On Death (part 2): Life is what makes death so very precious

Mark Twain once said something like this: When someone you love dies, it is like having your house burn down. Often, it isn’t for years that you realize the full extent of your loss. Not only do we miss what we used to experience with our loved ones, but over time, we recognize the loss of what we might have experienced if they were still with us. I think about this with my mother, who died many years ago. She loved being a grandma to our four children, and I think she would have delighted even more in being a great-grandmother. Unfortunately, she never had the chance to meet Daniel and Bella—a loss they will never appreciate as much as I do.

As I keep thinking and writing about death, I don’t do so in a cavalier way. Death brings loss, pain, emptiness, and doubt along with it. Though someone lives a long and beautiful life, we will miss them and feel saddened that we can no longer enjoy their compassionate presence or reassuring wisdom. Even when a loved one is lingering in pain, and our earnest prayer is for them to pass quickly, their death can still feel like a blow to the chest.  

I cannot fully understand the pain of several dear friends who lost their daughters and sons when they were only infants, small children, or young adults. How they survive this unimaginable loss is bewilderingly courageous to me. Though friends and other family seek to shoulder some of their grief, it seems there is a deep part of the pain that only they can know and carry.

Recently, an older friend unexpectedly lost his adult son to cancer. The son was close to my age and had been battling this disease for a few years. Having lived with the expectation he would die long before any of his children, the father tearfully remarked, “It isn’t supposed to happen this way.” As I thought about my four adult children—I cannot argue with him. I live with the hope that their days will long exceed mine—but one never knows.

If you have been to as many funerals as I have, you have probably heard Psalm 116:15 read as part of a funeral or memorial service:

Precious in the sight of the Lord
            is the death of his faithful servants.

The verse is often used to comfort those gathered, reminding them that the God who watches over us sees and delights to receive those saints who have labored in faith. God is not giddy about death, we are told—but maybe this person’s passing is not such a bad thing. I’ve even heard it described as a good thing, a grace received for the one who is now at home with their Creator.

Like most verses taken out of context, this application may be twistable to fit some occasion, but it is not at all the point of the entire passage. Psalm 116 is a joyful response to being spared from death. The writer is exalting God for mercifully and graciously keeping him from dying. Now, with a new lease on life, the one who had to look death squarely in the eyes is more ready than ever to “walk before the Lord in the land of the living. (Psalm 116:9) The writer’s heart, mind, and lips are full of praise and gratitude for the mercy they have received and the chance to continue to live in this realm.

The word “precious” carries several meanings in this Psalm, but none relates to seeing death as a “good thing.” More useful and clear translations include words like “rare,” “expensive,” or “costly.” Precious seeks to infer that God does not take death lightly, nor should we. Maybe this is one reason the Psalmist rejoices so profoundly: they understand and are thankful for being spared the cost that death will bring them, their family, and friends.

My point is not that death is the worst possible outcome. As one who believes in life beyond the grave, I have hope in something that I expect will far surpass what we now experience or that I can imagine. So, I don’t fear death—but I have come to revere it. As I have been thinking about death and journeying with a few people who are grieving the loss of someone close to them, I am reminded of what I think Psalm 116 is trying to teach us: Death is costly—obviously to the person, but also their loved ones and community. And, if we take the psalmist seriously, even God shares a bit of it with us.

Unfortunately, this sense of preciousness/costliness seems lost in a culture that inundates and numbs us with news and images of death. A wave of games, movies, and videos now depict grotesque and graphic images that are mind-boggling—and mind-numbing.  School and workplace shootings have become absurdly normalized. We speak of these horrific realities as if “that’s just the way it is” rather than blushing in shame that we have created a world where these unspeakable acts occur. Politicians and commanders blasphemously dare to categorize civilian losses in war as “collateral damage”—an unfortunate outcome, we are told, in the military pursuit of our righteous cause. We read up on death tolls from pandemics, wars, and natural disasters like we do the stock market indexes or sports scores—quickly losing track that every number on the page or screen is someone’s mother, sister, son, or friend.  

In the face of so much death, I wonder if we have lost the sense of just how precious death and, therefore, life truly is. Even when the death is close to home, it is easy to pass it off as if nothing happened. A neighbor dies, and we do not give it a second thought. A friend or family member passes, and we take very little time to notice, mourn, and feel the loss and the void carved into our lives. Numb to the cost, we dismiss death and, in doing so, diminish the value and dignity of the ones who have passed and those who now carry the pain and loss.

I expect there is no easy solution to all of this—other than doing better in the moment—to care for the dying, stand with grieving, and refuse to unwittingly participate in the violence, activities, and rhetoric that diminish human dignity or trivialize death.

The costly nature of death inspires me to invest as generously as possible in life. I will write more about this, but I am mindful that it is in the living years, not after a person passes, that can honor their dignity and value their place and presence. As Bonnie Raitt sings, “Life gets mighty precious when there is less of it to waste.” While the Psalmist would argue that life and death are precious at all times, now–this moment–is the best time to marvel at it, cherish its value, and appreciate its gift within ourselves and others before we run out of time.