death itself
Julie and I, this past week, have faced an unordinary amount of death. Her grandpa and my grandpa passed away within four days of each other. I don’t think anybody likes death but this experience opened up some old scars of imagery and pain that I faced when I was twelve years old with my own dad. It’s strange because a lot of people say, “It’s ok to be mad at God around times like this.” However, I’m not mad at God. Even with the death of my own dad–I wasn’t mad at God. The thing that I’m completely and utterly outraged with is death itself.
Upon processing my thoughts over the last week about death I think I have finally come up with a good illustration of what death looks like to me. Be prepared, this is a bit graphic. To me, death is like the rapist that takes complete advantage of and has its way with the innocent virgin. I’ve watched people who are strong and courageous be swallowed up and left vulnerable by death. Death doesn’t have a conscience that tells it when it’s overstayed its welcome. Death chooses its victims.
So, what does it mean when I read Scriptures that proclaim death has lost its sting and that Jesus beat death? What does it mean when I hear song lyrics that repetitively chant, “The Love of God is stronger than the power of death!” DANG! If I think death is powerful–what does that say about Jesus?
