No Sting Here

"Where, o death, is your sting?"

Have any greater words ever been written? They may be my favorite in all the Bible.

Last week, I went to see a friend who is in the last days of her life. Younger than me and a mom of five kids, she was diagnosed with lung cancer a year ago. Though at first it looked as if she may have only a few months to live, she and her husband were able to award their son his high school diploma in May. Yesterday her oldest daughter got married. Some happy, milestone moments in the midst of a very hard situation.

Five days ago I sat with this sweet friend, who is long past fearing, worrying, regretting, or grieving. She's now in a simple, pure, beautiful child-like state. A month ago, I would have felt awkward and sad visiting her. I'm not touchy-feely, and I'm not good with sick people. But when sick people become dying people, and when dying people regress (or is it progress?) into their simplest selves, all that awkwardness melts away. The me who barely hugs my own mother sat at my friend's feet, holding onto her, even relishing the honor of feeding her.

Her words were jumbled, but her eyes were clear. On a few occasions, the gibberish was suddenly and incredibly interrupted by a moment of clarity. She would squeeze my hands, lock in on my eyes, and say the most wonderful things, things that made the hairs on my arm stand on end. "He just wants us to believe" was one of them. Another time it was, "He wants to put us back together, to make us whole." Simple statements spoken so quietly, yet they bore into my soul. These were words from God.They weren't booming prophet words, like Moses preaching to the Israelites. They were more the words of a little girl who's delivering a message from her daddy.

In all honesty, this is why I showed up. I did bring a meal, but I also brought expectation. I've been around the dying enough to know that there's something supernatural about it. This is holy ground. No sanctuary or cathedral can compare to the holy space occupied by one transitioning to heaven. With one foot on earth and the other in eternity, the veil between the two becomes almost transparent. And those who sit in the presence of the dying get just a glimpse of it. Such a sacred place. O, death, where is your sting?

When you look into the face of the dying, you have to ask yourself, "Do I really believe? Do I believe that in 12 hours or 12 days this friend of mine, the one whose feet I'm sitting at now, will be sitting like this at the feet of God? Creator of heaven and earth? Do I believe it's all true?"

Yes, without a shadow of a doubt. Any doubt I carry with me in regular life disappears in this sacred space. I look at her face and I see her doing holy business with the Lord. I know where she's headed. I know that some day I'll occupy the same space she's in now. And never have I said so certainly, "Oh, yes. I believe."