I will die.
A few seconds before this inevitable occurrence, all that I have measured by way of belief comes to a breath-taking curiosity.
The subject of mortality runs every Philosophy towards utopian heights. Religion seeks to impose the ex cathedra of how one fights the quietus. Humanity subversively hides in denial resorting to divergent technological spas.
Christianity stands alone in its presentation of its prognosis.
The Scriptural meta-narrative reveals death's character not as an anomaly but as the necessary consequence of our choosing to ignore the primary claim of life's creator that He is God.
Being God, he determines both the personality and functionality of all. To miss the mark of his inscrutable wisdom is to join the ranks of self-defined rebels. God calls this arrangement Sin. When this independence is imbibed, the consequential malignancy is earned. God cannot stop the justice of death, because He is God.
The story does not end though. Leveraged from infinite compassion, the impossible mission was conceived. God's incredible love takes on the fury of judgment upon Himself. His Son suits up in human form and battles death towards submission.
I almost had a son.
Luke was conceived with delight. I somehow knew what he'd be like. He will play good basketball and learn Economics. My third child would have been the recipient of learned parenting. I would have spared him from all my previous flub. While imagining a most ideal fatherhood, a drop of blood burst my dream. He died in his mother's womb.
I do not have any categories to grasp the abysmal conundrum and thus I turn to the unrelenting tenacity of Christ's claim. He alone claimed the true stare-down toward this nemesis: Oh Death, where is now your sting? In my oceanic distress, I hold to the anchor of the One who did something to resect my son's corpse.
God's story pulls me to believe where my unborn son now lives. In the meantime, I am granted the grace of hope that there is truly nothing that can ever separate me from his victorious grip. The story of gloom is displaced by his hopeful bloom. I am enabled to move on despite the temporal loss.
Last month, the young cavalier who is pursuing my youngest daughter came in to visit. He quickly disarmed me with his stellar charm. He played guard for Colgate University's Men's Basketball Team (NCAA Div. 1). Surprisingly, he too majored in Economics and currently works for a European Financial Group. I was not able to resist the shot to engage him in a game or two.
It was more of a wild circus. He was fiercely unforgiving in registering his depth and dominance. I was more watching than playing. More than once, he skywalks and flies over for a thunder.
While all this blur was taking place, it just occurred to me: his name is Luke. He plays basketball. He knows Economics. Truly, my Creator's wise humor blows me away.
After all, He is God.
Small wonder, I catch myself with a momentary beam when I think of my son's demise and that of my own future hop. Death is forever rendered benign by my everlasting Father: the true conditor of humans, basketball, economics and yes, of the insuperable gift of eternal life.
