Death comes for us all

Just before Christmas, former Nebraska Sen. Ben Sasse announced on X that he has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. In an incredibly honest, yet also hopeful, statement, Sasse points us to the Light of the world. His post is also a challenge to live, to take every opportunity, for none of us knows the hour of our appointed time.

In his poignant post, Sasse reminds us that “the process of dying is still something to be lived.” And in some very real sense, Sasse’s insight applies to every one of us. We are all appointed a time on this earth. And unlike Sasse, many of us will have no warning of that impending hour. As Hebrews 9:27 says, “It is appointed for man to die once.” That uncomfortable truth is universal. No matter how influential, successful, or even holy we become, death comes for us all. And that reality says something really important about how we live.

You see, the question is not whether eternity is real. We all feel its restive infiniteness in our souls. This is true no matter how hard we try to distract ourselves with work, or things, or people, or pleasure. We know there is more. The question is thus not whether eternity exists but where we will spend it. Will we accept God’s invitation? Will we grasp onto a grace freely given but at great cost? Will we put our faith in the Jesus who endured the cross—a Roman instrument of torture reserved for the worst criminals? Will we say yes to the Jesus who chose to stay nailed to a tree, voluntarily enduring pain, shame, and separation from God for the joy set before Him (Hebrews 12:2)? And incidentally, has anyone ever told you that you were the joy set before Him? That Jesus endured the cross, despising its shame, for you. And that He would have chosen the cross if you were the only person in the world. What a God we serve. As Sasse reminds us, the people walking in darkness have seen a great Light.

Hebrews 9:27 goes on to detail what comes after man’s appointed time on earth: the judgment. Make no mistake. We will be called to account for every word, thought, and deed. For overt sins and for covert ones, too. For every failure to act compassionately and for every word spoken without grace. That reality sobers me as I recall my tone of voice just this morning to one of my kids. None of us can possibly measure up to this standard. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

But God doesn’t leave us without hope. The reality of judgment is why “Christ was offered once to bear the sins of many” (Hebrews 9:27). In his post, Sasse calls us to a robust view of hope even in the face of suffering. He contrasts our hope in Jesus with worldly optimism. While optimism is wonderful, and even necessary, it is insufficient.

A well-lived life demands more reality—stiffer stuff. That’s why, during advent, even while still walking in darkness, we shout our hope—often properly with a gravelly voice soldiering through tears.

To shout our hope in Jesus even while walking in darkness, even while soldiering through tears, is a pretty good definition of a life well lived.

Sasse also calls death a “wicked thief.” He’s right. Death and separation were not part of God’s original design. We were not made to be separated from a relationship with God the Father or with one another. That’s why losing someone you love—even when you have the full assurance of their new heavenly residence–can hurt so badly it tastes like fear. As Sasse reminds us, the promises to come don’t dull the pain of current sufferings—but they do put them in perspective. Death and separation are made bearable by the certainty of ultimate reunion. The promise that death will be swallowed up in victory. That God will wipe away every tear from every face and that all will be made right (Isaiah 25:8).

In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet, all will be changed (1 Corinthians 15:52). For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable. Then it will come to pass that “Death is swallowed up in victory” (1 Corinthians 15:54). To God be the glory.