There I was, waiting for the hearse to arrive, and though it
was a beautifully cool summer’s day, God reminded me, through the finality of
death, that I’m under constant
observation.
We are never fully our own. Ever. Though life tempts us with
the thought, our control is ours, it isn’t.
Then I read Psalm 139. Read it right here.
If we read this psalm and get any idea other than we’re under constant
observation, we’re probably missing something. Sure, we have the assurance of
God’s radiant Presence in our lives, and we’re never beyond his care, and he
that knows me knows me with an incomprehensible knowing. In other words, with
more of a knowing than I can be aware of.
All of that.
But there is more.
Nothing we do, and nothing that is done to us, escapes his
notice or knowledge. Nothing.
Everything we previously thought was secret will be shown in
the light. Every justice and injustice we do in secret is done in the full
vision of the One who sees everything. Every little and good deed he notices.
Why then would we pretend that we’re getting away with
anything when we’re not so good. This may not be very encouraging to you, but
at least it’s the truth. There are unknowable dimensions all about us in this
spiritual of spiritual lives.
The Christian’s theology might as well be believed, for it
has not only grown into the world’s religion, it protects us from an
unconscionable outcome — that God might judge us severely and damn us to hell
for the dark secrets we hold and the travesties we’re performed. Thank God for
the cross of Christ!
When I’m reminded that I’m under constant observation I’m
thankful. This is because I’m given important information about the potency of
the moment; that I might ‘show off’ a little before the Almighty — that
translates into not letting my left hand know what my right hand is doing (see
Matthew 6:3-4), which are the best of secrets saved only for God’s knowledge.
To conceal a good deed from humanity.
In doing secret things that are holy, especially prayers, I’m
shown the eternality of God’s Presence, and by eternality, I mean how God is
absolutely and cosmologically ever-present at all times in all ways, always!
Death is a
reminder of this indelible truth:
we come into the world,
and, then just like that,
we leave the world.
we come into the world,
and, then just like that,
we leave the world.
That is a tremendous thought that ought to wake us
immediately from our spiritual slumber.
The fact that the world was here, and as far as we’re
concerned, always was, and the fact that the world will be, and as far as we’re
concerned, always will be, and yet we’re
here for just a finite time, suggests there is something bigger than us overseeing
it all, overseeing us all.
The idea that I can look at a tree or a beach or even a
street or a building and see that they were here before me and will be here
after me makes me feel appropriately small.
The
fact of my death reminds me that I must trust it.
Death
is the invitation to learn how
to surrender before that act is demanded of us.
to surrender before that act is demanded of us.
Death
teaches us profound wisdom
if only we will avail ourselves of its lessons.
if only we will avail ourselves of its lessons.
Death has its purpose in reminding us that we’re not God.
Death is instructive. And though there is no sense in fearing death, this fear
too is something also of an invitation to overcome.
Most
of all, death teaches us
that we’re under constant cosmological observation.
that we’re under constant cosmological observation.
The
certainty of death teaches us
that everything we ever did or didn’t do has significance,
for every human being is aware
of the possibility of judgement.
that everything we ever did or didn’t do has significance,
for every human being is aware
of the possibility of judgement.
Why
then do we live pretending that life doesn’t matter?
Image: The Helix Nebula Courtesy NASA/JPL-Caltech
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