A Polite Encounter with Death

In October 2003 I was in the Orlando International Airport on my way home from visiting my girlfriend in Georgia. My mind was scattered. I was trying to figure out how I was going to get to my probability class in Los Angeles before 9:30 AM. I was also lost in sorting out the details of my long-distance relationship ... questions like: Where am I going to live? Can I find a job in her state? Would she like the place I live?

While I was walking to my next terminal, I had a vague sense that a presence ... someone or something was following me. I felt like ... like in all my thinking there was something I was leaving out, and it was after me. Something critical. Something serious.

"Is it death?" I wondered to myself.

Usually when one thinks of a person being "chased by death" someone is in a hospital with cancer, or - as in the case of For Whom the Bell Tolls - they're in a bull fight. Perhaps the spirit of my probability class was trying to reassure me. My morbid imagination was not relinquishing anything. "Death can come at any time." It said.

As I was walking a tall, omnious shadow began creeping up from behind me. It felt like someone really big was close behind.
I turned my head to get a look. I doubt my glance was inconspicuous. Frantic might be a way of putting it.

The man behind me was fairly close. And he was very tall. I'm six feet tall and he was significantly taller than me. He was wearing a black business suit with a black tie. He looked young. And he looked ... friendly. His clothes strongly fit the profile. In a strange way his youth and friendliness did as well.

I nervously moved toward the McDonald's kiosk in the terminal. There's a bumper sticker that says, "Jesus is coming soon ... look busy." This was something like my manner, except it was more like, "Death is coming ... look busy." And the busier I looked, it seemed the closer I was followed. I got into line at McDonald's and he got in line right behind me.

The lady behind the counter seemed to be in more of a hurry than I was. I guess that's typical for airports. When she gave me back my change (a dollar, some coins, and a receipt) I fumbled as quickly as I could to get it all tucked away, but she was already looking at the next customer - nonverbally asking for him to start his order.

The man behind me didn't order right away. He paused and said, "Take your time, I'm not in a hurry."

"You're not in a hurry?" I asked.

"No." He said seriously.

So I sorted it out and moved to the pickup window ... contemplating everything. Even though I was hurrying to escape from death, death was not in a hurry to find me. I wasn't thinking I would live to an old age necessarily ... it was more like: when death found me it would be at just the right time. In one sense I was so worried about death - I was no longer alive. Unlike the bush Moses witnessed, the flames of my anxiety were consuming me.

Life is full of risks. It's one thing to live in fear of the possibility of failure and it's another thing to own one's choice in taking the risk. After my experience at the airport, I found that "making the right choice" was not as important as the way I made the choice. For example, choosing McDonald's brought me (figuratively speaking) closer to death, but if McDonald's was a "true priority" for me then I wouldn't have regretted dying for it. Of course we all do things that aren't "true priorities" for us ... few people are willing to lay down their lives for the chance to eat breakfast in the morning or turn off the lights before bed ... the important thing is that when we encounter death our present-term choices reflect our true priorities.

Before that day I was certain I would fail probability ... and never graduate college. And before that day I couldn't see how I could stay in a committed relationship with someone who lived so far away. I didn't even have a good job yet. But I don't regret the gamble I made on my schooling ... even if the worst had happened. And I don't regret asking my girlfriend to marry me ... even when the details looked so uncertain.

I'm not saying I don't struggle with facing death anymore. It's a daily battle for me. However, in my experience, I've found that the people who live at peace before God and before they die are the ones who have faith. Faith is a strange assurance ... it is positive of what it cannot verify. It is certain of what is unseen. It is willing to lay down everything and expects to be given back everything ten, twenty, a hundred times over.