Articles
A Step Between Me and Death
I traveled last week to Florida to conduct the funeral of a sister in Christ. She died after a thirteen-year battle with cancer. It was the largest turnout for a funeral that I have seen in a long time. It was obvious that sister Amma Lou Koon made a profound impact for good on many people in her eighty-nine years. But the funeral seemed to set a tone for the week. Death became a recurring theme.
First, I stayed in a small apartment (“The Cottage at the Mill”) that has been constructed in the corner of the sawmill built by my uncle Buis Jonas. Part of the apartment is the original mill office, and photographs and news articles on the wall tell my uncle’s rags-to-riches story. But he died years ago, and his legacy carries on in family, forty acres of pine trees, a church he helped shepherd, and a defunct sawmill that serves as an oasis for traveling relatives.
Second, sister Amma Lou was buried in the same country cemetery as my mother and father (along with other extended family members). I had not stood over my parents’ graves since Mom’s memorial service nine years ago. Sobering, that.
Next I traveled to Bonifay, a small town in the Florida panhandle, where my brother-in-law lives with his second wife, Alicia (my sister died in 2005 at the age of 51). Last year, Alicia’s son by a previous marriage developed sepsis related to diabetes and other issues. He was in his late twenties when he died.
On Sunday afternoon Norm and I went flying. As we left the small airport, Norm pointed out at new section of fence at the end of the runway. Nearby was a bouquet of flowers. I asked, “Who bought the farm?” (Diplomacy isn’t my strong suit.) “Our airport manager,” he replied. The manager, also an aircraft mechanic, took an ailing airplane on a test flight to see why the owner was having issues. Probably not wise to diagnose a malfunctioning airplane while flying it. He clipped some trees on final and “slipped the surly bonds of earth” rather violently.
That evening after worship, I was approached by a sister who commented on the sermon I had preached that morning. “I wish my daughter had heard that lesson,” she said. “It might have done her some good.” Not knowing the details, I asked about her daughter’s situation. She was too overcome with emotion to answer, so her sister standing beside her said the daughter had lost a baby and was bitter toward God.
On the way home from worship Norm and I stopped to visit his brother and sister-in-law. They live off a dirt road on a rural parcel of land that Janice inherited. Just a few years ago Janice’s brother was investigating a suspicious truck on the property. He was accosted by two thieves who tied him up, beat him to death, set his body on fire and stole his truck.
Within a few days I had been confronted with death among the newborn to middle age to the elderly. Death of faithful Christians, backslidden saints and unbelievers. Death from accident to disease to criminal violence. Death of loved ones and those never met.
It was David who said to his beloved friend, Jonathan, “But truly as the Lord lives, there is but a step between me and death” (1 Sam 20:3). While David was being pursued by a raging, jealous madman intent on murdering him, his observation is true of all of us. The evidence is incontrovertible. Any of us can make similar connections with death I have outlined above. Death is happening all around us, every day, in every way. We are fools if we do not take it seriously and live our lives accordingly.
There was just a step between Paul and death: “We were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of life. Yes, we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead, who delivered us from so great a death, and does deliver us; in whom we trust that He will still deliver us” (2 Cor 1:8-10). Paul knew well the nearness of death, accepted it, but was not morbid about it. Rather, he placed his life in the hands of the One who gave it.
And so must we. In spite of the ubiquity of death, life gives the illusion of permanency – or at least longevity. While others die, we tend to feel secure, if not completely invincible. Death is for another day, another person, but not for us – yet. Perhaps this is a natural coping mechanism; we can’t live productively with an unconstrained dread of dying. Such would cripple us with anxiety and snuff out hope, creativity and industry.
I noted in sister Koon’s funeral address: “Paul faced the possibility of death with great assurance: ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day, and not to me only but also to all who have loved His appearing’ (2 Tim 4:7-8). Surely sister Amma Lou Koon’s life was a hearty ‘amen’ to Paul’s declaration of faith. And so it must be with each of us if we are to face the end of earthly life with the grace and dignity and a servant’s spirit as Amma Lou did.” We must come to terms with death before its reality intrudes into our lives.
