“Humans, if nothing else, have the good sense to die.”

The Book Thief, Marcus Zusak

The thought has often occurred to me that humankind could perhaps have a better sense of the meaning of life if we were not such physical creatures. Could we momentarily step out of the corporeal shroud that at once hides us from pure truth and it from us, would the rarefied air of unbeing not surely open us up to a new world of perception and deduction, culminating in the ultimate grasping of what significance lies at the center of all things and radiates out to accomplish the progression of every aspect of our lives? I think of Dante’s guide through the Divine Comedy, of the shade of Hamlet’s father, of the prophet Samuel called up from the dead, of Emily’s Goodbye, goodbye world; goodbye, Grover’s Corners; and I cannot but question whether true wisdom must not arrive when one has “graduated” and stood aloof from the joys and sorrows we are so easily caught up in? Is not death simply the master stroke of irony dealt by that same Fate which so inscrutably arranged our lives as to obscure its purposes from us, and as such, is it not to be joyfully welcomed?

This is an important question, and one which has been caught up in many arguments, both by secular thinkers and by Christian theologians. There is a wisdom which would seem to be found in rejecting the embodiedness with which we all find ourselves encumbered. It looks at pain, and points out that pain is meaningless without nerves and hearts to feel with. It looks at loss, and finds an antidote for it in preemptively setting everything aside. It looks at ugliness, and observes that without having beauty to begin with, there can be no such thing. It looks at life, in short, and then looks somewhere else for truth.

Such a position is difficult to argue with on its own terms. The Gnostics did not enjoy such a remarkable tenure within Christian circles (do not think that they have disappeared!) for lack of a persuasive vision. One has only to go through the lost of a loved one, or the withering of a dream, to know that black wrenching emptiness that forces us to the very surface of our being to grapple with the wrongness of death. And when a point of view is provided that permits us to say that none of it matters, that my life will only start becoming meaningful when it is over, we are sorely tempted to walk down that road. Broad it is, and easy to tread: but when we see so many trudging down its inviting slopes along with us, we are reminded of words Jesus once spoke and of where that path leads, and we pause for a moment.

For the allure of the gnosis can only continue without those words, given by one Shepherd. Remember how hard Marcion and the heretics fought to undermine the Scriptures? There was a reason why they focused their efforts on recasting what it was God had really said. The sayings of Jesus linger and reverberate in our minds as we look over the blasted waste land that has been created by our sin, and they remind us whence we came, and where we are going. He says things like I was not ashamed to call you brothers, and Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever, and Death is swallowed up in victory, and You are the light of the world.

Enveloped in the force of the picture he paints for us, it becomes impossible to succumb to our previous fatalistic decline. If Jesus was not ashamed of humanness, after all we did to make such an association undesirable, then my life really does matter. If there really is a bread of life that has come down from heaven, and for which the price has been paid so that my grumbling in the wilderness cannot make it stick in my throat, then my story has meaning right now – here – today. If Death has been overcome by Life, and if the Suffering Servant has seen the light of that life and been satisfied, then there can be no right perspective from beyond the grave, but only from this side of it. And if Jesus is the light of the world, no hidden and disembodied wisdom can be produced to offer hope or meaning or vision or assurance, for only one who has tasted of the brokenness of humanity and who has triumphed over the onslaught of physical existence is entitled to speak about ultimate meaning.

But all this is certainly not to say that Christianity does not fully deal with death. Just because we do not set it up as did the writer of The Book Thief, as a mystified but resolute destroying angel mulling over the unexplainable poignancy of the souls he was peacefully drawing into nothingness, does not mean it is not reckoned with in our system of faith. Extinguishment is not the only solution to the unresolvable tension between beauty and sorrow. There is another way.

Zusak was right when he commented on the extraordinary good sense displayed by death in response to brokenness. That was also God’s reaction when mankind chose to take all the good we were created for and turn it in on itself (to borrow Rick’s phrase) so that it no longer glorified him, but instead worked against him and against all life. The depth of that wrong had to be accounted for. But the eternal destiny of the universe (for does he not speak both of the new heavens and the new earth?) hinged on the fact that God was willing to partake in that death rather than see it destroy all the good he had done. It is because of this victory that he can ask us also to participate in his death and resurrection, always carrying in us the death of Jesus, not so that death itself might be glorified but so that the life of Jesus might be manifested. And those who would do away with our humanity, who with Whitman would effuse my flesh in eddies and drift it in lacy jags, are answered by the other half of his promise, which is to manifest that life in our bodies.

How shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation? What is man, that thou art mindful of him? or the son of man, that thou visitest him? But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone: to bring many sons to glory. To be asked to along with him let the beauty of our own existence fade away so that those around us might flourish, and a new image be thus brought forth in us, is the greatest dream to which a person may ever attain. The small fact is that we are going to die; the mighty truth is that we are going to live forever.

JV

Author: Jeremy Vogan

My name is Jeremy Vogan. I live in Staunton, VA with my wife and four kids. I love to write, and seek to honestly explore the intellectual and emotional implications of following Jesus as a deeply broken person in a twisted, cruel world that is full of veiled beauty and meaning. Writing is part of how I faithfully look for Jesus Christ to someday make all things new. I'd enjoy hearing your feedback! JV