Fear And The Goodness Of Godنموونە

Jonah’s cancer forced us to begin the conversations so many people put off for decades, if not forever. Our ten-year-old knew that his cancer meant death was a real possibility. We needed to talk about dying. He wanted us to talk about dying. And we did. 

We knew older Christians who had died, and we talked about their deaths with joyful sadness, knowing that these longsuffering believers were now freed from pain and present with the Lord. But death had always seemed like a distant threat—an event that we could discuss comfortably because it happened to other people. Older people. Weaker people. Sicker people.

Not anymore. With the afternoon sun pouring through the large double-paned window, our whole family sat down and talked about death. And to be given an opportunity to talk openly about death meant that we could talk about what waits for us beyond it. 

That night, as I tucked him into bed, Jonah kept returning to our discussion. What will heaven be like? I told him what little I could. And  the resurrection? What will it be like to have a body that never dies? 

Together we imagined what places we might explore with eternity before us, what musical instruments we might take up. What people we will meet. Bach, his musical hero! Our great grandparents! Moses! Paul! The original Jonah! Jesus Himself! 

This was not abstract theology for him; it was personal. That night Jonah slept with a smile on his face, almost excited about the prospect of passing through death to that life on the other side. 

This experience was a gift, and I needed it as much as he did. I never expected that to have these conversations with children so young, but I am grateful.

Death has not ceased to be the enemy. It is still a curse. It still does violence to the union of body and soul. And I would be lying to say that none of us has ever feared death since that day. But we live on this side of Easter, and Death has lost its sting. 

Death, for the Christian, is safe. Our Savior descended through the grave to Death’s door, bursting it open, breaking the lock that would have held us all, and took away the keys. That is why, sitting cross-legged on the bed with my pale, cancer-ravaged boy, we were able to look the Last Enemy squarely in the face—and laugh. I pray that this same laughter will be on our lips all the days of our lives.