Death is Still Stinging

So what do we do?

Do you ever read something or hear something or see something and it’s like a portal opens up right there in the coffee shop/break room/bedroom? Suddenly you’re invited into a new (sometimes slightly new, sometimes entirely new) place where you’ll think (slightly or entirely) new thoughts? This happens to me all the time. I am constantly encountering and engaging portals.

Today, it was a stanza from Phillip Larkin’s poem, “Aubade.” I read and walked through.

There is a special way of being afraid.
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says, No rational being 
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,   
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,   
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

I first read Larkin’s poem in the context of Christian Wiman’s He Held Radical Light. I read it again at Poetry Foundation, no context, just a poem alone on a web page. You should click over and read the whole thing. It’s excellent. Honest. Unflinching. More people should take the time to look Death in the eyes and see what seeing unburies. I do not see what Larkin sees when I stare into Death’s gaping mouth, but I appreciate the invitation to look again.

I don’t guess most people think about death much—their own deaths, the impending deaths of everyone, the force of Death (the capital D helps me to see it clearly) snuck into this Life-born, Life-bound world. Maybe you do. I think about Death all the time. Wiman indicates that (perhaps) this makes me a poet.

I love this stanza of Larkin’s because he recognizes the foolishness of ignoring Death. Either (by the power invested by religion) we proclaim Death as fiction or, using logic, we argue for Death’s meaninglessness (nothing is nothing); Larkin says (in essence) both have the distinct odor of bull crap.

I concede the point. Death is real and powerful and even for Christians it must be acknowledged, understood, and approached not with peace but with antagonism. If you’re pretending you’ll never die, you’re doing it wrong.

In the books I’ve written about grief, I’m quick to identify Death as the last great enemy of the Kingdom of Life (I Cor. 15:26). I do this because too many Christians think they’re supposed to receive the deaths of their loved ones with peace and joy. They’re in a better place and all of that. They are in a better place, but we’re not. We live in the valley of the shadow of Death, and though victory over Death is coming, it has not yet come for us. Death cannot have our people, but it can take them away. Which means our loved ones are at peace, but we are at war.

It’s not just the grievers who experience Death’s power. Talk to the ones who’re dying. My aunt has Parkinson’s and my uncle has cancer and they’re both so weak neither one can take care of the other. She can’t rely on the steadiness of her legs. He can’t leave his bed. When they die, they’ll go to be with their Lord. But before they die, Death will take so much.

Surely you see it when you see pictures from Gaza or Ukraine—Death is taking territory. He’s burned the white flag.

Will he win? No. But what might he do before he loses?

I grew up on the Gulf Coast of Florida where we learned things like how to outrun an alligator and what to do to avoid being struck by lightning. Each year the newspaper published photos of stingray migrations along the beaches, thousands of rays swimming right where we swam—Clearwater Beach, St. Pete Beach, Fort Desoto. To be a Floridian was not to avoid swimming with stingrays but to learn how to swim with stingrays without being stung. My mom said, “The stingray doesn’t want to sting you, but if it feels threatened, it will.” So we learned to shuffle instead of taking steps, steps that might land on a stingray’s back and cause it to lash out.

I did a deep dive on stingrays today and discovered that a stingray doesn’t use its sting on prey. It only stings when it’s obviously outmatched.

The Apostle Paul writes, “When this corruptible body is clothed with incorruptibility, and this mortal body is clothed with immortality, then the saying that is written will take place:

Death has been swallowed up in victory.
Where, Death, is your victory?
Where, Death, is your sting?”

Notice the word “then.” When the corruptible is clothed with incorruptibility… Then, Death is defeated. Then, Death’s sting is undone.

Sometimes we sing, “Where, Death, is your sting?” as if the sting is already gone. But it’s not. Not for those of us in the land of the living. For us, Death is a stingray underfoot, outmatched and lashing out. Which means Death has power, even over those assured of a coming resurrection. This is why Martha can say with confidence, “I know that [my brother, Lazarus] will rise again in the resurrection at the last day,” and still weep at the tomb.

A fever of rays swimming along the beach at Anna Maria Island

There is too much to say about all of this for one essay. I’ve written over 100,000 words on Death in the last ten years—most of them in piles on my desk. I feel like a war reporter, embedded, witnessing more than I can possibly record. But I do want to say two things today, two things stirred up by Larkin’s poem:

First, please don’t ignore (or doubt) the power of Death. It doesn’t do you or the world around you any good. You don’t need to be scared—Christ has assured your final victory and equipped you for the right-now fight. You don’t need to carry your awareness like a lead cloak, joy and hope and peace smothered. You just need to remember that you are not unopposed. Don’t whitewash reality. Don’t force sunshine into every speck of darkness. Don’t walk into this world unarmed. Acknowledge Death’s sting, and be on guard against it.

When we pretend Death is impotent, we invalidate the genuine testimony of the people around us—which makes us look like jerks who refuse to attend to the world’s pain or idiots who refuse to recognize pain as real. No one can take an honest look at the world today and say, “Death is swallowed up in victory.” But if we’ll enter Death’s wake, loving her victims, we’ll have the moral authority to promise that one day it will be.

Second, there is a way to fight Death, but it’s not what you might expect.

For the longest time I thought the opposite of Death was Life, so, in opposition to Death, I lived—fully and deeply. I said yes to community and connection, travel, opportunity, and delight. I danced at weddings and toasted at Easter and laughed more than I cried. I lived expansively. This is a beautiful way to live, and I suspect Jesus likes it. But as far as weapons go—there’s an even better one than living: dying.

The forces of Death are raging today. Suicide is up.¹ War and rumors of war are rampant. Division is a weed. In 2023 the US Surgeon General declared a loneliness epidemic and depression rates hit an all-time high.

I don’t think this is unrelated to an increasing desire for personal freedom and individual happiness. Death feeds on selfishness and self-obsession. On the flip side, Death is defeated by sacrificial self-giving. The cross is the single model we’re given for defeating Death, as Christ is the only one who ever did it, and what is the cross but giving your life for others before Death has the chance to take it?

Here’s Richard Beck in his book, The Slavery of Death:

Following the example of Jesus, we become ‘nothing.’ In a sense, we ‘die’--and thus we no longer have to fear dispossession, loss, diminishment, or expenditure in the face of death. Not that we seek out such losses. But we form our identities in such a way that we are freed from the anxiety of self-preservation, which makes different choices and modes of being human open and available to us. The creation of a secure heart makes love a possibility. It enables us to do something that biological creatures concerned with self-preservation don’t naturally do: place the interests of others before our own.

Later he says, “Across the board–from soccer mom to the martyr–we all face the same choice: whether or not to say no to death and yes to love.” Will we allow “the self to experience diminishment for the sake of others”? 

No to Death and yes to love—amen! And what is love? Dying for others. Allowing the self to be diminished for the good of someone else.

Death takes. Love gives.

Which brings me back to Larkin’s poem: Christians do not pretend we never die; Christians are the dying-est of humans.

We die with the world and for the world. Like Jesus.

At least, we ought to.

During Covid I volunteered to go grocery shopping for anyone immunocompromised. It wasn’t such a big risk for me, and I was happy to take it for the good of someone else. What was a small sacrifice for me would have been a treacherous task for someone else. That’s the idea behind Christians dying for the world. For us, Death isn’t so scary. We have eternal promises anchored in the waiting sea. We can give and give and give, because we’re given, given, and given. There is no nightmare outcome for us—a happy ending is guaranteed.

That’s why we wade into the dark places with lanterns. That’s why we jump into the water with the drowning. That’s why we make unreasonable sacrifices. That’s why we sell all our stuff and give to the poor or move into the “bad” neighborhood or sit through years of adoption meetings with judges and lawyers and social workers. That’s why we turn the other cheek and pray for our enemies and always share the last piece of pie. Because we have nothing to lose, and many, many people do. They aren’t anchored by a promise. They haven’t died to live. And the forces of Death are crushing them.

If we have nothing to lose shouldn’t we happily lose it all to win the world?

-

Later in “Aubade,” Larkin writes, “Being brave / Lets no one off the grave.” His assumption is that death can only be endured, that there’s no way out. And he’s right. And he’s wrong.

We will all die. That’s true.

But will we die before we die? And will we live again?

Even before our deaths, Death is seductive.² It invites us to give up on hope, connection, and love. It breeds despair and greed and hate. It nibbles at a life slowly, methodically, until the remaining life is so small, a fraction of what it ought to be, that it’s hardly worth living.

Death should not be ignored or underestimated. Death should be defeated.

And it will be defeated. By Christ, yes. And who is Christ? In part, Christ is us—the New Creation, the ones who carry the life of Christ in our dying bodies, the body of Christ. Paul says to the Galatians, “I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” Christ lived in Paul and Christ lives in me and Christ lives in you and Christ lives in us. And if Death is to be defeated, in part, we will be the ones fighting. And how will we fight? On a cross. With love. Being brave.

-JL

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Hey! Hi. It’s been a while since I’ve sent an edition of The Goodness. I’ve been in the thick of living. In May my 16-year-old graduated from high school. We had no idea she was going to graduate until five days before she did (I know this doesn’t make sense; it’s a long story full of surprises and God’s strange leading and maybe I’ll tell it sometime—with permission). Here’s a photo from the big day:

Since then I’ve been working on two upcoming projects.

It’s been years since I’ve released a proper book, and I have reasons for that:

1. I’m not as enamored with every word that comes out of my mouth as I was when I was younger.

2. I’m attempting something new and doing a lot of failing.

3. I’m trying to listen to God, and hearing God is sometimes tricky.

Anyway, I’m working. Things are blooming. Maybe I’ll have a harvest to share in the fall. Maybe not. I’m a process over product girl these days. But also, there’s dying to do, and I hear the invitation to get busy. Pray for me.

Oh, also—have you listened to the new episode of Holy Ghost Stories? Lady Wisdom gets a cameo, and I am HERE FOR IT.

That’s all. Love you. Bye.

1. “After a long, steady decline in national suicide rates, those numbers began steadily ticking up in the late 1990s and have generally risen ever since, with nearly 50,000 people in the U.S. taking their own lives in 2022, up 3% from the previous year.” (from a University of Colorado study)

2. R.F. Kuang uses this phrase at the close of her book, Babel. It’s unlikely she’s the first to say it, but it’s her use of the phrase that inspired mine.