Volume 44   Number 1                                                                                    September 2001

The sun had gone out. Ridiculous, yes; but dreams sometimes are. There was still light, but somehow I knew the sun had gone out, and that everyone and everything was going to die, soon—me included. I also knew I wasn’t ready to die. I wasn’t ready to meet my Maker, and I was terrified. Frantic, I ran along a ridge overlooking some unknown village, eventually entering it, soon to find myself on my knees in the shadow of a plain, two-story white house. And, there, I prayed. Trembling, I prayed that God would forgive me of my sins. Blubbering, I begged for His mercy. But I knew I wouldn’t receive it. Down deep, I knew I wasn’t really sorry for my sins; I was only sorry when time was up. I knew I wasn’t ready, and I was afraid, dreadfully afraid.

The memory of that dream has remained with me for many years. I hope that it will continue to, as well as its message, because I don’t ever want to feel that way again. And, by God’s grace, I don’t have to. For though the sinner has every reason to fear his death, the Christian has every reason not to, as it is written: “For we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Corinthians. 5:1), so that “...to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21).

“...God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7). “For [we] did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but [we] received the spirit of adoption...” (Rom. 8:15) “...We also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope...” (Rom. 8:23-24a ). With such hope, then, death is not bane but blessing, not gloom but glory, not tragedy but triumph. It is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come.

Polycarp, the aged second century elder who had grown up under the teaching of John the apostle, apparently understood this. History records for us the last moments of his life:

It was late on Friday night and the bishop was calmly sleeping in his chamber. Aroused by the noise of [the soldiers’] entrance he descended to meet them...He asked of them the favor to grant him one hour of prayer...At the close of this season of devotion they conducted him to the city....

He was brought before the proconsul, Philip, who seemed to wish to save the venerable old man. He said to Polycarp, ‘If you will only swear by Caesar and reproach Christ, I will immediately release you.’ Polycarp replied, ‘Eighty and six years have I served Christ and he hath never wronged me. How can I blaspheme my king, who hath saved me.... (Brumback, 22)

“When Polycarp refused to comply with the proconsul’s request, he was first threatened with being exposed to the wild beasts, and then threatened with death by being burned at the stake. When he steadfastly refused to renounce Christ he was thrust through with a sword and his body consigned to the flames” (Brumback, 22). The hope of a blessed hereafter empowered Polycarp to die so. He had strength for the day, because he had bright hope for tomorrow.

What was true eighteen centuries ago, remains true today: “Where there is no faith in the future, there is no power in the present.” Only in the belief that “the gains of heaven will more than compensate for the losses of this earth,” will deliverance from the bondage of the fear of death ever truly be achieved. Until then, fear of losing this life will ever hold sway over our being, making us hate our birthdays, avoid funerals, and dream about the sun going out.

O, that we would remember that “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord” (Rev. 14:13). Though they step to Jordan’s bank much like the children of Israel did thousands of years ago, and know as little about the terrain before them, they may put the unknown into the hands of a known God, and speak with confidence, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me” (Ps. 23:4). Though they lie at death’s door, and all the world around them fear their fate, they may commit their souls to Him who created them, and say with peace in their hearts, “Into Your hands I commend my spirit” (Luke. 23:46), knowing that they will soon be received into everlasting habitations.

Indeed, home is where the heart is, and we who are in Christ have “set [our] affection on things above, not on things on the earth. For [we] are dead and [our] life is hid with Christ in God” (Col. 3:2-3). When the time of our departure is at hand, may we live out the meaning of the lyric:

I am going home, nevermore to roam.
I am going over Jordan in the morning.
I am going over Jordan, going home forevermore.
I will meet my loving Savior in the morning.
(“Going Over Jordan”- Lehman)

Bibliography:
Brumback, R.H. (1957). “History of the Church through the Ages.”
St. Louis~ Mission Messenger.