Here’s something to read with your morning coffee.
“There is a real theological problem if our Christian hope lies entirely in God’s ability to heal, and not in the resurrection. Hope placed entirely in God’s ability to physically heal is, in a sense, misplaced hope because even those who are healed die eventually. True Christian hope is an eternal hope that goes beyond death.
I know I could die tomorrow and I could die 80 years from now. More than likely I will die somewhere in between. All of my loved ones face the same fate. I know even if I were to be stricken with a deadly disease and then healed, death would still come for me eventually. No matter how many bananas I eat, that truth is inescapable.
And yet, so many of us, as theologian Stanley Hauerwas has said, are desperate to think medicine will get us out of life alive, even though medicine can’t do that. We are terrified of death.”
— Brian Kiley via Relevant Mag
For some sobering encouragement and extra chest hair, please check out the article in its entirety here.
PS:
I really don’t like the thought of dying.
I love life.
Last week, during 45 minutes of terrifying turbulence while flying over Russia – during which, I barely heard over my pounding heart – it got so bad, the pilot told the attendants over the PA system to secure their food carts and fasten their seat belts immediately. My one comfort was that I was seated by the emergency exit. I thought, ‘Well, *if anyone on this flight is ready to die, it’s me. So, if this plane goes down, I can give it my all and not be scared.’
That didn’t stop me from praying for our safety, though.
Eek.
Believe it or not, I’ve already thought about what I’d like to be read at my funeral.
Are you ready to die?
*PPS:
This reminds me of a story.
In 2000, Tom and I lived in a second story apartment. Our downstairs neighbor, a single guy running an internet job search agency, was away on vacation.
It was winter.
Tom worked the night shift.
Thomas, my oldest son, was born in early March of 2001. I definitely had the pregnancy waddle going on.
In the middle of the night, I heard glass break and then lots of banging noises in from the apartment downstairs. I popped a clip in our Beretta and slowly opened our door. From the upstairs balcony, I could see that the door to the downstairs apartment, supposedly vacant, was ajar.
A light was on.
More noises.
I quietly closed my apartment door and called the police.
They showed up, and I slowly opened my door and whispered hello. I kept the door open a crack to watch.
They got into formation, two guys on the stairs from a higher vantage point, and two guys on the ground floor.
The older of the two on the ground said, “You go first.”
The younger cop said, “There could be someone in there. I don’t know what I’m going to be facing here.”
The older cop said, “You’re a cop. It’s your job, no matter how scared you are. Now do it.”
He did.
Turns out the idiot neighbor left his lights on, and left the windows open. It was pretty windy, and a vase knocked over. The house was old and there were weights in the window frames, which banged the house violently in the wind. He was notorious for leaving his door unlocked, and it never did shut very well without a good kick.
