Death of a Christian: The Pain and Joy of Final Farewell

They said there was not much time left. I shifted in my seat by my mama’s bedside. Her breaths were shallow and irregular. I was holding her hand, a hand that for 91 years had served all of us in so many loving ways. I could tell it was now losing warmth. Her nailbeds were getting dusky. Yes, there was not much time left. And then she turned and looked straight at me and was gone. I had pictured this moment many times over the last few weeks. How would I feel? What would I do? Would it be peaceful? I did not anticipate the overwhelming mystery. One moment my mama was here. The next moment her shriveled body was but a shell, and she was gone, never to return. Never, ever to return. It was a surreal, holy moment. I stood up, told the nurse, and drove home.

A Christian View of Death

The wise person understands an end is coming and lives life with acceptance of that fact and eternity in view.

Death is universal. Everyone is going to die. That’s not news to anyone. But today we tend to live in stark denial of that reality. Years ago, my mother offered to have Thanksgiving dinner at their home because she said, “I don’t know how long I will still be able to do it!” My immediate response was, “Oh, Mom. You’ll always be able to have Thanksgiving dinner!” Total denial. Completely unrealistic. Psalm 90:12 (NLT) says, “Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” The wise person understands an end is coming and lives life with acceptance of that fact and eternity in view.

So, if we have a healthy anticipation of life coming to an end, why is death so painful? Death was created to be a punishment. Do you remember? Genesis 2:16–17 reads, “And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, “You may surely eat of every tree in the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.” Adam and Eve went on to disobey. They did eat the forbidden fruit and from that moment on, plants and animals and people that were intended to live forever were punished with death. Punishment is always painful in some respect or it does not accomplish its purpose of being a deterrent and a correction.

Death requires courage. Most people accept the fact they will eventually die. If they are blessed to have lived a long, productive life and are now in a slow decline of aging until the final event, it is not death itself that brings fear; it is the process. I Corinthians 15:55–57 says, “‘O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ . . . But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” The final event ushers believers into the presence of Jesus! It’s all good! However, the process we often fear. Depending on how long that may be, the days of the process can be quite an amazing gift that should not be wasted or ignored. Courage is needed to maximize the time remaining.

My father died at age 90. When he turned 80, he gathered my five siblings and me together in our large living room. We all sat in a circle, and Father courageously brought up the subject of death. He spoke openly about “Mother and I not being around too much longer.” He encouraged us to pass on to the next generation the faith that was given to us, that knowing Jesus makes all the difference. He discussed the plans he and my mother had for passing along their financial resources. I listened with tears streaming down my cheeks. It wasn’t easy to have this meeting. The conversation was just too difficult, but in retrospect, it was so important for those of us left behind.

Serving the Dying Christian

Death is a time for the family to rally together. I was the oldest daughter, one of six siblings. My home was down the street from our parents. Most of my brothers lived out of town. During the last year, when our parents’ health was so diminished, I was able to be present every day, helping them just get through. I appreciated two things. I was okay being the primary go-to sibling for care, but I was really thankful when all the brothers and their wives showed up to give me support. We were a small army. We were of one mind. We had one mission: getting our parents over the finish line. I needed them, if for no other reason than to appreciate my efforts on the front line. Secondly, my husband blessed me with the freedom to devote my time to my mom and dad. Steve ate dinner more than once by himself. He spent evenings alone when I was helping to get the parents settled for the night. Because he was content while I was gone during this brief season, I am able to say now, “I have no regrets!”

Facing the end of life goes better if a plan is in place. Most seniors wish to discuss what the final journey will look like, but many are reticent to talk about it with their loved ones. The conversation can be facilitated so well by a pastor or chaplain who “knows the ropes” and is not so emotionally involved. Is there a will? What are the wishes for the resting place of the bodily remains? What should be included in the funeral service? My brother is a pastor, and he happened to say in our mother’s hearing that it was so much easier for the pastor if the deceased had left an order of service for the funeral. At this point my mother, significantly paralyzed by a stroke years earlier, took a pen and scratched out her song requests and her choice of Scripture reading and spokespeople, which we then followed exactly at her funeral a year later. It was so typical of her desire to serve others.

Impending death is a time to take care of unfinished business. My friend Matt was a career missionary who spent many years serving in Africa along with his wife and children. Apparently, his wife’s father held some bitterness against Matt all those years they were overseas because he had taken the family so far away. As the father’s life ebbed away at the very end of a battle with cancer, he managed to whisper to his daughter, “Tell Matt I’m sorry.” He had been carrying a burden that he finally laid down before it was too late. The air was now clear. The last piece of business was complete, and now he could go home peacefully.

Grief and Rejoicing

I knew Dad was in heaven, and my joy was complete.

The phrase “death can bring rejoicing” almost sounds like an oxymoron, but when the destination is known, the final goodbyes can bring incredible joy. I was at my father’s bedside on his last day with us. His heart was unable to pump well enough to sustain life much longer. His parched lips welcomed the teaspoon of ice chips I slipped into his mouth at regular intervals. We had a cassette recorder beside him on his bed, playing his favorite hymns sung by George Beverly Shea. My dear mother was in her wheelchair on the other side of his bed. It was noontime, and without knowing how long Father would linger, I slipped out for a bite of lunch. When I returned, he was gone. I grieved for about two minutes and then felt a complete, total-body overflow of joy that I never expected. I was so incredibly proud of our father. I was thrilled he was home! He was the first in our immediate family to arrive at the destination! He had done it! I have pondered this unusual surprise many times and have come to the conclusion that if you know the destination as you say your farewells, it makes all the difference. I knew Dad was in heaven, and my joy was complete.

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. (Psalm 116:15)