When people hear that I am a hospice chaplain they often say things like, "Wow, that must be a tough job." They sympathize with me. After all, I deal with death or the thought of impending death every day. I talk to the dying. I sit with their loved ones as we wait for them to go. I watch people slowly deteriorate and then breathe their last. It happens all the time. My job must be the toughest job in the world.
I get that. I get why they would think that.
Most of us think that to be diagnosed with a terminal illness must be an awful, awful thing. One lady, a nursing home resident, said to me, "Sir, who are you again? What is it that you do?" I responded, "I'm with hospice, ma'am. I'm a chaplain." "Oh my!" she said, "I hope I never have to go see you!"
It's as if death is something we can avoid. It's the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room that we are all supposed to ignore, supposed to pretend doesn't exist, pretend isn't there.
Except that he is. We are all going to die.
Pause and let that sink in. We are all going to die and there is not a thing we can do to avoid it.
I know, I know, I know. We can take steps to put it off. To postpone it. But can we really? Death is inevitable. It will come to us all, like it or not, and it will come to us often sooner than we think. We are not really the masters of our destiny no matter how much we kid ourselves. Death is coming. We have been given only so long to live.
You and I are not the first to contemplate this. Nor are we the first to stare death in the face. You might be doing that right now. You may have heard the ominous words from a doctor, "There's nothing else we can do. I'm going to recommend hospice."
Relax. You're not the first to hear this. Or perhaps you are a friend or loved one of someone who has just heard these words. Again, relax. He or she is not the first to have been given this diagnosis either. In a very real sense, each of us was given this diagnosis years and years ago when we were born.
"By the sweat of your face
you shall eat bread,
till you return to the ground,
for out of it you were taken;
for you are dust,
and to dust you shall return.”
(Genesis 3:19 ESV, emphasis mine)
And you are blessed. Yes, I said it. Blessed. Blessed in that you have been given advanced warning. You have been told ahead of time. You have been given the gift of having the opportunity to set your house in order, to say goodbye in a proper fashion.
To make your peace with God.
That's what I do. My job is to help blessed people, people who have been given advanced notice that they are about to go. My job is to help them prepare to meet God.
Now there is a thought more ominous than death. Prepare to meet God.
Now if you have been notified ahead of time that you are about to do this, about to meet God, then shouldn't you be thankful? How many people are there who die suddenly and tragically who never have time to prepare? Yet here you are with time to prepare, time to seek the Lord while he may be found and call upon him while he is near. You are blessed because multitudes have gone on before you having never had that privilege.
Yet, in a very real sense all of us have been given fair warning.
"For the wages of sin is death . . ."
"And as it is appointed unto man once to die . . ."
" . . . and to dust you shall return."
So are you ready? What have you done to prepare? It is this question and others I want us to think about as we discuss the words written by Paul to the Philippians. Why? Because this is precisely what is on Paul's mind as he writes the letter. How now shall we live? How shall we die?
Are you ready to die?
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