present day.  Paul knew this full well.  His rest would come in time; until then he had God's work to do.  And God would be with him on the journey.

The key to dealing with death is to see it for what it is, the final door to total life.  I truly pity those who have no belief in the afterlife and who fully assume that at the moment they die, everything is over.  What kind of terrifying prospect that has to be.  I am thankful to know, in the depths of my being, that when my last moment arrives, I will be welcomed into God's own realm.  I fear the process of dying, but I don't fear death.  I know full well not to fear it at all.  In fact, as the old man said, I rejoice in it.  I love it.  If it weren't for death, life would be unbearable.