The Day of Birth vs The Day of Death

Happy Christmas, almost.

26th of July, 2016, about 10.30 in the morning,

I was handed this little red alien-looking thing

that we now call our son, Ruben.

Where's Pete, who was interviewed?

Have you got kids?

You use the word pure when it comes to the birth of a baby.

Not me. It's the wrong word.

That is not the word that comes to mind when I think back to that moment.

And I prepared myself for being handed this little baby boy.

And I prepared myself for the emotions that I expected to feel.

So I expected to be absolutely overwhelmed by love.

And I expected myself to kind of be undone by thankfulness.

And I expected myself to feel this kind of burden-shedding sense of relief.

And I did feel all of those things.

But the overriding emotion, the most intense thing that I felt that day,

I had not prepared myself for.

And the emotion was vulnerability.

As I held this little baby boy, seconds old,

I felt massively, massively vulnerable.

And it made no sense to me.

Out of the three people significantly involved,

so maybe me less significantly,

but me, Sarah, my wife, and this little boy,

I was by far the least vulnerable.

So Sarah was still on the operating table,

the surgeon's still doing their thing,

the surgical nurse who's been unbelievably good,

emergency procedure, so quite scary.

She was massively vulnerable at that moment.

This little boy, seconds old,

could do nothing for himself,

being held by an amateur,

was massively, massively vulnerable.

And yet here's me feeling exactly the same thing.

And it made no sense to me.

I felt stupid feeling vulnerable.

But as I held him,

and I saw how much he needed me,

I started to doubt whether or not I could be that for him.

And as I saw this thing,

I'm not calling that, my wife tells me off.

As I saw this boy,

and how dependent he was going to be on us,

I questioned whether or not we could be dependable for him.

Has anyone else been there?

Has had kids?

I felt weak, exposed,

wondered whether or not I could be trusted.

I wasn't quite asking for the gift receipt,

but I was scared in that moment.

Now the only feeling that I could compare to it,

that I had that was kind of making sense of it,

was actually a very different moment.

And as a teenager,

my granny passed away with cancer.

I was very tight with my granny,

loved her a bit.

And when she had battled for a long time

with cancer of her esophagus,

she passed away at home as she wanted.

And we got the phone call,

and so me and my dad went round,

seeing my granddad.

But you know,

the event or the question

that sticks in my mind from that day

was when my dad turned to me and goes,

do you want to see your granny one last time?

I was in the living room.

She was still there in the bedroom.

And quick as a flash,

I said,

no.

And the reason I said no

was because I could not cope

with the vulnerability

that it made me feel.

Now,

they are two massively different events

at the total opposite spectrum

of human experience

and human existence.

The birth of a little boy,

the death of my granny,

and yet the emotion

in the mix of those two things

was exactly the same.

Massively,

massively vulnerable.

In those moments,

if you had asked me

which one is better,

the answer to that question

is almost

kind of offensively obvious.

Which is better,

the day of birth

or the day of death?

It's obvious.

I would trade

anything

to go through

the birth of a boy again

in comparison

to the death of my granny.

The day of birth

is better than the day of death.

Now,

if you come to this church,

you've been around,

you've been looking at

a book of the Bible

called Ecclesiastes.

If you've never been

to church before,

if you've never read

a book of the Bible before,

I dare you,

read Ecclesiastes.

It will do your nothing.

It's one of the books

in the Bible

that is fascinating

and yet frustrating.

And one of the places

where it most bugs

my happiness

is this verse.

Let me read it to you.

This is Ecclesiastes

Ecclesiastes 7:1

chapter 7,

verse 1.

The day of death

is better

than the day of birth.

Happy Christmas.

Nice cheery note

to land on tonight.

Come to church,

they said.

It will be great,

they said.

Right, I said.

The day of death

better than

the day of birth.

Now, I read something

like that in the Bible

and I want to argue with it.

I want to say,

no danger,

I'm not having that.

So what's he saying?

I think his point is this.

The day of birth

holds only the potential

of what you might do.

Whereas the day of your death

shows the proof

of what you have done.

Which is it that gives

a better estimation

of your life?

The day of your birth

or the day of your death?

See,

in the day of your birth,

lots of people

probably looked at you

and said,

all those nonsense,

all those things

that make no sense,

but we all do.

And we dream dreams

and we have visions

of what this child

is going to do.

Whereas the day of death

gives us

a complete,

final account

account

of what we have

done.

The day of our death

will give a complete,

final account

to God

of what we have

done.

And in that sense,

the day of our death

is better

than the day of birth.

Now,

you let that land

and you go,

that makes me feel

massively,

massively

vulnerable.

Because it gives

weight

to everything

you say,

everything you think,

everything you do.

Doesn't it?

It means that

everything I did

yesterday

matters.

It means everything

I've done today

matters.

It means everything

I'll do tomorrow

matters.

It means that

what is said

at my funeral

will depend

on how I've

spent what

I'm given.

It means

that when God

looks at me

at the end

of my life,

what I've done

will determine

my eternity.

See,

when we

contemplate

this verse,

the day of

death,

better than

the day

of our

birth,

it should

land on us

as,

I am

vulnerable

given what

I've done.

And in fact,

I think that's

part of

the purpose

of the

Christmas story.

I think it's

part of

what we've

read tonight

from the

Bible.

It is

meant to

make me

and make

you feel

vulnerable.

The fact

that Jesus

would have

to come

from heaven

and become

a vulnerable

baby for

us shows

our

vulnerability.

The fact

that Jesus

would be

given names

like Emmanuel,

God with

us,

and then

Jesus,

Savior of

sinners,

shows that

he is going

to do

something for

us that

we cannot

do for

ourselves.

We're

vulnerable.

We need

saving.

And we may

not like that

because we

may think,

I want to

be my own

savior.

But deep

down we know

actually we

often need

saved from

ourselves.

But the

day of

Jesus'

birth does

give us

this promise

of Emmanuel,

God with

us,

Jesus,

Savior of

sinners.

But I

think as you

look at the

life of

Jesus,

that verse

applies.

The day

of his

death is

better than

the day

of his

birth.

Easter is

better than

Christmas.

Why?

Because in

his birth,

all we

are given

are promises

of what

he is

going to

do.

Whereas

by the

time of

his

death,

we are

given the

proof of

everything

that he

has done.

And so

you see

Jesus,

Easter

Friday,

strung up

on a

tree.

Why?

He is

suffering

hell to

save me

from hell.

He is

taking on

the

vulnerability

of death

and the

punishment

of hell

to save

me from

that.

Meaning

that without

him, I

am vulnerable

to that

prospect

after my

death.

And yet on

the cross,

Jesus takes

what I

deserve

to give

me what I

don't deserve.

He takes

hell to give

me heaven.

He takes

sin to

give me

his

perfection.

Which is

why the

day of

Jesus'

death, in

some ways,

is better

than the

day of

his birth.

Because it

gives you

the final

promise that

although at

Christmas we're

told he's

going to

come and

save, by

Easter you

say he

has saved

sinners.

Unlike

us, Jesus

doesn't just

have a day

of birth

though and

a day of

death.

he has

a day

of birth

Christmas,

he has

a day

of death

Easter,

but he

has a

third day.

He has

a resurrection

day.

He has

a day

that proves

everything

that he

has said

he will

do.

Because he

said he

will die

and he

did and

he said

he will

rise and

he did.

Meaning

that for a

Christian they

can actually

say that

their day

of death

will be

better than

their day

of birth.

Why?

Because the

day of

my birth

brought me

into this

world full

of suffering

and shame

and sin.

But if I

trust in

Jesus my

death is

going to

take me

out of

a world

of suffering

and shame

and sin

and into

a world

where there

is nothing

but light

and life.

Now you'll

sit on Christmas

Day at

some point

presents

opened,

turkeys

grand,

board games

played and

you'll probably

sit quite

content.

A little

oasis from

real life.

You don't

have to

work.

Telly's on

so the kids

are entertained

or you're

snoring away.

Life's okay.

A little

oasis.

But in many

ways that's

all it is,

isn't it?

Most of our

life is spent

chasing that

oasis that

will distract

ourselves from

the fact that

our life is

between these

two bookends.

a day of

birth and

a day of

death.

I was struck

by this last

Sunday.

Our church

doesn't have a

building.

We meet in a

place called

Libertus up in

Graves Mount.

It's a daycare

centre for

those at the

end of their

life,

particularly those

struggling with

dementia and

Alzheimer's.

Now my

grandparents on

my mother's

side both

passed away

with early

onset dementia

and Alzheimer's.

My mum worked

for Alzheimer's

Scotland for

years.

I know

what it's

like.

We sat

there last

Sunday morning

in what they

call their

art room.

And this is

where people

can come and

enjoy being

with other

people away

from the

loneliness of

home,

giving some

of their

family respite

and they're

entertained in

the art room.

And I'm

stood there

looking around

the room

seeing all

these kind

of craft

things that

they did.

And do you

know what it

reminded me

of?

All the

stuff that

my three

year old son

brings home

from nursery

that the

recycling bin

loves.

But isn't

it interesting

that the

same way

that we

are looked

after when

we are

young becomes

the same

way that we

are looked

after when

we're old.

Life is

short.

We begin

in nappies

and we

often end

in nappies.

It's a

cycle.

Often

humiliating.

always

vulnerable.

But where

we're

confronted

by life's

vulnerability,

the message

of Christmas

confronts us

with that

that shows

us although

we are

vulnerable

in the

face of

an eternity

from a

God that

we have

rebelled

against,

in Jesus

he is

promising

a

stability.

As Pete

talked about,

a peace,

a joy

that you

can find

not just

as an

oasis

to escape

the struggles

of life

but as a

reality to

help you

face the

struggles

of life.

Not just

a birthday

and a

death day

but a

third day.

The promise

of hope

beyond the

grave.

Now if you

don't know

that hope,

if you don't

know any

of this

stuff,

speak to

someone who

invited you

or someone

who looks

like they

know what

they're

talking about,

who sung

the carols

well,

and pester

them,

go home

and read

Ecclesiastes

and wrestle

with it,

argue with

it.

Maybe this

Christmas will

be the day

that you

can find

hope even

in the face

of this

day of

death.

I'm going

to pray

and then I

have no

idea what's

happening next.

Let me

pray.

Our

Father in

heaven,

we live

our lives

pursuing

escapes

from reality.

Longing to

find

something that

will numb

us from

what we

fear the

most.

Father,

I pray

that whether

it's just a

hungry soul

or a

troubled

soul

or a

tired

soul

or a

hopeless

soul

in here

tonight,

that they

might see

in the real

message at

the heart

of Christmas

the good

news

of Jesus

as

mighty

God,

everlasting

Father,

Prince of

peace.

And I

pray these

things in

his name.

Amen.

Amen.

Amen.