Quietly, he sat in his regular outside chair on a still Sunday afternoon. While he was lost in thought, something told him to turn his head to the side. He could faintly see what appeared to be a figure of a man swiftly approaching. A noise was growing louder as he came, and it seemed to be something he was saying. He could not tell for sure.
The air had become still. Birds were no longer chirping. And, oddly enough, the clouds, which previously were slowly inching their way across the sky, had frozen in place.
A faint smell began to waft into his nose, and it made his eyes burn–and his stomach feel nauseous. It was an odor he had never encountered, and only intensified as the figure drew closer to him. The smell was awful, and it nearly made him gag. Collecting himself, he looked over his shoulder again to see the figure getting closer. The noise was getting louder as the lips moved, and a voice was speaking in a language he had never heard.
A fog was gradually surrounding his feet, billowing up all around him. His heart began to beat faster. A helpless feeling came over him, and he thought back to the previous day.
He had a conversation with his good friend about an urgency he felt and how he was coming to realize that life was truly short. His friend had agreed and encouraged him to write some reflections on the matter. He had gone to bed that night, unable to reflect. He was just tired. At one point, he remembers waking up and then quickly falling back to sleep.
By now, the fog had covered his backyard and was moving its way up to his knees. Without knowing why, he stood up and turned to face the figure. Presently, this someone was only a stone’s throw away, and he could see that his appearance was solemn and stern. There was a coldness in his eyes and a seriousness that sent a shiver down his spine. This was not a normal man. He thought to himself, this figure was not a man at all.
Just then, he noticed his mouth begin to open, and the smell grew more intense than ever. A language poured out as though it were a song, or at least an ancient poem. He was uttering words in a rhythmic cadence that appeared to be accompanied by a drum. The drum sounds were keeping time with his words. He knew without a doubt that whatever this thing was and whatever he was saying were being spoken directly to him. His mind tried to place the language and its accompanying odor. The only thing that he could think of was one word: death.
No sooner had he thought that thought than he woke up breathing hard, and drawing air deeply into his lungs. The foul smell was gone, and he sat there in bed catching his breath, waking slowly by the scent of coffee that had already brewed. He realized he was only having a dream.
He sauntered across the room to put on his robe and make his way into the kitchen. Pouring a cup of hot coffee and smelling the nice smoky flavor, he thought about the dream. What an odd dream. And then he remembered his friend’s encouragement to reflect. He picked up his journal, next to the Bible, which was worn with notes from countless conversations with his dad and others, and began to write down his thoughts. By then, his roommates had woken up and started to pour their cups of coffee. They entered the living room, where he was seated in deep thought, writing in his journal. They asked him what he was doing, and he replied that he was writing down some thoughts from the previous day. Smiling, they turned their attention to other things and went about their day.
The morning didn’t pass as quickly as he thought, and he wondered more and more about the dream and the conversation with his friend. He had felt an urgency and brevity of life, but he didn’t know what to do. He decided to work out and then head to class. He usually walked to class, and today was no different. His thoughts were still swirling around.
Suddenly, and without thinking, he walked across the street in complete disregard for the no-crossing flashing sign that was in front of him. The onlookers described the scene as chaotic and tragic. There was a quick horn blast, the squealing of brakes, and a noise that could only be described as devastating. He had been flung far out into the street. He head hit the pavement, and his body was thrown into all kinds of unnatural contortions. The emergency crew arrived quicker than everyone had expected and began all their resuscitation efforts. His life was on the brink.
All he could see now was a figure approaching him. The same scene that had been in his dream the night before was his reality. The figure was standing across him, speaking a language that had previously been unknown to him, but was now as clear as if he had grown up speaking it. The odor was more potent than before, and the intensity of this non-man’s words was deafening.
“Today, you have been called to face the angel of death. Today, you shall die.”
The words struck a deep fear within him, causing him to withdraw and stumble backward. The figure drew closer and slowly pushed aside his dark overcoat. He could see that a sword was being drawn as it flashed in the sunlight. The air was still. No noises. This individual made the same statement repeatedly. Louder and louder each time. It was as if a drum cadence was falling in line with his words. Droom. Droom. Words. Words. Droom.
“Today, you shall face the angel of death. Today, you shall die…Today, you shall face the angel of death. Today, you shall die.”
Panic followed. His heart raced. He felt weakness in his stomach. The smell was terrible. Death. He could only think of death.
By this time, the emergency response team had finished their work and handed him off to the doctors at the hospital. Immediately, they transferred him to the ICU and, as fast as they could, brought his body to a frigid temperature to slow the damage that they hoped had not occurred to his brain. His roommates had rushed to the hospital, and his parents and siblings were on their way.
His family had arrived and saw him lying in a hospital bed, his body rising and falling with an unnatural cadence. The doctors, carefully and kindly, pulled the family aside into a private room to share with them the dire situation that was occurring. They said, “Your son is fighting for his life. We were able to perform emergency surgery, but he is very far from being out of the woods. We’re hoping that his body can recover, but in reality, the chances are very slight that your son will live. And, if he does, he will not likely have any functioning cognitive capacities. I’m sorry.”
His mother turned to his father, tears in her eyes. He looked at her with a sadness she had never seen. They embraced and began to weep. His roommates stood in frozen shock, their hands reaching and resting on his parents’ shoulders, assuring them of their presence–their silent sadness beginning to well up in their throats. Each wondering what was about to unfold–fearful for the worst and hoping and praying for the best.
The figure was massive as he drew his sword, taking the first swing. He felt it move over his head with swift violence. It has missed, but it was coming around again. At just the right moment, he rolled to miss the second blow that crushed the pavement, echoing out a sound of steel and rock. Fragments of pavement bounced up and crashed against his cheeks, scratching his face. The smell grew, and the words and drum beats pounded.
“Today, you shall face the angel of death. Today, you shall die…Today, you shall face the angel of death. Today, you shall die.”
Time froze. He collected his thoughts. He was fighting something that seemed to be a man but was, in fact, indeed not a man. In that brief moment, his life flashed before his eyes.
He recalled…
- On his seventh birthday, the joy he felt in his heart was overwhelming as his mom and dad had surprised him with all his friends. He remembered looking around at his family and friends singing Happy Birthday and smiling. There was only love in his heart and kindness.
- On his sixteenth birthday, the pride and trust his dad had expressed in him as he handed him the keys to his new truck. He drove away, watching his dad waving in the driveway, beaming with love and kindness.
- His parents driving away from him as he entered his college dorm. He saw his mom resting her head on his dad’s shoulder as they took the turn to head back home.
In that moment, he also recalled his pastor sharing a message at Christmas that had pierced his heart. It was a message about God and His Son, Jesus Christ. He remembered that sense of hopelessness being replaced with a more profound joy than he had known. He remembered telling his mom and dad about it and praying with them. He remembered the mornings with his dad, as they drank coffee together and discussed what they had both read in the Bible that morning. He remembered his dad talking about Christ and the gospel and the goodness that embodies God. He recalled his dad’s tears as he spoke of Christ and the sincerity and love that assured him that all would be well. He remembered the bad choices he had made, as well as the kindness and firmness his dad had expressed. He remembered the sense of power that came from the Holy Spirit as he shared his faith at school, facing rejection and humiliation. He remembered walking to class and then…
His parents had sat down now by his side. Silent prayers and soft music were playing as they both had their hands on his legs. From time to time, they would look at each other, and tears would well up in their eyes. They prayed and hoped.
The fog was thicker, and the sky was darker. The figure moved closer to him, now changing his cadence and saying in the same language something different. He was calling him by name.
“You have reached the end. Die. Die. It is time to die.”
Over and over, the words poured out as he suddenly felt the warmth and pain of a gash in his leg. The sword that had been flung about found its mark. His leg was cut, and the hit began to bleed. He gasped and rolled over as far as he could, and tried to stand. Ripping his shirt, he put together a makeshift tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but fell to the ground while doing so. The presence grew near and began to reach down to grab him. Just then, he prayed, “God, help me.”
Without thinking, he rolled over and gripped the figure’s leg with his hand. A strength had come over him that he had not previously known. Pulling as hard as he could, he felt the crash beside him. The presence boomed out deep and loud. Angered now, and humiliated after the fall, he rushed to his neck, gripping and squeezing. A hand-to-hand fight ensued.
His siblings had finally arrived. They were all sitting in the ICU waiting room, getting caught up on the situation. The minutes turned to hours. Finally, they all decided to get settled in for the night and parted ways. His dad stayed available should he awake.
In the middle of the night, his dad noticed his finger twitching. It stopped. “Did he dream this?” he thought to himself. He went back to sleep, his thoughts drifting as he prayed.
By this time, the figure had positioned himself on top of his chest. Their hands were in constant motion—one’s intent on his destruction and the other on survival. The hideous smell was billowing out every time he spoke, and the drums were pounding all around him.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, his strength began to wane. His heart was losing hope. Previously, he had felt a strength foreign to him, but now he was on the brink of exhaustion and began to feel his life slip away. He closed his eyes amid his combat and prayed, “Lord, help me.”
Suddenly, a draft of cool, crisp, and clean wind rushed across his face. An aroma of pure love began to fill the room. Looking back, he could only describe the smell that came upon him in that moment of struggle as the most pleasant perfume scented with sweetness, purity, delight, and pleasure. His heart was filled with a renewed strength. A distant voice cried out, “Be gone, evil one, his time is not yet.”
This unknown yet familiar voice echoed over the sounds emitted by the one with whom he was battling. Louder and louder this voice rang out, “Be gone, evil one, his time is not yet.”
The morning had finally arrived, and the family was reunited, discussing the doctors’ findings. His prognosis was repeated with a solemn and respectful tone. The worst-case scenario was laid out, and everyone resigned themselves to their new reality without his presence.
No sooner had this thought come than his finger moved, and his hand lifted off the bed. The doctors rushed in to assess the situation. They instructed his family that he could hear them. Each of them, now surprised, looked at each other. His dad spoke out, “Son, can you hear us? We are here. We love you. Your family is here. Can you hear us, son?” His mom spoke, “Son, it’s your family, we love you. We love you. Can you hear us? Move your head if you can hear me.”
Slowly, he nodded his head. His family looked up at each other. Going from one set of eyes to the other. “He hears us,” his dad exclaimed.
They were there for what seemed like days, hoping against hope that he would wake up and remember them, hoping that he would be able to speak and resume normal activities.
By this time, the fog had lifted, and the smell had all but left. The presence of what seemed like a man, but was no man, was moving away at a distance. A new figure had appeared, but it was veiled in light. Beams of radiance emanated from its presence—a sense of joy swept over his heart. The air was clear, and the birds were chirping again. The noises of the earth were all around him, as he lay there, transfixed on the figure set in front of him. Without knowing why, he spoke, “Are you here to save me?” No response. Only love. Only peace. The magnificent presence came nearer. He had to shut his eyes; the brightness was too much. He could now only feel its nearness. Without words, only nearness, he felt joy. The most delightful aroma filled his nose, and he could hear singing and praise in a cadence that was familiar to him.
Words were finally spoken: “Arise, my child, and return.” A flash of light shot into his eyes. Burning. He felt his eyes burning.
Just then, he opened his eyes on the hospital bed to the faces of his family. Their eyes were filled with tears and were red, and they were all looking back and forth at each other and him. He could not hear them at first, as his ears had not adjusted. He could only look at the faces and see their love. No words were heard, only love and fellowship and joy were felt. Slowly, he was able to make out their voices. They were calling his name and asking him questions. So much love and joy filled the room.
The doctors had been coming back and forth. They spoke privately with his parents and informed them of the situation, suggesting that his recovery was nothing short of a miracle.
Later on that week, he was released to recover at home.
Arriving home and resting in his bed, he thought back to his conversation about his sense of urgency and the brevity of life. He closed his eyes, said a silent prayer, and reflected on the events he had encountered. He thought to himself, “What purpose shall I pursue now that I have been given this time to live?” Opening his Bible, he turned to the book of Ecclesiastes and began to read…
He had fallen asleep, Bible in his lap, and he was happy.
His day of death had not come, but he knew it would, as it does for all of us.
He was resolved to rest in God’s grace and be faithful with the time he was given.
“No man has authority to restrain the wind with the wind, or authority over the day of death; and there is no discharge in the time of war, and evil will not deliver those who practice it.”
Ecclesiastes 8:8
Story Explanation
- This is a fictional depiction of death and dying.
- The “Angel of Death” is a metaphorical figure representing death. The odor that is emitted when he speaks is associated with his decay within. His sword, strength, coldness, and more represent his mission, which is to destroy without mercy.
- The figure of light at the end represents not only the power of God but His joyful and pleasant presence. It’s meant to create a deep contrast between death and life.
- The Bible doesn’t indicate we will fight with an angel when we die. However, the Bible underscores the overarching terrible consequences of sin, which lead to death.
- This story sets the stage for the following article, ‘A Theology of the Afterlife.’