The judgment of death perhaps shakes the believer with greater weight than the unbeliever precisely because he really knows the holiness of God, he knows the depths of his own sin, and he believes that God is just. In light of these truths, saving grace really is surprising and in the frailty of sickness or old age the believer holds the fruit of assurance with trembling hands, barely holding on. 

To what end has God given his church pastors? Certainly we can say that one end is that faithful under-shepherds shepherd the sheep well! That is, pastors are given by God to help church members know, love, and follow Jesus who is their Chief Shepherd. “Keep following your Savior!” But it seems to me that one helpful lens through which faithful pastors should view this vocation is that of helping men and women die well. Through all the ups and downs of ministry, there is one constant that every sheep under a pastor’s care will face and that is, unless the Lord returns first, the inevitable reality of death. In other words, it ought to be a pastor’s highest privilege to help Christian men and women pass through the waters of the Jordan in faithful reliance upon Christ.

Thomas Murphy, 19th century Irish-American minister of Frankford Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, reminds his fellow ministers with utmost gravitas: “Who is sufficient for the solemn task of directing a soul that is tottering upon the brink of eternity, where a wrong word may be fatal or a right one may be the means of immediately opening the gates of endless glory?”[1]

The Reality of Death

The reality of death, especially for those who sense it’s nearness, is often terrifying. This is exactly why Satan wields the fear of death in enslaving untold countless souls and keeping them from Christ, who is the only Destroyer of death (Hebrews 2:14-15). But even for faithful Christians, approaching death is still often a frightening experience. John Bunyan vividly gets at this reality in his Pilgrim’s Progress when Christian, before entering into the Celestial City first needs to cross the river Jordan. But in abject fear he begins to panic, being swallowed up under the rivers cold waters and sinking down into its dark abyss; that is, until Christ reaches in and rescues his redeemed servant! I’ve never not cried when reading that portion of the story. It accurately describes the very real wavering many saints have when nearing that cold unknown.

Death has a way of forcing men and women to really take account of their lives and their hearts. Isn’t this why Solomon tells us that “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2)? The godly minister should therefore always be aware of how the cold reality of death is able to penetrate hearts more than most other avenues. Indeed, he ought to always hold up death before the eyes of his congregation – “Behold! That dark river approaches and you cannot but cross it. And on its other side comes judgment. Are you ready?”

That question – are you ready – lies at the heart of the memento mori: “Remember, you must die.” It’s an essential component of what we pronounce in the Gospel, that without trusting in Christ who, in his own death, took the judgment of eternal death for us, we are entirely without hope. Without Christ, we are, in fact, not ready. 

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[1] Thomas Murphy, Pastoral Theology, p. 124