“Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’” – 1 Corinthians 15:54-55

It was eight years ago last Thursday that my closest friend, Adam, died unexpectedly. He was fourteen years old. I thought it fitting to write this post based on a verse he wrote a Bible study around – a study on death, just one month before his passing. 

This time of year is a very reflective one for me. The hole that death leaves is one that never fills back up. But for those who do believe in an afterlife, it can feel quite silly after enough thought. After all, if you know you will see someone again, why miss them more than you would if they were just on an extended vacation?

There is something so seemingly final about death. And this is not to understate death – there is a finality to it that is very real. Even for those who do believe in an afterlife, even though the soul remains intact, there is something about this world that clings to the physical. 

Entire religions and systems of thought have been predicated on rejecting the physical. Even some early Christians did this. But wholesale rejecting the physical is, in my opinion, a disservice to the gift that is life. While I do believe life is everlasting, the life we live in these tangible bodies is very much finite – and, in the grand scheme of things, infinitely short. 

I did not gain a full appreciation for this life until two things occurred. The first was Adam’s death, which caused me to think incessantly of my own mortality. The second was leaving the church. 

The church places much emphasis on restraining one’s experience and exploration of the physical in the name of “purity.” Sex is a good example of this. While there is such thing as too much, a belief system that restrains its believers for no other reason than the “glory of God” is denying them their literally once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience this life as it ought to be experienced. 

My point is that this life is all we know of for certain. While I am certain my soul will persist after my death, I cannot know until I experience it myself. There is that Great Veil that, with very little exception, cannot be parted or peered through in any objective manner. And that uncertainty alone is exceedingly difficult to come to terms with. 

It is this uncertainty and finality that, in my opinion, lends that sting to death that would be inhuman not to feel. There is a real, tangible loss in this plane when someone passes on, even if they continue to exist elsewhere. 

For that reason, I, personally, would prefer a proper funeral over a celebration of life when my time comes. Surely there is much to celebrate about life, but there is plenty of time to celebrate life. Death typically happens only once. To each their own, of course, but there is an undeniable solemnity surrounding death and funerary rites to which I aim to afford due respect. 

One must imagine that the senses are amplified in the afterlife, and that the eternal existence that awaits is one our physical bodies cannot presently fathom. Perhaps, then, the time just after death is disorienting at best. Perhaps the recently-deceased soul is like a newborn being pulled from the womb. 

What follows, then, is that the experience of life in the afterlife is orders of magnitude more vibrant and intimate than this one, and that is something to look forward to. But until then, this life is what we have, so it is of the utmost importance both to take care of what we have and to enjoy it.