Finding Perfect Peace in the Face of Death
by Christopher C. Thompson | 11 April 2024
Three weeks ago my mother’s care team gave her 72 hours to live.
Read that again.
Some may consider that bad practice. I see it a bit differently.
This is not a story of some miraculous turnaround. My mother has declined significantly since she came to live with us at the beginning of December. It’s obvious that she’s traversing the valley of the shadow of death. She is simply doing it on her own terms.
When my mom was initially admitted to hospice care, they almost immediately prescribed three medications: one to manage oral secretions, another to manage pain and to aid relaxation, and a third to manage anxiety and help her sleep.
Mom has been fairly comfortable, so we haven’t made much use of the medications. However, in the last few days, she has expressed heightened levels of anxiety.
Here’s what I am learning, and what I realize that I had never thoroughly considered: a prolonged stare-down with death is no easy task. Everyone knows that at some point they will die, and so in one sense, we all are suspended in an elongated stare-down with death. But I’m speaking specifically about people whose illnesses are terminal or having an irreversible condition.
My dear Aunt Kay died of pancreatic cancer back in 2021. The courage and resolve with which she faced death was resplendently regal. There were some things she did and said in those final days that are still bearing personal fruit for me.
Facing death
There are ways in which my mom’s steely resolve is instructive for me, too. But one lesson I’m learning is just how hard it is to face death. I am reminded of the words of David when he eluded the bloodthirsty grasp of King Saul. He said to his friend, Saul’s son Jonathan, “…Yet as surely as the Lord lives and as you live, there is only a step between me and death.”
David knew that Saul intended to kill him, and he felt the potential of an early demise. He was afraid, yet conscientious. This event took place when David was a very young man, and he lived to be an old man. Nonetheless, you can feel the anxiety in his words to Jonathan on that day.
A few weeks ago my mom said to me very simply, “I want to live more.” For me, that one simple statement encapsulates the complex and complicated challenge of dying. My mom has not eaten a meal in over a month—a few bites here and there, but not an entire meal since January or February. She has carefully prepared me to be the executor of her estate. We have organized and arranged all of her accounts and affairs, with directives for how she would like for everything to be handled when she falls asleep.
Yet there is still a longing, even bargaining and pining, for more time. I’m certain she knows it’s almost over, but I don’t think she’s happy about it.
I’ve spent significant time reassuring her that her legacy is secure. I’ve talked to her about the resurrection, and how proud we are that she is our mom. But I’m mindful: this is likely the hardest test an individual can/will ever face. I have reflected much on this: death is an insatiable bully, taunting and threatening to capture and carry us off, to hold us indefinitely without ransom.
At least that’s how it feels. I suppose we don’t think much about death until it comes knocking on our own door—and those knocks are undeniable.
I am also mindful that everyone (in the most practical sense of the actual event of death) dies alone. You may not be physically alone, but when you die you die by yourself. No human being can truly comfort you, in the experiential sense, when you close your eyes in death. That’s a task that can only be performed by the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Information isn’t enough
I fear that our assurance of peace and comfort is only informational—academic at best. I realized in talking to her that mere knowledge of peace is inadequate. Head knowledge will not suffice.
We need the peace that passes all understanding. My mom needs that peace. Isaiah 26:3 says, “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” In John 14:27, Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
These words are especially powerful in this day and time. Everything seems so out of order and upside down. The political realm, the financial realm, the educational realm, and all the rest, seem completely out of whack. The scriptures warn us of the lull of false prophets who offer peace when there is no peace (Jer. 6:14).
Yet, I believe that the peace that Jesus offers is so much more, and that’s the peace I need; perfect peace.
One morning I woke up pretty early with chest pains. I suppose the stress of everything is starting to get to me. I grabbed two aspirin and went to the kitchen to get something to drink. As I was filling my glass, I could hear Mom calling out, “God, please help me!” I hurried to the room and asked her what was the matter. “Anxiety,” she said. Then I replied, “Would you like some medicine?” She said, “Yes.” So I got the little glass medicine bottle. I dipped the little eyedropper and squeezed the rubber bulb at the top to suction the liquid. Then I carefully squeezed it into the side of her mouth.
I asked her, “Would you like to pray?” “Yes,” she said. So we prayed. Then I said, “Would you like for me to read the Bible for you?” “Yes,” she said. So we spent the next thirty minutes reading the Psalms and I talked to her about why some of those Psalms are so special to me.
The Bible fell open to Psalm 138. So that’s the one I read first. I first discovered that very Psalm when I was in college—after a harrowing experience, I’d opened the Bible to that exact passage. I was encouraged by the promise of protection, because that is exactly what God had done for me that night. It has been a favorite ever since. I love the last verse: “The Lord will accomplish what concerns me; Your faithfulness, Lord, is everlasting; Do not abandon the works of Your hands.”
After I finished reading to Mom, I sang a song for her, and by the time I finished singing, she was already falling asleep. I noticed that I was feeling a lot better myself. Here’s the thing: I’m not exactly sure what perfect peace feels like, but I think I might be getting close.
Christopher C. Thompson writes about culture and communication at thinkinwrite.com. He’s the author of Choose to Dream. When not writing, he’s jogging or binge-watching Designated Survivor. He’s married to Tracy, who teaches at Oakwood University.
