When Death Becomes Birth
“When Death Becomes Birth”
By Joe E. Trull
Recently the reality of the brevity of life has tumbled into my daily existence. Oh, I’ve always known, like you, that someday we shall die. But also, like you, I always believed not this year—next year or some future time for sure, but not now, for I am too busy for death.
Then in quick succession, prostate cancer and open-heart surgery (without my permission) invaded my life—the clogged arteries announced their presence in the emergency room (a good place to have the attack) just three days after my prostate surgery in 2007. Other signals of a long life (glaucoma, cataracts, shoulder surgery, ad nauseam) are forcing me to face my own mortality in ways I have not before.
But this piece is not about me. The most shocking events of aging are the sudden serious illness and unexpected deaths of close friends. During these last two years, that list has been too long and the friends too dear. Yet, the curtain on the final act of our life often closes without warning and fanfare. It just happens. The play is over and someone closer than a brother is gone—and you weep.
I pause now before my computer, thinking of so many who meant so much to me and to others, and especially to the kingdom of God.
For the past 50 years I have preached hundreds of funerals—yet, only now am I beginning to understand the words I uttered to comfort the bereaved years ago.
Last Christmas day one of the finest friends anyone could have died after a sudden onslaught of lymphoma. Leroy Yarbrough (Dr. Yarberry he liked to call himself) was a great musician—at Trinity BC in San Antonio with Buckner Fanning, at Calvary BC Garland when I was pastor there, directing the Music Department at New Orleans Seminary (where I also served beside him), and then upon retiring to San Antonio, a former choir member convinced Leroy to develop the music ministry at First Presbyterian—they asked for a year, then “twisted his arm annually” for ten more!
Of the hundreds of messages sent to the family through the CaringBridge site, one quoted renownedS.A. pastor and writer Max Lucado:
You live one final breath from your own funeral.
Which, from God’s perspective is nothing to grieve. He responds to these grave facts with this great news: “The day you die is better than the day you are born” (Eccles. 7:1). Now there is a twist. Heaven enjoys a maternity ward reaction to funerals. Angels watch body burials the same way grandparents monitor delivery room doors. “He will be coming through any minute!” They can’t wait to see the new arrival.
While we’re driving hearses and wearing black, they’re hanging pink and blue streamers and passing out cigars. We don’t grieve when babies enter the world. The hosts of heaven don’t weep when we leave it.
Oh, but many of us weep at the thought of death. Do you? Do you dread your death? And is your dread of death robbing your joy of life?
Jesus came to “deliver those who have lived all their lives as slaves to the fear of dying” (Heb.2:15).
Your death may surprise you and sadden others, but heaven knows no untimely death: “You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed” (Ps. 139:16).
Dread of death ends when you know heaven is your true home.
In all of my air travels, I’ve never seen one passenger weep when the plane landed. Never. No one clings to the armrests and begs, “Don’t make me leave. Don’t make me leave. Let me stay and eat more peanuts.” We’re willing to exit because the plane has no permanent mailing address. Nor does this world. “But we are citizens of heaven, where the Lord Jesus Christ lives. And we are eagerly waiting for him to return as our Savior” (Phil. 3:20).
And so, Rev. Yarberry, I will miss you. But I’m coming to see you soon—I’ll be making noises in the maternity ward. Come see me. And don’t forget the cigar!
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