The Sting of Death, or the Lack Thereof

I have to admit, death bothers me. I realize that sounds obvious, since it bothers everyone, but death really affects me. Whenever I hear about someone dying, whether or not I know them, I cringe. Just knowing that that person has family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, etc, who will never be able to eat dinner, watch a movie or shoot the breeze with that person again breaks my heart. It doesn't get much more permanent than that.

It breaks my heart even more when there are tragic circumstances surrounding the death. We've seen such things recently in the news: a state trooper in New Hampshire gunned down by a criminal, those poor little Amish girls killed by a psycho (that situation actually made me utter the words "hell won't be hot enough for some people"), even Steve Irwin being killed by a stingray (while many were talking about his shows and his conservation efforts, all noteworthy and appreciated, I felt awful for his poor wife and little kids). It's painful enough when a 90-year old dies after a long illness (and it is painful), it's even worse when someone's life is cut short unexpectedly.

Every year around this time I think about this because of my own experience with a friend's unexpected death. On the night of October 22, 1998 a bunch of my friends and I were sitting on the couches of our dorm talking baseball. I remember going on a prolonged rant about why Nomar Garciaparra should win MVP over Juan Gonzalez that season. Next thing I know, my friend Brian Barnes was coughing and gasping for air. We knew that Brian was born with a hole in his heart, and he had already had major heart surgery when he was 16. He was told he probably wouldn't live past 18, he was 23 that night when I watched his eyes roll back in his head as I tried to help him.

The paramedics came and revived him, but we found out the next morning (after getting absolutely no sleep) that his brain was showing no signs of activity, it had been deprived of oxygen too long. His family decided to give it one day just to see if some miracle would happen. That miracle never came, and we (his family, 3 other guys from the dorm and I) watched him breath his last on that hospital bed in Springfield, MO on the morning of Saturday, October 24.

There are plenty of great things to remember of our time together: wrestling matches, dance parties (which weren't co-ed at our Baptist school and existed mostly for comedy's sake), too many viewings of Tommy Boy. There was something more important about the relationship between Brian and our hall on the first floor of Gott Hall. Brian was never the cool kid. He was short and fat, he couldn't play sports because of his heart condition. He wore thick glasses, had a bad mustache and his haircut too closely resembled Forrest Gump's. But he was one of us. Other people made fun of him, we had fun with him. For years he was left out and pushed to the side, on our hall he was one of the guys. I'm not trying to make saints out of us, it's not like we said "he's not cool, how about we let him hang out." This wasn't a charity project, it's just the way it was. He was our friend.

I remember the wake (or whatever the non-Irish call it) and how many people showed up. There was a group of us talking with his parents and siblings and sharing memories. His father picked up the guest book that people signed when they came in and thumbed through the pages. With tears in his eyes he said "I never knew my boy had so many friends." I honestly can say that Brian died at the peak of his life. Never had he been so loved, and never had he been so close to His Savior. It was only a couple weeks before this that he wrote a cousin to whom he had been witnessing and told him that he was in fact ready to die, he had confidence in Christ (Brian had no idea he was about to die, at least not to my knowledge, he actually had a doctor's appointment not too long before this and was told there were no major problems). I have another clear memory from that semester. During a hall Bible study we started with some worship songs. Those who know me know that I rarely sing during these times, I generally prefer to listen and meditate. On this particular evening I noticed someone singing rather loudly and quite off-key, I open my eyes to see Brian with his eyes closed giving it everything he had. It's weird how that picture has stuck with me all this time.

Knowing how hard it is for me to deal with death anyway, and given that this was a good friend of mine, I was forced to face the issue head on and not avoid it. I found solace in the words of Paul found in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18. I encourage you to read them. Someday Christ will return. The great thing is that He will not return alone, but there will be a reunion with those who have died and those who are still alive. It sounds so cheesy to say, but we have confidence that those who are in Christ will see each other again. No wonder Paul can say in v18, "Therefore encourage one another with these words."

As time has gone on, 1 Corinthians 15 has become my very favorite chapter in the Bible. It is here where we see history, theology and application come together in a dramatic way, perhaps rivaled by only a few other places in the Bible (Philippians 2 maybe?). Because of one event, Christ's resurrection (history), we know that death has been defeated and we will rise like He did (theology), therefore we need not fear death and we know that the struggles of this life are not in vain(application). In Christ, death has become an obstacle that has been overcome, a hurdle that has been jumped, an evil that has been overpowered by good. From our vantage point this truth can be clouded, but it's power is no less real. We can grieve (read Paul's words in 1 Thess 4), but we can also boldly say "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" (1 Cor 15:54-55).