Before there were Pokemon, before there were Beanie Babies, there were Precious Moments. Initially created by artist Samuel J. Butcher and first released in 1978, these iconic porcelain figurines with their signature dewdrop eyes captured our hearts because of the soft and gentle way they illustrate the simple and common snapshots of our life experiences that are profoundly deep and meaningful to us. Besides being absolutely adorable, what makes them collectible is that they evoke and tenderly represent memories of times and relationships in our past that we wish someone would have had the presence of mind and opportunity to memorialize for us, but didn’t — perhaps because the moment was fleeting or because we didn’t fully understand or appreciate it until it had passed. Which of us cannot relate to this one — the original figurine introduced in 1978 which bore the caption, “Love One Another”? I dare say that even right now you’re picturing yourself sitting on that stump with someone you love, feeling the warmth in your heart, either longing to relive a moment that was especially precious to you or dreaming about one you hope one day will come.
Today I had the opportunity to attend the memorial service of a man in my church who died earlier this week from brain cancer at the age of 40. “Ahh,” I’m sure some of you may be saying to yourselves, “he must have had a deep friendship with this guy — that’s why he’s writing this post.” But no, I didn’t know the man at all, really. I met him and his wife once, I shook their hands, and we chatted briefly, but I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me.
“Oh,” you might be thinking, “they must have bonded for a brief minute over the cancer thing — that’s what this is about.” Honestly, in that one brief conversation it became apparent that we did have common ground on which to relate because of cancer, but nothing more ever came of it. Some mutual friends even attempted to arrange for the six of us to have dinner together, but that never happened.
“So then, something profound must have happened at the memorial service,” you might be speculating next. “After all, he has to be going somewhere with this Precious Moments analogy, and that’s about all that’s left.” The service was indeed very meaningful and memorable. It was very evident that he was a genuine man of God, who not only loved his wife and their three boys but also made a significant impact on the lives of many others. The gospel was clearly presented, and illustrations of how he served and glorified his Lord and Savior in both the way he lived and died were plentiful and poignant. I myself was moved to tears multiple times, and I barely knew his name. But none of those things prompted these thoughts.
Instead, as I sat there listening to Scripture passages being read that you expect to be read on such an occasion, amongst the quiet sniffling and sobbing scattered about the church (some of it my own), what came to mind was a verse that I have been struggling to understand for several years without a whole lot of success. Just when I think I have a handle on it, it slips out of my grasp, and I’m sent fumbling around once again to reestablish my footing so I can try again. It’s Psalm 116:15.
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.
Of all the words that I would use to describe the death of a saint, “precious” would not be among them. There was a lot of meaning in what I witnessed today, but I would struggle to describe any of it as precious. It certainly did not elicit any of the warm, gentle, soothing emotions generally inspired by Mr. Butcher’s porcelain figurines. Yet God says He finds the death of this servant of His “precious”.
I don’t get it. I want to, but I don’t.
The English word precious comes from a Latin word for price. It describes something of great value that is not to be wasted or treated carelessly because it is greatly loved and treasured. A precious thing is to be cherished: to be embraced tenderly, so as to not crush or damage it, yet firmly, so as to not lose it. The Hebrew word adds the connotation of it being rare, splendid, weighty, and glorious. As a Precious Moments figurine does, it should evoke feelings of warmth, beauty, and pleasure.
All of that would make perfect sense if the verse said, “Precious in the sight of the Lord are His saints.” Make no mistake: God does view His children as precious. He died for us when we hated and despised Him. He gave His Son to pay a penalty that we legitimately deserved. If that doesn’t communicate that He sees us as precious, nothing will. But that’s not what the Scriptures say here. In Psalm 116:15, it’s not His saints He sees as precious, it’s their death; and that’s the part I don’t get.
Admittedly, part of why I don’t understand it is that I don’t want to understand it. Once I understand how God can look on death and see it as precious, I have to look at it that way too. I don’t know that I want to do that. I don’t mind looking at the life of a child of God like we did today and viewing it as precious. Life has great value and is not to be wasted or treated carelessly. Life is meant to be cherished: to be embraced tenderly, so as to not crush or damage it, yet firmly, so as to not lose it. Life is rare, splendid, weighty, and glorious. Death, on the other hand, is none of those things in my view. In fact, I, and probably you as well, would tend to consider anyone who does look at death that way to be criminally insane and psychopathic. Having said that, I believe that God is neither criminally insane nor a psychopath, so you see my problem. To be honest, I’m a bit miffed at Him, because I had a perfectly comfortable theology going here before He went and stuck this little tidbit in the middle of the Bible and ruined everything.
So what does God see when He looks at the death of a saint that I don’t? First of all, I think we have to understand that this isn’t His view of death in general. 2 Peter 3:9 makes it clear that He doesn’t wish that any should perish, so the fact that in Psalm 116 He specifies “the death of His saints” is an important qualifier. Jesus Himself was not particularly keen on the idea of death either, or He would not have prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane for His cup to pass if there had been another way. No, God is not a psychopath who takes pleasure in death for death’s sake.
What then is it about the death of a saint that makes it a precious moment for Him? I’ve already confessed that I don’t have a conclusive answer to that question. If, however, I look carefully at what makes the moments I do cherish so precious to me, and then attempt to view days like today from His perspective, things get a bit clearer.
Take, for example, my memory of a particular Christmas with my grandfather. That December, he took my brother, my dad, and me tobogganing down some big hills near his home in West Virginia. It was great fun. After we exhausted ourselves, we went into the woods, chose and cut down a Christmas tree, then dragged it back to his house and decorated it. What made that a precious moment for me was the love and the time that he invested in us to make that a special event, and enjoying it together. As much as I would love to repeat that experience, I can’t because I’m not 10 years old anymore and he’s not here anymore, and the absence of those things somehow enhances the preciousness of that memory to me.
Now consider what the death of a saint means to God. He has invested so much in that person — His very own life, in fact. He longs to have more interaction His child than just a quiet time or a worship service. He desperately wants to walk with him by the River of Life like He used to walk with Adam in the Garden. But His dear child is stuck in this broken, sinful world, and needs to stay there for a while so that others can hear of His love for them, believe in Him, and eventually join Him on those walks too. And then the day comes when He can finally call that child home. Isn’t He entitled to view that as a precious moment? Is that day not a day to be cherished? Do you not think He finds that moment to be rare, splendid, weighty, and glorious? Granted, for those of us still on this side, death, even death of a saint, is a horrible thing, but for God it is an occasion to be celebrated because now His child is freed from not only the penalty of sin, but also the experience of sin and all its nasty effects, never to be separated from Him in any fashion ever again.
I’m not trying to lay a guilt trip on anyone, or say that it’s wrong to mourn or process grief. But I do think that at some point in that process we have to learn to appreciate the preciousness of that moment. I think there is healing and comfort in precious moments. Paul says that the sting of death is sin, and when a believer crosses the threshold that is death, he or she realizes for the first time what it means to experience the truth that death has lost its sting in its fullest reality. Perhaps if I can learn to cherish another saint’s death as a precious moment, I’ll be able to view my own that way; and if I can transform the way I view my death, maybe it will transform the way I view and live my life.
I don’t think I’ve figured out how to do that consistently, but I’m working on it.
