What if Death is the Miracle?

Years ago, when I worked as a funeral director, I conducted a service for a woman in her mid-70’s, who after a relatively short battle with cancer, succumbed to the disease. Her family was understandably stricken with grief over her passing. However, many in the family seemed quite at peace with her passing, as though it was a relief to them. I must admit, having watched my father-in-law struggle for a few years, battling cancer/multiple health issues, and going from a robust 200-pounder to a thinning, 140-pound man, I could relate to their sense of relief. It was quite difficult watching my father-in-law fade away, and I secretly hoped that he would succumb quickly if there was no cure to be found. I surmised that this family felt the same. 

After meeting with the family, making the arrangements, and filing the necessary paperwork, we finished and awaited the day of the funeral. The day came and the funeral proceeded as planned. All in all, it was a nice service; fairly small, attendance-wise, but nice nonetheless. I didn’t necessarily think much of the service, for it was standard fare for me. I am loath to admit but, after presiding over hundreds of funeral ceremonies, they tend to become somewhat normative in nature. You typically know what to expect, what your role will be, and how to effectively facilitate the event. Thus, you simply go about your job, oftentimes devoid of emotion. To my shame, I admit this is how I felt regarding this funeral service. Toward the very end of the service, however, something was said that struck a chord deep inside my soul. The deceased’s daughter came forward to offer an ending eulogy of her mother. As she spoke, I could feel the deep emotional bond she had shared with her beloved mother. She related that, prior to her mother’s death, many friends and loved one’s had called, texted, or emailed; most saying they were praying “for a miracle.” The daughter then succinctly, but passionately, related her dying mother’s response…“what if death is the miracle?” 

I was instantly and immensely affected. I could sense the familiar feeling of tears as they began to flood my eyes, the flush of blood as it coursed through my body, and the quickening of my breath. My heart had been kick-started and was now beating much faster in response to the profound statement just uttered. “What if death is the miracle?” Did she just say this? Is this truly what I heard? I couldn’t believe it at first, but the daughter continued speaking, relaying that her mother had been looking forward to death and the reunion with her husband and treasured family members. Speaking with enormous respect and admiration, the daughter conveyed how her mother had possessed an unshakeable conviction that death was not the end but simply a grand continuation of the life she had physically lived. I sat in stunned silence, contemplating what had just been relayed. As the service was nearing its end, I realized that I had to get ahold of myself. Trying desperately to harness the feelings that were afflicting me, I relegated the thought to the back of mind, best I could, and went forward to escort the family out of the chapel. As I approached the family and spotted the daughter, I desperately longed to speak with her, to gain greater clarity of how her mother had come to such an acceptance and appreciation of death. Yet, due to the constraints of the professional role that I had to maintain, I kept myself from doing so. Since the funeral service, however, I have continued to ruminate over these most profound words and the impetus behind them. So, for the rest of this post, I’d like to offer a smidgen of my thoughts, concerning this most sacred subject. I hope you enjoy. 

Implicitly interwoven throughout my works; books, poetry, blogs, etc., is the theme of death. A few of my friends have asked why I write so much about his subject, why I hold such fascination with what most people considered morbid. Here is my answer: it is simply because I believe death to be a magnificent moment of personal creation. I understand many (possibly even my friends) would question my sanity with such a statement, but I cannot help but share this belief, it so thrills my soul. Why do I believe this? 

For me, if boils down to a question of numbers and purpose. When I consider the sheer magnitude of the dead, the many billions, throughout the annals of time, who have succumbed to illness, unfortunate circumstance, acts of violence and war, or simply old age, it staggers my mind. Because death is the inevitable outcome of life, I cannot help but believe there is a grand purpose to the event, a purpose that humanity has vastly overlooked. If there were no purpose behind the billions of deaths that have occurred, then I conclude life to be incredibly arbitrary, inane really. Why would we labor through physical life, and the difficulties presented, if we were destined to simply expire, vanish, and leave behind all the experience we encountered while in physical form? What purpose would this arrangement serve, other than an infinitesimal “preparation” for the allotted judgment, spoken of by many faith traditions, determining our eternal destinies? Why would God, whom I wholeheartedly believe to be my Creator and Friend of my soul, go through the “trouble” of creation, only to thrust the majority of His created beings into the void of eternal torment, forever separated from Himself? I understand the need for humanity to believe in the dichotomous existence of heaven and hell, but, in reality, what purpose does this belief truly serve? To clarify my meaning, and I understand that I am treading upon thin theological ice, I offer this explanation: For the vast majority of my life, I have been taught that heaven is a place of immeasurable happiness, joy, elation, and bliss. I have been taught that I will have no concerns, no worries, no fears, no anxieties; in essence I will experience nothing but happiness, being in God’s presence, for all eternity. I have been taught, regardless of the human relationships I forged whilst in the physical realm, I will feel no pain of separation from those I lose, should they not make it to heaven; should they be deemed unworthy of the prize. This could potentially include my wife, my parents, my siblings, my children, and my friends. To me, this thought is difficult, if not impossible, to accept. For, by the standard set in accepted Christian doctrine, any number of physical traps could come to pass and negate mine, and/or my loved ones, eternal destinies. I mean, just think; perhaps a monstrous calamity befalls me or someone I love-a murder, a disaster of monumental proportions, the death of a child, or perhaps a particularly heinous disease-would not such an occurrence have the possibility, perhaps the probability, of changing our collective outlooks on life? Perhaps they/we would even change so much as to lose their/our faith. Then what? Am I to be forever cut off from the people I loved due to the temporal circumstance (s) that derailed their/my heart (s) & soul (s)? Will I never, ever see them again? If so, is my memory of them simply erased, such that I never recall them again? And, if this be the case, what was the overall purpose behind our relationship (s) in the first place?   

I realize that I’m rambling on, conjecturing about circumstances that may never happen, but the problem I face is that I see these circumstances occurring quite frequently. I am constantly helping families put together funeral arrangements for 2 year-olds who drown, 6 year-olds who pull television sets on top of themselves, for 12 year-olds who die of cancer, 17 year-old suicide victims, 19 year-olds whose cars venture over the center line of a busy highway, for 25 year olds whose motorcycles were unseen by an inattentive driver, 40 year-olds struck down three weeks after a cancer diagnosis, for 70 year-olds who succumb to Alzheimer’s, and for families who die in plane crashes, car crashes, boating accidents, murder-suicides, and the like. If I named all the “senseless” deaths I and other funeral directors have presided over, it would boggle the mind. 

As a quick aside, I am quite often astonished at how few families can bring themselves to admit their loved ones may not, in fact, be in heaven. I completely understand how devastating this thought process might be and how their coping mechanism might not allow for such an admission but, no matter how their loved one lived, religious or otherwise, the deceased is inevitably portrayed as a good person, almost saintly most of the time. There is nary a negative word uttered, understandably so, given the circumstances. However, in the not-so distant past, I believe this admission to be more the norm, as the delineation between the heaven and hell-bound was more sharply distinctive. This is in severe contrast with today’s religious culture, for even ministers find it difficult to bring themselves to such an admission. Why is this? If our culture truly believes this to be a central tenet of the Christian faith; that either heaven or hell awaits humanity after death, then why can’t we admit that most people will wind up outside the gates of heaven, as the faith so clearly states? Anyone doing even a cursory investigation into the Scriptures will understand that the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through it [but] the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it. 

Interestingly, there is seemingly little issue with admitting someone else might not have made it to heaven but never our own flesh and blood. Certainly, we will see them again, when we make it to the pearly gates ourselves, right? We often ascribe hell, and the agonies that await, to our enemies, spiritual and/or otherwise. We have little difficulty believing someone else belongs there but most definitely not ourselves or our loved ones. I admit this is probably a bit harsh, but I had to get it off my chest.                       

Back to the issue at hand; death being the miracle sought after. The question that begs to be asked is this: 

How could death ever be considered a miracle? 

This idea runs counter to everything our culture tells us and all that the majority of us have believed to be true. Aren’t we supposed to loathe the idea of death? Aren’t we supposed to shun the concept for fear of its effects on our sensibilities? Isn’t death unnatural, robbing humanity of the life it so desires to sustain? To our culture, death is the biggest enemy we will ever encounter, undefeated in its quest to keep all in the grave (except for Jesus, of course, and others who were raised to life in the Judeo-Christian tradition). Death is the supreme adversary, a terror to tremble before, and something so hideously unappealing we can barely broach the subject. Yet, I would ardently disagree and scream from the mountaintop: it is not what we have been led to believe! It is not evil, monstrous, hideous, or loathsome. It is not to be feared, shunned, or fearfully ignored. It is the natural outcome, the culmination of the Master Plan that God Himself has put in place. In fact, it can be a grand experience for all who encounter it with an open mind, while listening to their soul (I realize that for survivors of death, their love one’s physical presence will be dearly missed, so please know that I’m not attempting to make light of the difficulty death presents to the deceased’s loved ones). If humanity were open to the understanding that death is the gateway to a treasure of immeasurable value, it wouldn’t collectively shun the concept but, instead, embrace the event as the natural culmination of physical life. 

The reason I consider death to be miraculous is simply because I deem it to be a most sacred event, monumental in scope, carried out by the soul, in conjunction with the Master Plan of God. Thus, in my view, death is always miraculous for it is through this most sacred occasion that a human being recovers its authentic self and realizes its inherent position in the vast expanse of eternity. I choose to think of the process of death in this fashion: upon ceasing of the body’s physical function, the soul departs and prepares for its journey back to whence it came, namely the spiritual realm. As recounted in so many thousands of near-death experiences, the soul is aware that it has escaped the bonds of physicality and can actually make sense of the event (though I conjecture there are circumstances where a soul might be “confused,” so to speak, about its escape, and require “assistance” for the transition to the spirit realm). The soul “sees” the aftermath of death, hovering over its expired body whilst awaiting its return to the light and love of God’s abode. I believe, prior to departing the physical realm, the soul comforts remaining loved ones, helping to allay their shock and grief. I believe the actual experience of physical death, and the entering of another realm, to be no more difficult than stepping through an open door. Although death is thought of as painful and excruciatingly difficult, I do not. Though events leading up to eventual physical death might, and often times does, involve episodes of pain, I believe the actual experience of death to be euphoric in nature, possibly even mandated by God, to assist in the transitional process. Once the body expires, the soul then departs this physical plane and arrives at its home in the heavenly realm, to the sheer exhilaration of all who await its return. Departed loved ones and friends eagerly welcome the newly arrived soul with unbridle joy and celebration. I choose to believe this version of death rather than what I have been taught. Just think of it: being loosed from the chains of physicality, able to soar as the eagles do, into a sphere of indescribable love, joy, and happiness. This is what awaits us after our bodies give out. It is an incredibly enriching and encouraging thought to me, one that makes me smile every time I consciously think of my own passing.

I will end this post by saying this: nobody definitively knows, nor understands, what happens after we die. It is all conjecture at best. Endless theories have been proposed throughout the annals of recorded history. These theories are as diverse as the people who have postulated them but are no more right or wrong than any other. Our traditional religions have offered theories as well and, because we find ourselves living in the western part of the globe, where Judeo-Christian tenets prevail, the idea of death is most loathsome and unnatural, an unplanned usurping of God’s design for life. However, just because this theory has been proposed, and accepted by the majority, doesn’t necessarily make it right. Just because we ascribe authority to a religious ideal doesn’t make it any more valid than another. I realize this will offend many people, but I only say this because I sense very few ever question their accepted religious convictions. Very few ever think on their own, using their God-given mind to labor over what they truly believe. And for good reason, as Judeo-Christian directives typically prohibit this sort of free thinking. It is oftentimes thought detrimental to one’s eternal destiny to question religious authority and what they would have you believe. And I would postulate another reason; that it is personally uncomfortable to think other than what you have been brought up to believe. Thus, as a culture, we are continually stuck in the same, death-denying state-of-affairs we always have been, hoping and praying that death doesn’t come soon and that, when it does, we somehow make it to heaven. In contrast, I have come to question my religious tradition and have concluded that is tenets concerning death are not palatable to me; they do not resonate with my boundless soul and stand in stark contrast to my reasoning mind. Thus, I have jettisoned these ideas in favor of what I have proposed above, namely that life is unlimited and death just the beginning of another incredible facet of my eternal existence. One of these days I will arrive at the time of my own physical departure, my own death and, whilst taking my last breath, will eagerly anticipate the beginning again! 

Love and light to you,

Randy