I can distinctly remember entering the hospice room and hearing the medical machinery around the bed whir, beep, and make barely audible noises that indicated that the old man lying before me was alive. But I was also overwhelmed by the stench of encroaching death—the elderly man was lying there as the scent of feces and urine wafted through the air. He was in a catatonic state, spittle gathered about the edges of his stubble-littered face, his hair in a tussled heap, his gnarled and wrinkled face seemed frozen, and his hands were clenched, as if he was desperately clinging to life with every ounce of strength that he had. The medical staff whisked by, back and forth in the hallway, sometimes hurriedly off to another room, and sometimes engaged in small talk or hushed laughter. To them, this knotted old man was simply another patient, one who would soon die.
As I walked into the room, I pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, opened my Bible, and began to read the twenty-third Psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . .” I then read several other passages of Scripture. I suspect to some of the medical staff, I must have seemed a bit out of place. Why was I reading my Bible out loud to a man who was at death’s door? After I finished reading my Bible, I presented the gospel, as plainly and simply as I could, “We are all sinners and we need Christ, only Christ can save us from our sins . . .” I looked for the slightest response, “Mr. Smith, can you hear me?” I saw no discernible signs of response. I then closed in a brief word of prayer asking Christ to draw Mr. Smith to himself, and that despite the cloud of death that hung over him, shadows in the darkness, I nevertheless lifted Mr. Smith up in prayer.
You see, sadly, Mr. Smith was not a Christian. He did not, as far as I knew, trust in Christ for his salvation. People must have thought I was nuts, reading my Bible, witnessing, and praying for a man in a catatonic state, but such is the power of the gospel—even in the face of imminent death, we can cry out in hope and prayer that Christ will save those we love. Mr. Smith had a Christian family who was deeply concerned for him and as me, as the pastor, to visit Mr. Smith as often as I could.
I made several more visits to Mr. Smith before he died. I don’t know what happened to Mr. Smith. He never acknowledged my presence, or that of his family as they visited and witnessed to him. Nevertheless, what is impossible with man is possible with God (Matt. 19:26). What man in all of his scientific and medical knowledge could not do, God is capable of doing. God can bring life out of death, and even physically raise the dead to life. I was not looking for Mr. Smith to be healed—time waits for no man—he was certainly at the end of his life-long journey. But I was looking and hoping that the voice of Christ would echo in his heart as it thundered in the heart of Lazarus: “Mr. Smith! Arise!” I was hoping and praying that Christ would penetrate the dense fog of death and shine the light of the gospel into his heart that Mr. Smith would trust in him and be saved.
Never give up hope—always prayerfully intercede on behalf of the lost, and as long as they have breath in their lungs, never cease to tell your unsaved loved ones of the gospel of Christ. My hope and prayer is that on the last day, I will see Mr. Smith again and that he will be clothed in the robe of Christ’s righteousness, and that his gnarled and twisted body will be healed, restored, and renewed. Even when death looks upon you with its cold dark gaze, never draw back, never retreat, but charge forward with the hope of Christ’s life-giving gospel: “‘Death is swallowed up in victory.’ ‘O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Cor. 15:54-57).