Death invites us to reconsider life, eternity, hope, and our relationship with God.
By Paul Zhang
Over the past few days, my social media feed has seemed to carry the same kind of news again and again:
Someone has left this world.
Some were young, others old.
Some were people I knew; others were strangers.
Some were remembered by many after they died.
Others quietly disappeared from this world with little notice.
Whenever I see news like this, I find myself stopping for a moment.
Because not long ago, they were living just as we are.
They talked, ate, worked, and drove.
They laughed, and they cried.
They worried about their children and worked hard to make a living.
They made plans for next year, for retirement, for another trip—perhaps even for what they would do the following week.
They may never have imagined that one day the calendar would keep moving forward while their own time stopped on a particular date.
And so a question we usually prefer not to face comes before us again:
What, after all, is human life?
Behind that question are several even deeper ones:
Where did I come from?
Why am I alive?
And when I leave this world one day, where am I going?
We may postpone answering these questions.
But we cannot avoid them forever.
When we are young, we rarely think seriously about death.
Death seems to belong to other people.
People in the news die. People in hospitals die. Old people die. People we hear about on social media die.
But as for us—
we somehow assume there is still plenty of time.
So we say:
I will think about it after this busy season.
I will deal with it after I have made enough money.
I will do it when the children are older.
I will think about life when my career is more stable.
I will deal with these questions after I retire.
Even when it comes to faith, we may say:
“I’ll think about God when I’m older.”
And so we put many of life’s most important matters into a drawer labeled “later.”
But life confronts us with a fact that is both severe and impartial:
None of us knows how much “later” we actually have.
We know the date on which we were born, but none of us knows the date of our final day.
James writes:
“Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.”
— James 4:14, KJV
The Bible is not diminishing the value of life.
Quite the opposite.
Because life is so precious, Scripture reminds us:
Do not assume that today will last forever.
The tragedy of life is not merely that it is short.
The deeper tragedy is that we imagine it is long, and therefore keep postponing what matters most.
People in our generation are incredibly busy.
We are busy making money, supporting our families, and running businesses.
We are busy paying mortgages and taking children to school.
We are busy answering messages and responding to emails.
We are busy watching how other people are doing—and equally busy making sure other people can see that we are doing well.
Sometimes, after an exhausting day, we lie in bed physically tired and still cannot put down our phones.
The next morning, we get up and start running again.
Year after year passes this way.
But what if, late one quiet night, we suddenly asked ourselves:
“What am I actually so busy for?”
Many of us might not know how to answer.
That is one of the real dangers of life.
A person can be extremely busy and still have no direction.
A person can work incredibly hard and still have no sense of meaning.
A person can make a great deal of money without knowing where that money is ultimately taking him.
A person can possess everything others admire and still carry an emptiness that nothing seems able to fill.
Being alive and truly living are not necessarily the same thing.
Sometimes we are not really living.
We are simply rushing.
And the more serious problem is this:
We may not even know where we are rushing to.
Death has a strange power.
It suddenly rearranges the things we normally consider important.
When a person truly comes to the end of life, he probably cares much less about whether his house was bigger than someone else’s, whether his car was better, whether his bank account contained more money, how many people liked his posts, or what others once thought of him.
The comparisons, arguments, pride, victories, and defeats that once kept us awake at night may suddenly seem very small.
But other things become very large.
Did I truly love the people around me?
Did I spend enough time with my family?
Did I say the “thank you” I should have said?
Did I say the “I’m sorry” I should have said?
Am I still holding hatred toward someone I should have forgiven?
Did I do the things I knew I was called to do?
And then comes an even deeper question:
If today were the final day of my life, would I be ready?
Death is like a mirror.
It strips away much of what is false in our lives and leaves us facing what truly matters.
Through years of pastoral ministry, I have come to understand something more deeply:
When death truly enters a family, many grand explanations suddenly sound very small.
Those standing outside the pain can easily say:
“Don’t be sad.”
“Be strong.”
“Have faith.”
“This is God’s will.”
Such statements may not necessarily be theologically wrong. But when spoken too quickly, they can become a second wound.
Because losing someone you deeply love is not a theological examination.
It is a wound.
Wounds need time.
They need tears.
They need someone willing to sit nearby.
Sometimes what a grieving person needs most is not someone telling him what he should think, but someone willing to remain beside him and say:
“I’m here.”
Scripture tells us:
“Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”
— Romans 12:15, KJV
Notice that Scripture does not say, “Explain everything to those who weep.”
It says:
Weep with them.
True pastoral care does not always begin by providing an immediate answer. Sometimes it means walking with someone through a night in which answers have not yet come.
Tears do not mean that a person has no faith.
Grief does not mean that someone is spiritually weak.
When Jesus came to the tomb of Lazarus, He knew that He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead.
And yet:
“Jesus wept.”
— John 11:35, KJV
It is one of the shortest verses in the Bible, yet to me it is also one of the warmest.
It tells us that God does not stand at a distance from human suffering, coldly handing us an explanation.
He enters our suffering.
He sees our tears.
And He weeps with those who weep.
We can accompany those who grieve.
We can give people permission to cry.
We should respect the time grief requires.
But eventually, we still have to face the question:
What comes after death?
If death is truly the end of everything, then all our love, sacrifice, dreams, and perseverance ultimately end at a grave.
If human life is merely an accident—a few decades in this world followed by complete extinction—then it becomes difficult to find a lasting foundation for what we call “the meaning of life.”
Death therefore brings us to a deeper question:
Are human beings nothing more than bodies that live for a few decades?
The Bible says no.
Scripture tells us that human life comes from the God who created us.
We did not arrive in this world by accident.
We are not meaningless specks of dust drifting through the universe.
We were created in the image of God.
That means:
Life is not an accident; it is a gift.
Life is not aimless wandering; it has a purpose.
And death was not the final purpose for which God created humanity.
At the same time, the Bible is painfully honest about what has gone wrong.
Sin entered the world.
Human beings became separated from God. We wound one another, and brokenness entered our own hearts.
Death eventually became a reality no human being can escape.
So our deepest question is not merely:
“How can I be happier?”
It is not even merely:
“How can I live a more meaningful life?”
The deeper question is:
How can a finite and sinful person, destined to face death, be reconciled to the God who gives life?
And that brings us to the gospel.
Many people assume that Christianity is mainly about teaching people to be good.
It is not.
If Christianity merely told us:
“Be a little kinder.”
“Try a little harder.”
“Love people a little more.”
then those words would still be powerless in the face of death.
The astonishing claim of the gospel is this:
Jesus Christ entered death Himself.
He did not stand safely at a distance and tell us not to be afraid.
He went to the cross.
He entered the grave.
And on the third day, He rose from the dead.
Jesus said:
“I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:”
— John 11:25, KJV
This is the deepest hope Christians have when facing death.
It is not that Christians do not die.
Christians become sick. Christians grow old. Christians weep. Christians also walk through the valley of death.
The difference is this:
Death no longer has the final word.
The grave is not the destination.
Death is not the final period at the end of the sentence.
In Jesus Christ, beyond death there is resurrection.
The gospel does not ask us to pretend that death does not exist.
It gives us the courage to look directly at death and still say:
I have hope.
Some people feel uncomfortable whenever death is mentioned, as though speaking about it were somehow unlucky.
But the opposite is true.
Thinking seriously about death is not meant to make us negative. It can teach us how to live again.
Scripture says:
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12, KJV
Why should we “number” our days?
Because our days are limited.
And because they are limited, they are precious.
Because they cannot be lived twice, today deserves our attention.
When a person understands that one day he will stand before eternity, he begins to reorder the way he lives today.
Some grudges can be released.
Some people should be embraced.
Some apologies need to be spoken.
Some words of “I love you” should no longer be postponed.
Some things we have delayed for years need to begin.
And some wrong directions need to be abandoned.
There is also a more important question:
If I have never seriously sought to know God, perhaps today is the day to begin.
Not when I am old.
Not after retirement.
Not after I become sick.
Not when a doctor tells me that my time may be short.
Today.
Perhaps someone reading these words has recently lost a loved one.
Perhaps you are sitting in a hospital beside someone you deeply love.
Perhaps you have just received a diagnosis you never wanted to hear.
Perhaps everything looks normal on the outside, while inside you carry a constant fear of death.
Or perhaps after too many losses, you have begun asking:
Where is God in all of this?
If that is where you are, I do not want to quickly tell you:
“Don’t be sad.”
You may grieve.
You may cry.
You may even ask God:
“Why?”
Many people in the Bible asked the same question.
Faith does not forbid questions.
Real faith means bringing our tears, questions, and weakness into the presence of God rather than running away from Him.
Perhaps you do not yet have all the answers.
That is all right.
Do not run.
And do not carry everything alone.
Talk with someone you trust.
Find a mature Christian, a pastor, or someone who is truly willing to listen.
Sometimes God’s comfort does not arrive as a sudden answer falling from heaven.
Sometimes it comes slowly through another person’s presence, through ears willing to listen, and through a hand willing to hold ours.
I am not asking you first to join a religion.
I am simply inviting you to ask yourself some serious questions:
Where did my life come from?
Why am I alive?
What is worth giving my life to?
When death comes, what can I actually take with me?
Is there truly nothing beyond death?
And:
If there really is a God who created me, am I willing to know Him?
Do not refuse these questions simply because life is busy.
And do not assume they have nothing to do with you simply because life is going well right now.
One day, every one of us will face them.
The only difference is that some begin seeking answers while they still have much of life ahead of them.
Others wait until their final days and suddenly realize that they have lived an entire lifetime without seriously asking.
If you are willing, you might even begin with a very simple prayer:
“God, if You are real, please help me to know You.”
Perhaps that simple prayer could become the beginning of a new journey.
As I write these words, I am also asking these questions of myself.
Because death is not merely something that happens to “them.”
It will come to me as well.
One day, my name may appear in someone else’s message.
Someone may say:
“Pastor Zhang has passed away.”
Perhaps people will remember me for a while.
Perhaps after a number of years, most people will forget.
That is normal.
What matters most is not how many people remember me.
What matters is whether, when I have finished my journey, I can say with peace:
I truly lived this life.
I loved, and I was loved.
I fell, but grace lifted me again.
I made wrong decisions, but I also learned again and again to repent.
I did my best to complete the work God entrusted to me.
And then, at the final doorway of life, I will know that I am not walking into nothingness.
I am going home.
If I can come to that day with such hope, then however long or short my life may have been,
it will have been a life for which I can give thanks.
Death is not meant to make us afraid of life.
It reminds us that:
Life deserves to be taken seriously.
Do not wait until someone is gone to learn how precious that person was.
Do not wait until a relationship is broken to learn how to apologize.
Do not wait until your body grows weak to begin caring for it.
Do not wait until the final chapter of life to ask why you are alive.
And above all, do not wait until death is standing at the door before you begin to think seriously about eternity.
Scripture says:
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12, KJV
We do not know how many days remain.
But we do know this:
Today is still here.
As long as today remains,
there is still time to love;
still time to forgive;
still time to begin again;
still time to come home;
still time to seek;
and still time to know the God who gives life.
So perhaps the question we most need to ask is not:
“How much longer will I live?”
but:
“What will I live for today?”
Life is short, but that truth is not meant to make us anxious.
The nearness of death is not meant merely to make us afraid.
Together they remind us:
Do not waste your life.
Do not miss the people you love.
Do not miss God.
Because the deepest question of life is not only how we live,
nor only how we leave this world,
but where we are going
when this earthly journey is over.
Allow Google Analytics to help us understand anonymous website usage? Prayer text, form content, and other sensitive text are not sent to analytics.
