Approaching Death

A Christian friend for whom life in the body is becoming more difficult and tenuous has been thinking on death’s uncongeniality. What disturbs him is not simply that there is so much sweetness in a life he is loathe to leave--he has a wonderful wife, a large and loving family, and the high respect of many friends and colleagues--but (for he is a penetrating man) the impenetrability of the veil through which we must pass. It is not the depth or speed of the River at the World's End that troubles him so much as the mists that obscure the other side.

The thickest of these is the incommensurability of that new world with ours, something the Lord spoke of when he taught that there will be no marrying or giving in marriage, but we will be like the angels in heaven. What will be the use of the organs of procreation in a world where we no longer procreate? Or for that matter any organ--the eyes that see, the ears that hear, and the mind into which thoughts enter--but not of what the Lord has prepared for those who love him. Will all that we have here, as it survives resurrection and judgment, have no more than something like “symbolic” value sub specie aeternitatis?

Life in the womb also was acclimating, but similarly devoid of understanding. Not that the sounds of what was outside weren’t dimly heard in the secret place where consciousness was being founded, but all externalities were delivered to us under the beat of our mother's heart, and when we heard her songs or our father's voice, we heard them truly, but did not know yet what they were. It was perceived as "through a mirror, obscurely." We were alive, but only partly awake; the differentiated “I” was there but could not see itself clearly.

That there was a world outside could be no more than an intuition which we hadn’t yet sufficient knowledge to desire. We had mouths, but knew nothing of eating; we had lungs but did not breathe. We had organs of digestion and reproduction, but they were not used as such, and had we the ability to wonder about them, we could only question what use they could be in any future eventuality. We were fully supported in our mother's life, its organ of transmission central to our existence, life without it inconceivable. Her womb formed the horizon of our world, beyond which all was no more than the merest adumbration of myth. As restrictive as it may have become near the end of our residency, we had no desire to leave it.

What we now see retrospectively as birth was death to that child--a sudden and horrific upheaval in which we were forced unwilling through a narrow place and made to take the air of the new world because there was no choice. In terrible light and the new presence of vivid sound the placenta was torn away--all that had carried our former life was now gone, organs once dormant now sustained life: the mouth took in nourishment, the viscera digested and expelled. We were no longer what we had been, but were in a position to come to the knowledge of what it would have meant if we had been told that in this resurrection there was no longer life as we knew it in the womb, but we would be like men on the earth, eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage--all beyond our understanding while we were still resting in our mothers’ bodies.

We should not believe that when the Lord said one must become as a little child if he would enter the Kingdom of God he meant only that childlike trust in him was necessary. He meant that, to be sure, but a great deal more. We note that he did not respond to Nicodemus’ question about entering his mother’s womb a second time with a simple negative, rather with an explanation of the phenomenon of birth that comprehended the whole. The rabbi’s metaphor was apt, but only as metaphor. We could say his mistake was in misapprehending the mother in whom the man of the spirit is gestated, for the second birth, the second coming to the light, is that of a new man to Another Light, by which we will--and only when we can see by it--understand what can now be to us no more than the faintest of glimmerings. This should not dismay us; it is what God intends.

Comments

[J. M. Braaten]

These words are brilliantly insightful, and they give us pause to consider what perhaps it means to rest in the bosom of the Father.

[Judy K. Warner]

Thank you; this is an illuminating analogy.

[William Rush]

Thanks for this - it deepens my understanding of what death means for a Christian and reminds me of some words of Antoine de Saint-Exupery,
' To live is to be slowly born'

[Steve Nicoloso]

That metaphor, death as birth, is I think the most explanatory of all. I once had a coworker ask me, "So are you born again?" Tho' I know what he meant by it, was I the type of Christian who shared his peculiar brand of theology, I wish I'd the presence of mind to say, "Well, I'm in the birth canal."

[susan]

That's exactly what I'm nervous about -- how "incommensurable" heaven is! (Did anyone else besides me look that word up?) I don't even like to spend the night in a strange place! I like my own familiar place, not adventures that I can't even begin to imagine -- and from which there is no return. Worse than trying to imagine living with unnecessary organs (or without them!)is trying to imagine living outside of time. I LIKE time! I was thinking the other day how nice it would be to just get an email from someone reliable who was already in heaven -- something along the lines of "It's GREAT. Trust me, you'll LOVE it." Then I suddenly realized I actually have something like that: "Trust me... I would not tell you this if it were not true. I am going there to prepare a place for you." I do wish he had mentioned something about the TIME issue, however! Probably impossible to explain to one still in the birth canal!

[smh]

I thought for a while about "incommensurable," and finally chose it from among several possibilities. I wanted to stress profound difference in the two parts of life, but not in terms that made it absolute or overcame the analogy upon which the thought itself depended. The notion is derived from the apostolic observation that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable." None of this, however, means that what we shall find will be alien to us. Quite the contrary, in fact: we shall finally be at home in a way we were not before.

Let me venture that one reason our Lord apparently spoke more about hell than he did about heaven is because hell is more imaginable. To sinful people the corruption of time is more conceivable than its transcendence. That is why almost all visions of heaven quickly degenerate into something hellish--like people on clouds with harps, like Billy Bigelow polishing stars and wishing he weren't dead, like the Littlest Angel finding an uncongenial adult world and longing to have something that was back on earth. Do you remember that brilliant episode of The Twilight Zone where a dead thief thought he was in heaven because he was given everything he wanted--but was actually in hell, where he could not escape slavery to his own petty appetites? Anyone who has ever had the occasion to gag on the superlatives of bad religious poetry or been given a dessert of cloying sweetness knows what I am talking about. Nothing less than the friendship of Anthony Esolen could have induced me to pick up and read Dante's Paradise once again, since I remembered it that way, and have since come to like it better, having the advantage of relearning it at a master's hand.

This, Susan, is the "heaven" I have feared when I am not fearing the presumption I shall come there at all. But I am satisfied by now that if there is a heaven, it is truly our Father's House, and that once we are bathed and clothed, we shall be perfectly satisfied with it. The Lord has said as much, and I choose to believe him.

[DGP]

>>The notion of "something that cannot come to table with" ("mensa" = "table")" is derived from the apostolic observation that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable."

Just a quibble: I don't think "incommensurable" is etymologically related to "mensa." That two things cannot be measured by the same standard is not as strong a claim as the inability to enjoy table fellowship.

Still, Mr. Hutchens' larger point seems reliable enough. One of the remarkable things about the Scriptures is how *little* they say about "eternal life" or life "in heaven." The only true descriptions are found in the Book of Revelation, in an apocalyptic literary style that frustrates precise exegesis, and in the examples of the risen Lord's appearances, equally mystifying.

[Lucy]

A couple of years ago I nearly died. I didn't have any kind of "near death" experience or anything, but I did have to face that I was not as ready to die as I thought I was. I had to realize that I was actually quite terrified of the prospect. Not because I thought I would go to hell (Lord have mercy on me, a sinner) but because it was just so unknown. The thoughts of what it's really like to die, to pass over into eternity, were much more scary than I had ever acknowledged to myself. I hope that when I do die, it is with the peace that comes with complete trust in God, who I believe is good and who loves mankind, including me. I have told my children not to fear death and my four-year-old talks about how she can't wait to see Jesus. She has no fear of what it would be like; she knows only that the one she loves is waiting for her. I wish I had such faith and I pray that she keeps that kind of faith.

A great post, and I think a fairly accurate description of our perception this side of our "second birth."

[Michael]

On Wednesday night, a member of our congregation was found strangled to death in the trunk of her car in the parking lot of the Alzheimer's care facility where she was visiting her husband. I grew up knowing her daughter-in-law as "Aunt", and by extension, her son as an "Uncle"-by-marriage. That makes her third-degree extended family, and though I was not deeply depressed by the event, it is one of those events that just says "the world is broken, and it hurts, and there is nothing I can do to fix it." It is something one always sees on Law & Order, but it's never suppose to happen here, it's never supposed to be at home. Watching my "cousins" and extended family, including of one my coworkers, get hit by this is brutal beyond reason, and no cliche there, as logic cannot aspire to encompass the human soul's triumphs and sufferings.

Jane Britt may not have had an extended amount of time to ponder Heaven being "incommensurable" or the fact that death is so akin to birth, but these, Dr. Hutchens, are words serendipitously--or perhaps providentially--aporopos. Thank you.

[smh]

DGP: You're right, I believe, on the etymology of "incommensurable." Most likely it is derived from "mensura," not "mensa." I'll check it in the OED2 (which I don't own) today to make sure. I have always assumed that root because every time I've seen the word used it made sense. I stand corrected and am going to remove the note. You're also right, however, that the semantic range of the word, correctly derived, conveys what I intended: the phenomena are comparable, but cannot be measured with the same rule.

[maggie]

As a related side-comment:

One of the benefits, perhaps, of watching such TV shows as Law and Order and CSI on occasion is that they remind us how entirely UN-natural death is.

Many people, even Christians I know, falsely comfort us with the idea that death is "natural." "It happens to everyone." "Most natural thing in the world." But one takes one look at a corpse on a cop show and one knows immediately that Death is NOT natural. No matter how many times one is confronted with death in its many forms, the fact remains that there is something incredibly horrible, foreign and ugly about a body without its soul.

Praise be to the Lord Jesus who defeated Death Once and for All by the power of His Resurrection.

[Stuart Koehl]

>>>That is why almost all visions of heaven quickly degenerate into something hellish--like people on clouds with harps, like Billy Bigelow polishing stars and wishing he weren't dead, like the Littlest Angel finding an uncongenial adult world and longing to have something that was back on earth.<<<

It might have something to do with the fact that all these visions of heaven are non-material and non-corporeal, whereas for the early Church the Kingdom of Heaven meant very much a material existence in a restored and perfected universe. Somewhere along the line, though, that notion of eschatology, the fulfillment of the divine plan by bringing us and the cosmos to perfection--which for human beings means eternal life of an eternally united soul and body--was replaced by the idea of a purely spiritual existence on some astral plane known as heaven. Since man is a psychosomatic entity, the idea of eternity spent alienated from the body would go against human nature, and therefore would indeed be hellish, no matter how pleasant the surroundings.

[Bill R]

"It might have something to do with the fact that all these visions of heaven are non-material and non-corporeal, whereas for the early Church the Kingdom of Heaven meant very much a material existence in a restored and perfected universe."

Yes, this whole idea of heaven as "life upon a cloud" is odd. Within evangelicalism, though I think it has otherwise contributed little of merit (and much of demerit), dispensationalism at least strongly maintains an understanding of heaven as a material state, with the hereafter clearly described as life in a restored and perfected universe. As a result the whole idea of a "cotton candy eternity" now has less purchase on the evangelical imagination.

[J. M. Braaten]

Mr. Koehl--

Perhaps our Lord's own words on the Kingdom of Heaven/God are instructive in illustrating your point, for virtually all begin something like this: "The Kingdom of Heaven/God is like a man . . . ." The kingdom is like a man, a man who is more human than we will ever experience or understand this side of the resurrection of all flesh. I'm not quite sure how this instructs us in what life beyond the grave will be; perhaps those brighter than me could ponder and weigh in.

[Susan]

"The kingdom is like a man, a man who is more human than we will ever experience or understand this side of the resurrection of all flesh."

That was certainly C. S. Lewis's idea in his book "The Great Divorce," where the people visiting heaven were like ghosts in comparison to the solid "bright people" of heaven. The ghosts found the grass of heaven too sharp to walk on and were scared of being hit by a drop of water. I think Lewis credits Plato with this idea -- that our existence on earth is more like a shadow than the reality, which we can only experience in heaven. Very interesting book.

[craig]

A "where did I come from" board book for very young children makes SMH's same point very well, and tenderly: see http://www.angelinthewaters.com.

[CKG]

I first happened upon the 'death as birth' analogy in Peter Kreeft's book, Love Is Stronger Than Death. The points of analogy are far more than I had suspected, as Mr. Hutchens so capably enumerates them here. The womb is all that the child knows, and he is warm and comfortable there; being born is a painful thing, and yet, he emerges into a world infinitely wider and richer than the one in which he was so warm and comfortable, and in which he is infinitely freer to act. And, just as the child in the womb might have some inkling of the existence of a 'mother', it isn't until he's born that he can see her face-to-face, and have a personal relationship with her. Deep stuff there.

And, I have long been perplexed at the 'neither marrying nor giving in marriage' aspect of Hevenly existence. There is a large part of me that wonders how that can possibly be an improvement over the life I have now, which is, at least in part, a reflection on the happiness of my marriage, thanks be to God. But I have it on good assurance, from multiple trusted sources, that, whatever Heaven is like, regretful longing for my this-worldly life will seem utterly nonsensical, once I get there (Lord, have mercy).

So - if you say so, Lord. . .