After Life

My family had a scare about a month ago. My dad went into the ER to treat some swelling in his legs that had made walking difficult. What started as merely a precaution and a way to expedite treatment turned into a lengthy hospital stay and the feeling we might lose him at any moment.

After a short rehab/recovery stay, he returned home yesterday, which is both a huge relief and a new challenge as he tries to regain his strength. But there’s also been a pretty strong metaphysical quandary as I wonder about my sense of the afterlife after faith.

Perhaps it’s my insecurity, but one of the things that dominates my thoughts when I consider the prospect of a parent passing away (or whatever really happens at death) is the question of what Christians who know me will think about where I stand now that I’ve fallen away. It’s self-centered, I’m sure, but I think we all get a little protective of ourselves when we think about death. I believe that’s what makes it uncomfortable for a Christian when someone becomes an ex-Christian.

Yes, they think about what will happen to me when I die if I remain outside of the fold, but I think their primary concern is about themselves—when someone abandons the faith, they naturally wonder . . . Could that happen to me? Aside from any rationale or any faith that internally put a person of faith at ease about death, the social aspects of church membership can provide the most assurance and comfort. There are 2.5 billion Christians in the world, and that kind of social proof means a lot to every single one of them. When you stop to think about how crazy some of the more fantastic aspects of faith seem when you analyze them rationally (even Paul addressed the counterintuitive nature of the gospel for a Roman) having a couple billion people taking your side helps to ease the pressure to appear sane. It can’t possibly be crazy if almost everyone believes it, right?

Faith in Jesus Christ is authored by the Father and sealed by the Holy Spirit. It is not, so I was told, a product of personal efforts or intuition. So seeing someone break free from what appears to be the same protective shell guarding them for eternity has to be a bit like watching a fellow astronaut exit the air-locked confines of the space station and drift off into the cosmic vacuum. Wait! We have the same operating system, the same knowledge of physics, the same mission. . . . How can you do this?

So I get it, I think. Returning to my own psyche, I think that’s why I anticipate some kind of stare-down with my former fellow believers the next time I show up at a funeral. Like some kind of, Okay, smart guy, what now?

But all I can really say is, I don’t feel any different. Upon deeper reflection, everlasting life always felt kind of stagnant and 2-dimensional to me. Like, time won’t exist? Existence will lose some of its aspects in heaven? It’s weird to think about now, but it has always been weird to think about. We’re told it will be the most amazing experience possible, but it doesn’t sound like that. As a Christian and as an ex-Christian, death seems awful. And now, absent of any conviction that it really happened, the two-word story of John 11:35 seems all the more poignant.

“Jesus wept.”

Jesus was on the way to see his sick friend, Lazarus. And Lazarus died before he got there. And, I was told by teachers of the Word, Jesus knew this was going to happen. Jesus had the power to reverse it. Jesus was on a mission to prove his identity by displaying the eternal power and authority to raise his friend Lazarus from the grave. And he was right about to do it. 

And he wept.

Before analyzing that reaction, I’m reminded of the way Jesus is said to have spoken to Peter after Peter left the boat and walked on water as a display of what I can describe only as astronomical super faith. But Peter saw the waves and, while walking on freaking stormy-ass water, got scared and asked Jesus for help. And Jesus said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “Why’d you get scared you big baby with little faith?” Now, I don’t bring this up as a Hey, look at the obvious contradiction in the Bible gotcha, but just for the sake of comparison. Jesus rebuked Peter for being afraid of the waves he was literally walking on, but the death of his about-to-be-resurrected friend brought him to big heaving man tears.

Any idea that Christians are immune to death crumbles at that point, in my eyes. The “Death, where is thy sting?” line from Paul just sounds stupid in the light of John 11:35. Like, I don’t know, dude, look at your savior and ask him that. He wept when his friend died, despite his impending return. Seems like it stung.

I haven’t stopped hoping to see my loved ones and to experience some kind of post-cosmic existence, but I don’t think I have any less balm on the wounds of my soul than Christians do when they face the loss of the people they love. If you’ve lost someone, you miss them, no matter what faith you claim as your own.

And I know that’s what I’m up against when I lose someone dear to me. I know it will suck. I believe it will get better in time or beyond it. I can’t say I’m ready.

My dad said he was ready to die if it happened. It didn’t sound contrived. It didn’t sound like it depended on what happened next. It sounded like he was grateful for the life he’s already lived. If I hope for anything, I hope I never forget that.