Death, You Terrible Thing
On September 15, 2021 my dad died.
He had gone into the hospital for a routine heart surgery the month before, with the doctors promising he would be out of the hospital and home recovering just a few days later. But the surgery did not go as planned, and he never left the ICU. For every one step toward recovery, he always seemed to take two steps back. And one day, he was just…gone.
I was there in the room moments later, grieving this giant loss with my mom and two sisters. I will never forget that moment, as it was the first time I had ever experienced death firsthand and up close. And it was the first time I realized, deep in my bones, that death is a Terrible Thing. Death is not a sentimental, “circle of life” moment but an Enemy. The curse I had read about again and again in Genesis 3 moved abruptly from an abstract theological concept to a grim reality, and I pictured all of humanity held mercilessly in its vice-like grip. “Everyone I love is going to die,” I told my husband a few days later, my voice shaking. As a songwriter, I can tend toward the dramatic, but the drama of my statement didn’t make it less true.
I hated death so much.
Yet even as my view of “the curse of death” expanded and weighed heavier on me than ever before, the bright reality of the gospel expanded and grew too. The image of Jesus weeping over the death of his friend Lazarus became an even deeper source of comfort to me in those days of grief. The idea that God’s Son would willingly experience death on Good Friday became even more staggering. And the hope of Easter’s resurrection, both now and into eternity, began to taste even sweeter.
“Jesus hated death too—he hates it with us and he hates it for us, just as a loving shepherd hates the wolf who preys on his sheep.”
JESUS HATES DEATH TOO
In John 11, we see Jesus arriving in the village of Bethany, four days after the death of his dear friend Lazarus. There, he finds his friends Mary and Martha in the throes of grief over their beloved brother. Twice in this passage, John writes that Jesus is “deeply moved.” First, he is “deeply moved” when he sees Mary and others weeping over Lazarus. When he finally arrives at his friend’s tomb, he is “deeply moved” once again.
The meaning of the phrase “deeply moved” is significant. Vine’s Expository Dictionary tells us its root in Greek means “to snort with anger, as of horses.” Strong’s Concordance defines the word as “to have indignation,” “to be very angry,” and even “to groan.”
When confronted with death, Jesus reacted with a mixture of deep sorrow and indignant anger. He was offended by the evil reality of death, for he knew it did not belong in his Father’s kingdom. Death had no place in God’s original design in Eden, and it will have no place in the new heavens and the new earth (Rev. 21:4)! It is the direct result of sin and the curse that followed (Rom. 6:23, Gen. 3:19). To Jesus, Death is an enemy invader, an unwelcome plague, a Terrible Thing. Jesus’s indignation in this passage shows us that he hated death too—he hates it with us and he hates it for us, just as a loving shepherd hates the wolf who preys on his sheep. We are not alone in our hatred of death and our desire for its defeat. In fact, Jesus likely hates it even more than we do! This reality is a strangely beautiful solace.
JESUS WEEPS WITH US
Many people know “Jesus wept” as the shortest verse in the Bible, but I believe it is also one of the most profound. When he saw Mary and others weeping, the Son of God began to weep as well. Even though he knew he would raise Lazarus from the dead just a few moments later, he did not belittle their sorrow or rush them to the other side of it. Instead, he began to weep with them. He joined them in their grief, tears running down his cheeks and into his beard as he faced the loss of his friend.
As Bethany Barnard sings to God in her song, “Tears on Your Face”:
You don't see from far away.
You come sit with me and grieve with me.
And I see tears on Your face.
What kind of God would weep with us in our grief? As we face the sorrow of death, he does not withdraw from us. Instead, He wades in. He comes closer. He cries with us.
“Death is never a trivial thing. And Jesus’s death was certainly not a trivial thing. When we acknowledge the weighty reality of his death, we also magnify the beauty of his resurrection. ”
JESUS TOOK THE CURSE OF DEATH FOR US
The night before Jesus died, he wrestled with his Father in prayer for hours on end, asking if there was any other way. For Jesus, dying would mean both real physical pain and spiritual separation from God. And though he knew his death was part of his Father’s plan and was resolved to obey, we do Jesus a disservice if we make the cross into a rote Sunday school recitation. “Jesus died on the cross for our sins,” we rattle off—with no emotion or imagination. But Jesus really died. As he hung on the cross for hours, his organs really shut down one by one, his body failing. He felt real sorrow as he absorbed the horrifying weight of humanity’s sin, real grief as he cried out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). By the end of the night, Jesus was really dead, his body growing cold in a dark tomb.
Death is never a trivial thing. And Jesus’s death was certainly not a trivial thing. When we acknowledge the weighty reality of his death, we also magnify the beauty of his resurrection. He died and rose again to pay a debt we could never afford, to ransom us from an Enemy we could never defeat, to absorb a curse we could never escape otherwise (Mark 10:45, 1 Pet. 1:18–19, Gal. 3:13). And one day, even death itself will die. When Jesus returns, he promises to destroy this “last Enemy” for good (1 Cor. 15). On that day, “he will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Rev. 21:4)
THIS EASTER, BE BRUTALLY HONEST & RADICALLY HOPEFUL
A few weeks after the funeral, I remember sitting on my bed with my guitar, all of these thoughts and feelings swirling in my heart. Before I knew it, a song began spilling out of me and onto the page. Eventually, I came to call it “Death, You Terrible Thing,” and its lyrics are filled with brutal honesty about the awful reality of death. But it is also filled with a radical hope in the good news of Jesus. I don’t think you can have one without the other. In fact, I believe brutal honesty about death primes us to love the gospel and savor the resurrection even more.
As Tish Harrison Warren writes, “The Christian faith never asks us to be okay with death … If we sentimentalize death and minimize its brutality, we end up, often unwittingly, belittling the hope of resurrection” (Prayer in the Night, 117). This Easter season, I invite you to be brutally honest about death, that “Terrible Thing,” in order to awaken a more radical hope in the resurrection.
Christian, go ahead and hate death! Be indignant about cancer and miscarriages and fatal car wrecks and the gut-wrenching reality of funerals. Go ahead and grieve and weep and be sad. But let that honest indignance and real sorrow lead you to a richer appreciation for Jesus: the God who hates death with us, weeps with us, and willingly takes the cross on our behalf. Let the harsh reality of Good Friday expand your vision of the gospel and increase your joy on Easter morning. He is risen! He has defeated the Terrible Thing! And one day, he promises to destroy death for good.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
RESOURCES FOR GRIEF AND LAMENT
IMPORTANT NOTE
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