Permitted to Die in Christ
Preface: Why Moments Like This Matter
One of the greatest joys of being a pastor is walking with Christ’s people in the holiest moments of their lives—moments that rarely make headlines but quietly shape eternity. Pastoral ministry is filled with sacred conversations where the Gospel meets people in their deepest fears and tenderest hopes. We get to prepare Christians to meet their Lord, to place Christ’s promises into trembling hands, and to speak peace into the hearts of the weary. That is a privilege beyond words.
Moments like these reveal why what we teach—and how we practice the faith—truly matters. It is not simply a matter of “worship wars” or whether a guitar or an organ is used on Sunday morning. It is far deeper than that. It is about forming Christians in the Scriptures, in the liturgy, in the rhythms of confession and absolution, so that when life’s final hour comes, they are sustained by what they have received again and again.
This dear sister didn’t need a hymnal in her hands. She knew the liturgy by heart. She knew the Scriptures by heart. She knew the promises of Christ by heart. A lifetime of faithful teaching, reverent worship, and steady pastoral care had prepared her for the moment when the Lord would call her home.
Some say the “confessional crowd” in the LCMS is grumpy or too fussy. But the truth is simpler: we care—deeply—for Christ and His sheep. We take seriously the responsibility not to lead His little ones astray. We guard the doctrine not out of pride or stubbornness, but so that in moments like this, a Christian can rest peacefully in words she has trusted all her life.
Pastoral ministry gives us a front-row seat to Christ’s faithfulness. And in quiet living rooms, beside hospital beds, and in whispered prayers before death, we see the beauty of a believer fully prepared to depart in peace.
The story that follows is one such moment. It reminded me once again why our work matters, why our teaching matters, and why Christ’s promise remains the greatest gift we give His people.
Permitted to Die in Christ
This life is filled with joys that leave deep impressions on the heart—holidays around a full table, laughter from children and grandchildren, morning coffee with a spouse, the familiar routines of work and community. We rightly cherish these gifts. They are the good blessings of God, woven into the fabric of our days.
But this life is also marked by profound suffering. Illness weakens the body. Age diminishes strength. Medical treatments, while often helpful, can bring their own pain. And eventually every Christian walks through seasons where the burden of suffering raises honest, even frightening, questions: How much longer can I keep fighting? Is it wrong to want the battle to end? Am I a bad Christian if I am ready to die?
This past Thursday, I had the privilege of sitting with one of our dear members, a woman in her 80s who had been battling cancer for years. Minor strokes and other complications made her treatments increasingly painful and discouraging. When I arrived at her home, she had just returned from a difficult appointment. She was tired—worn down not only in body, but in spirit.
And yet, in her weakness, she remained a woman rich in memories, gratitude, and faith. She spoke tenderly of her late husband and the children they raised together. She reminisced about her years as a school bus driver—forty years of responsibility, patience, and love for the children entrusted to her. She spoke of how much she loved her church.
And she spoke of her pain—of how tired she was.
More than once she said she felt she had reached a fork in the road. She didn’t know whether to keep fighting the cancer or whether she could simply stop. She wondered aloud if it was wrong to want to die. She wanted to know: Am I permitted to want death in Christ?
Psalm 90: The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.
Psalm 23: Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.
Matthew 11:28–30: Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Philippians 1:21–23: To live is Christ, and to die is gain... My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better.
With these Scriptures open, I assured her that she was free in Christ. She was permitted to fight. And she was permitted to stop fighting. It is not a sin to long to be with Christ. It is not a failure to acknowledge that one’s earthly journey is complete. To die in Christ is not defeat. It is gain.
After our conversation, I gave her the Lord’s Supper. We sang the familiar liturgy. And in that moment, this tired, hurting woman looked peaceful—relieved.
She received Christ’s Body and Blood with a heartfelt “Amen,” exhaling as if the weight she carried had finally shifted onto the shoulders of her Savior.
Luke 2:29–32 – The Song of Simeon:
Lord, now You let Your servant depart in peace,
according to Your Word;
for my eyes have seen Your salvation
that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a Light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of Your people Israel.
When the final prayer was spoken, she thanked me. “I needed that,” she said.
She looked tired, but at peace.
The next morning, her son called to tell me that she had fallen asleep in Jesus. He thanked me for bringing her the comfort that allowed her to go home.
Christ Gives His Children Permission to Die in Peace:
We should never romanticize death. It is an enemy. But Christ has overthrown it.
And so Christians can face death honestly—not with bravado but with confidence. We may cherish our earthly blessings, long for one more holiday or another year with our grandchildren, and still confess that in Christ, death is not loss.
It is rest.
It is healing.
It is home.
It is gain.
“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” (Revelation 14:13)
We are not only permitted to die in Christ—we are blessed in it.