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THE MUSIC OF DEATH

Updated: Dec 31, 2019


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Death’s shadow is never far behind. Try as we may, escaping it is nothing more than an exercise in futility. Nevertheless, the inescapable reality of death does nothing to quiet our storm filled spirits when confronted with his harsh visage.


With a void face which looks like no other, Death, the great enemy of God and man, interrupts the rhythms of life with his song of sorrow. Writing himself into the calendar of each person’s life he never calls ahead for convenience sake. He never takes into account the havoc wreaked by his unannounced visits. He never acts with a view towards building up…his is the work of tearing down. Yet, there he stands, unable to be tamed by man, though many carry the illusion of containment on their plastic faces. There he stands, the giver of demise for all on-takers, bellowing out the boastful claim “I am the King of Terror…who shall escape the edge of my sword?”


In vain we try to beautify his terror with overpriced boxes of concealment, modest canisters of containment and dolling up of the dead, only to be met with the sober reality that when death deals out his handy work it is neither beautiful nor concealable. Though the eyes may be soothed with an image which less resembles his work, the ears which hear only silence are never fooled. Death's silent music is almost deafening. His sober tune can always be heard. We hear it where the sound of a child’s voice used to occupy or where a Dad’s wise council used to dwell or in the painful hush where a wife’s voice used to reside. For this variety of silence is the dreadful music death plays.


In his wake are the countless victims that have fallen to his bidding and he revels in the thought that in every corner of the earth, every small town, every bustling city, every quaint village and every community, his fingerprints can been seen and his music heard. Staking his claim on lives and land all at once, he makes himself known to the young and old, the wise and foolish, the righteous and unrighteous alike. At times, his visit seems deferred and still other times it seems to come far too early. No age is beyond his reach, no class is exempt and no measure of sentiment can assuage the pain that he so pitilessly apportions.

But lest we shrink in despair at the seemingly hopeless reminder of Death’s power, hope is attainable for those who know where to find it. In spite of his far reach, there is one corner of the earth in which Death dreadfully shuns. Its precise location debated by man but forever etched in his mind. Though unassuming in appearance and unimportant to a majority of those who have yet to shake Death’s hand, it is a place where his horrifying terror is swallowed up in a holy terror. It is the only place he has ever felt weak, helpless and without power. Like so many times before it was a place where his stench and sting would reside…or so he thought. Like every other victim whom he had cut down with what amounts to no resistance whatsoever, this was to be a run of the mill victory…one not unlike all the others he had procured for himself. A victory it would be!


What was at one time an empty tomb is now occupied by what appears to be an empty body. A body that had been wrapped in concealing cloth and drenched with aromatic spices rests there. Seemingly powerless, it now serves as a testimony of the unrelenting power of death’s rule. But just as the stench of death began to chase away the lovely fragrance of loving friends and when all hope seemed to be gone, deaths music was interrupted by the rustling of folded fabrics and a shifting stone. Here, in this tiny corner of the world, in this poor excuse for a kings resting place, in this moment of implausibility, Death was faced with a non-complier. He had seen such rebels before but was always quick to reschedule a follow up visit. But here, with this one, no such follow-up would be had. Here stood one who retained the fingerprint of death but somehow death had lost its sting…somehow, though his mark remained, his power was mysteriously absent. Could it be…could it truly be that here in this seemingly inconsequential hollow of the earth that the world would finally witness the death of Death? It was on that dreaded day, that day forever etched in the mind of Death, that his own record of demise was signed by the pierced hand of one greater than himself. Though still working his trade and flouting himself as the great untouchable, Death has been touched, he has been dealt a blow of defeat and praise God, his abolishment is a matter of when not if!


It is in this reality that we hope! It is in the victory of Christ’s resurrection that we rest our case and rest our hearts. It is in the sounds of a rolling stone, the rustling of folded fabrics and the gentle steps of pierced feet that the music of death is interrupted. Far greater is the song of the redeemer than the silent song of the enemy! So take courage believer and fear not a defeated enemy. Grieve, but do not grieve as one who is hopeless. Consider death but while doing so make sure you live! Yearn for the presence of your loved ones who have passed before you but desire more earnestly the company of the One who died that you might live!



~In memory of Jackie White~

She was a sister, a daughter, a mother and a friend. I have a suspicion that if Jackie could speak to us from where she is she would say “choose God…always choose God, for only in Him can hope be found and only in Him is death’s shadow driven away”. In so many ways, I feel she left this world far too soon; nevertheless, I am merely a man. No doubt, the questions that flood the minds of those who loved her all begin with the simple, three letter word, “Why”. Yet, I think Jackie might be inclined to direct us not so much towards the question of “why” but “what”. What will we do with the life we have been blessed to live. Will we find ourselves paralyzed by not only her death but also our own inescapable appointment with it, or, will we live life to the fullest while we have it to live. Such a life is found only in Christ!

I will forever remember the laughing, the wrestling, the go cart rides, the lava lamps, the smile and the sweet spirit. She undoubtedly left an indelible impression on all those who were privileged to love and be loved by her and she will be remembered.

With great hope, Benny Stiltner

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