Bitter, Sweet, Real
My brushes with death giving way to glory
TW // graphic descriptions of death
This is a revision of a post from 3 years ago almost to the day: one that I wrote while I was working as a hospice nurse. With today being Good Friday,1 it feels appropriate to share.
Whether you identify yourself as a follower of Jesus, are exploring spirituality, or consider yourself “non-religious,” you are welcome here. Since I am writing from an explicitly Christian perspective, I use terms and language common to the Christian community. Please reach out if you need further clarification or explanation! I am always more than happy to engage with readers.
I think this year, more than others, I’m struck by the earthy, realest realness of Your Great Story. It’s honestly a bit disorienting coming off back-to-back hospice shifts, each with an actively-dying patient, and standing in church singing “Living Hope” by Phil Wickham. God, forgive me if I harbor any pride or smugness. I just wonder how many of these songs have been written without any experience of actual, physical death. Even in songs, these massive realities can seem so dressed-up in abstraction. And yet, so was I but for Your peculiar grace, leading me into the care of the dying…
I wrote this journal entry during a mid-Passion Week2 prayer gathering at my church. For those of you who don’t know, I recently started working as a hospice admissions nurse. Though I meet patients and families at the beginning of their hospice journey, there are times that their journeys are very short. This has been one of those weeks. Of the five patients I visited, one was on the cusp of dying (“pre-active” in the medical world) and two were actively dying. Not gonna lie — it’s been heavy. I can’t unsee bloated hands and feet. I can’t unhear the raspy rattling of secretions through clenched teeth. And my nose can’t forget the distinct odor of death. Though death is universal, there is something isolating about witnessing multiple near-mortalities in a compressed amount of time. Especially when you are witnessing these events alone. Yet I see the Lord’s peculiar grace.
I love Passion Week: the journey through the darkest of the dark, agonizing and hideous, to the pinnacle of glory: glory that eclipses all traces of shadow with its brilliance. My most flowery words could not express the depths and the heights.
But if I may make a confession, at this point in my life, I have little patience for wonderful spiritual truths divorced from earthy3 realities. Likely, this is largely due to what I have witnessed in my work context. Perhaps my perception is faulty. But talk of Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection often seems to revolve around the abstract, beneficial effects of His work: the cleansing from sin, the transfers from dark to Light and death to life, and the freedom of forgiveness. Even resurrection often seems to remain in the abstract plane. Don’t get me wrong: these aspects are GLORIOUS and should be pondered and celebrated. My concern is that Christians too-quickly gloss over the tangible, earthy elements of the gospel4 in favor of abstract realities. Yes, the Bible talks about walking by faith, not by sight.5 Yes, it expounds on the spiritual blessings that Christians have received from God.6 Yet, the pinnacle of the Christian story–the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus–revolves around Jesus’ physical body. Indeed, the Bible explains that He brought reconciliation between God and humans “in His body of flesh by His death.”7 He did not just use words; He offered His very own epidermis-lined limbs and oozing blood. The night before He died, Jesus used substances like matzo and wine8 to prepare His disciples for the harsh reality of His death and to highlight His covenant love: jagged edges over which they could run their fingers and liquid they could swirl in their cups. The tree on which He hung was splintery; the nails they drove into His wrists were cast of iron.
Having so many dying patients this Passion Week has awakened a keen soul-hunger for Jesus Christ. I have absolutely no interest in a distant abstraction of a savior who is immune to suffering. Rather, my soul longs for the Jesus who actually lived a human existence, had a body, and died. I deeply resonate with British priest and theologian John Stott’s words in his book, The Cross of Christ. Though the quotation is lengthy, I think it bears repeating:
“I could never myself believe in God, if it were not for the cross. The only God I believe in is the One Nietzsche ridiculed as ‘God on the cross.’ In the real world of pain, how could one worship a God who was immune to it? I have entered many Buddhist temples in different Asian countries and stood respectfully before the statue of the Buddha, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, the ghost of a smile playing round his mouth, a remote look on his face, detached from the agonies of the world. But each time after a while I have had to turn away. And in imagination I have turned instead to that lonely, twisted, tortured figure on the cross, nails through hands and feet, back lacerated, limbs wrenched, brow bleeding from thorn-pricks, mouth dry and intolerably thirsty, plunged in Godforsaken darkness. That is the God for me! He laid aside his immunity to pain. He entered our world of flesh and blood, tears and death. He suffered for us. Our sufferings become more manageable in the light of his. There is still a question mark against human suffering, but over it we boldly stamp another mark, the cross that symbolizes divine suffering….‘The other gods were strong; but thou wast weak; they rode, but thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak, And not a god has wounds, but thou alone.”9
I wish I could express to you how sweet it has been to see Christ in the bitterness of death. Even the horrors of agonal breathing, glazed eyes, and bloated hands and feet are not foreign to my Jesus. Oh, the strength! Oh, the comfort! Wherever He calls, I go in the assurance that He has gone before me — even unto death.
All creation is groaning under the weight of death. But death will not get the final say. My Jesus died. His physical body was buried. And we, surrounded by the stench of decay, strain towards the wonder that is coming in three days. Heart-beating, blood-pumping, concrete resurrection life.
Many thanks to Kip Henderson and Tiffany Coates. Your support and insight into making my language more accessible are gifts I do not take for granted. Soli Deo gloria.
This is the day on which Christians commemorate the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ.
This is the week in which Christians commemorate the events leading up to the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In the church, the word “earthly” tends to conjure up negative ideas of sin and perversion. I have chosen to use “earthy” to convey the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations comprising our human experience.
“Gospel” comes from a Greek word meaning “good news.” Christians use the term in reference to the great, overarching story of God saving humanity from evil and restoring all things.
2 Corinthians 5:7
Ephesians 1:3
Colossians 1:22
Matzo is Jewish unleavened bread that is eaten during the Jewish Passover. The matzo and wine–or other iterations of bread and wine–comprise what is now commonly known as “communion” or “the Eucharist.” The bread represents Christ’s body that was broken for humanity and the wine represents His blood that was shed for humanity.
John Stott, The Cross of Christ (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2006), 326-328.
This is a beautiful reflection, Amanda. Happy Easter!