With but a few words yesterday, I tried to convey the dichotomy of mortality. In the beginning, God made Adam (and Eve) to live forever. He wasn’t supposed to die–it wasn’t meant to be this way.
And we all feel the ache.
To have eternal spirits bound in jars of clay seems almost a cosmic joke. But it is deathly serious. Even before we are born, our cells begin their inexorable, divisive march towards their eventual ruination.
That smell is all around us–from the baby’s diaper to the dung heap: something in us instinctively recoils in revulsion. Death, and decay–they say–are merely parts of the natural order. We are to get over it and get on.
It’s just the way it is.
But is it? Why then do we shudder? Why do we shower daily? Why are we offended by our own smells?
Because somewhere deep inside, we know: we were not made to die. We are more than this, more than the mud from which our bodies were formed.
We are living souls–souls whose bodies are passing away. But souls who will live again one day.
Jesus said “I am the resurrection and the life, he that believes in Me, though he were dead yet shall he live. He that lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”