In his biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, author Eric Metaxas relates the martyred German theologian’s perspective on death. Just over a decade before he faced the gallows as an enemy of Hitler’s Third Reich, Bonhoeffer spoke of death in a sermon. His view on how the Christian should regard one’s own death as something transformative and good challenges as much as it encourages:
“No one has yet believed in God and the kingdom of God, no one has yet heard about the realm of the resurrected, and not been homesick from that hour, waiting and looking forward joyfully to being released from bodily existence. . . .
“That life only really begins when it ends here on earth, that all that is here is only the prologue before the curtain goes up–that is for young and old alike to think about. Why are we so afraid when we think about death? . . . Death is only dreadful for those who live in dread and fear of it. Death is not wild and terrible, if only we can be still and hold fast to God’s Word. Death is not bitter, if we have not become bitter ourselves. Death is grace, the greatest gift of grace that God gives to people who believe in him. Death is mild, death is sweet and gentle; it beckons to us with heavenly power, if only we realize that it is the gateway to our homeland, the tabernacle of joy, the everlasting kingdom of peace.
“How do we know that dying is so dreadful? Who knows whether, in our human fear and anguish we are only shivering and shuddering at the most glorious, heavenly, blessed event in the world?
“Death is hell and night and cold, if it is not transformed by our faith. But that is just what is so marvelous, that we can transform death.” (Bonhoeffer, p. 531)
The Mystery of Sacrificial Giving
Those familiar with the Bishop of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables recall his generosity, demonstrated most prominently by his gifting of two silver candlesticks to the convict Jean Valjean—a gift as unexpected as it was undeserved. Worthy at the moment of only condemnation, Valjean accepts not only the silver he had stolen but, essentially, his freedom as well. The Bishop bestows this gift by grace . . . and to the perplexed receiver the true value of this gift seems indescribable.
But there is more to the Bishop’s character. His generosity springs from a mind-set that puts others first and rests on a solid clarity of life’s purpose. At another point in the novel, the Bishop is about to embark on a dangerous journey to a remote village in his parish. Yet a notorious gang of thugs has laid claim to the wilderness along the way. Fearing for the Bishop’s safety, the mayor attempts to convince him to forgo the trip:
What are we to make of this mystery of sacrificial giving? Thomas à Kempis, a fifteenth-century monk and the principal author of the devotional classic The Imitation of Christ, had much to say about denying oneself in the service of God and others. One example: “No one is more powerful, no one freer than he who knows how to leave all things, and think of himself as the least of all.”
I see in this maxim a glint of explanation behind the power and freedom routinely exercised by Hugo’s Bishop.
This past Sunday, my pastor exhorted our congregation to give sacrificially. He emphasized again that “generosity is not something God wants from you . . . it is something God wants for you.” The thought crossed my mind that sacrificial giving had little to do with what we gave but everything to do with the spirit that characterized our offering: cheerful, humble, faithful.
Giving sacrificially entails not just an episode of selflessness but the habit of self-denial, rooted in faith and geared toward glorifying God. Again, Thomas à Kempis proves instructive. Imagining what Christ might say to a disciple, he writes,
“I seek not your gift but you.” This seems to be the heart of the matter, for what more can we give? And why should we think that giving anything less would be enough?
Posted by jsp8xx on November 27, 2013 in Book Comments, Denying self, Generosity, Thomas à Kempis, Victor Hugo