God in the Face of Death

It happened again yesterday.

We sang one of my favourite hymns (although I have so many favourite hymns that the term "favourite" has become somewhat useless).  "My Jesus, I love thee, I know thou art mine.  For thee, all the follies of sin, I resign.  My gracious Redeemer, my Saviour art thou. If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."

As I sang through the first verse, I began to wonder.  A knot of anticipation and dread grew inside me as we worked our way through the second verse:  "I love thee because thou hast first loved me, and purchased my pardon on Calvary's tree.  I love thee for wearing the thorns on thy brow.  If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."

Would we?  Wouldn't we?  Would we dare?

"In mansions of glory and endless delight . . . "

My heart sank.  We wouldn't.  We didn't dare.

Oh, those words are just as lovely as the words of the first two verses.  But why, oh, why do we always skip the third verse?  I can't remember the last time we stood up in church and sang, "I'll love thee in life, I will love thee in death.  I praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath, and sing, when the death dew lies cold on my brow, if ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."

What is it about those words that scares us so?  Do we not think that we can love Jesus in death?  Do we fear the idea that he merely lends us the breath in our lungs, that his sovereignty extends to every breath we draw?  Are we so determined to be self-determining we can't stand the reminder that we are not our own?  Or is it that line about death dew lying cold on our brow?  Is it somehow too grim, too morbid, too dark or something?  Because death is, you know.  It's grim, and morbid, and dark.  I've seen death, up close and personal.  I've been at the bedside of a loved one who was deathly ill but still very much alive, and then returned to that bedside mere hours later and seen the death dew lying cold on my loved one's brow.  And if Jesus is not Jesus in that moment, then please tell me when he is.  If he is not Lord in that moment of my greatest need, then when on earth and in heaven can I ever expect him to be Lord?  If I cannot look down at my loved one's face and say, in that moment, with a breaking heart and the tears pouring down my face, "If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now," then when, pray tell, when else do I have the audacity to say it?  How can I possibly face my own mortality (and pretending it isn't so does nothing but make me a fool and delusional) if I cannot say, with confidence, "I love thee in life, I will love thee in death, and praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath.  And say, yes, even when the death dew lies cold on my brow, if ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."

After all, did he not defeat death?  Did he not conquer the grave?  Did he not prove his very divinity by rising again?

But no, we skip that verse.  We avoid the death dew and jump right to the mansions of glory and endless delight.  Have you ever thought of how unbelievably ludicrous that is?  How, I wonder, do we think to get there without first dying?  And how do we expect to face death with courage, with peace, with dignity, and with confidence in the work of our Saviour if we think it is too morbid to talk about?  There simply is no resurrection power, no mansion of glory and endless delight without first sharing in Christ's suffering and becoming like him in his death.

So let's quit the bull and face it, head on.  Let's quit pretending and avoiding and acting like death doesn't exist for fear of turning someone off or making someone feel bad or cry.  For goodness' sake, let's quit giving the grave more power than it has!  Jesus has conquered it!  It's precisely because he HAS conquered it that I can love him in death, even when the death dew lies cold on my brow.  So let's look the death mask square in the eye and feel the pain, and cry the tears, and grieve together.  Is that not what Scripture calls us to do?  And then, let's stand up and say, "But Jesus, you are the resurrection and the life.  You have conquered death and the grave.  You are God.  You are good.  I love thee in life, and I will love thee in death.  Nothing can separate my from your love:  not even death dew."

Then, and only then can we sing about mansions of glory and endless delight.  Then we can sing for eternity, "If ever I loved thee, my Jesus, 'tis now."