“Oh, how the mighty heroes have fallen! Stripped of their weapons, they lie dead.”
“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels—a plentiful harvest of new lives…. Now my soul is deeply troubled. Should I pray, ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But this is the very reason I came! Father, bring glory to your name.”
“Open for me the gates where the righteous enter, and I will go in and thank the Lord. These gates lead to the presence of the Lord, and the godly enter there. I thank you for answering my prayer and giving me victory!”
There is very little that troubles us more than death. Of course, it is reasonable to have some anxiety about passing in pain or violence. But our fears go much deeper than the physical, even if we don’t allow ourselves to think on it much. If the discomfort of death really was what kept us up at night, few of us would continue to drive, fly, drink, smoke, or take any significant risk. But we blithely roll on with our daily activities having nary a care in the world. No, it is not the physicality of mortality which unsettles us so much as the uncertain spirituality of the next, eternal life as we get closer to facing it. No wonder; most of us are totally unprepared for the transition. We spend far more time, if we think of death at all, wondering what is on the other side than preparing for it. Throughout life, most people approach death as a hypothetical. When the reality of the unknown beckons, we grow increasingly uncomfortable and fearful, even as we remain unclear about precisely what it is we fear.
For a third group, though, it is neither the physicality nor spiritualization of death which challenges. These folks are just concerned about disappearing, or passing without notice. Their worst nightmare is leaving behind nothing that affected others, nothing worth remembering. No one wants to be forgotten. Yet, if our stock is honestly inventoried, few of us have done much to assure others will remember and honor our legacy. The explanation of why is painfully basic. Being self-centered, little of what we do is worthy of remembrance. We hang on so tightly to our own lives that we forget or, worse, refuse to minister to others, so we have no real impact on their lives.
Jesus reminds all of us that a seed which dies is the only seed that fulfills its divine purpose. Good parents don’t need the reminder. They sacrifice a little of themselves every day. So do pastors, teachers, doctors (the good ones, at least) and many selfless folks. But for the rest of us, a little refresher cannot hurt. We fulfill our purpose when we place our very lives into the hands of God and allow Him to use us as He sees fit, even if that means using us up completely. Jehovah is, after all, Lord of the Resurrection, the Lord who remakes, the God of restoration. There is nothing we can give up in this life that God cannot replace multiple times in heaven. Thus, if we were more generous on earth, and left a little more of ourselves in the hearts of others, we’d have fewer worries about being remembered and less anxiety about being restored. The more we try to horde and preserve for ourselves, the less reason we give anyone to remember us favorably in this life. The more we place in God’s hands to do with as He will, the more eternal we become, not just in heaven, but in the minds of all those touched by our sacrifice.
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