At death's door

The river of death is a traditional metaphor for dying. The power of the metaphor depends on how we visualize the picturesque image. The logic of the metaphor is that a dying person can see into the afterlife. He sees the land lying in the background on the other side. He stands on one bank of the river. From that vantage-point he can see across the river to what lies on the other side. Perhaps a paradisal scene. Sunny and Edenic. 

While that's a very comforting metaphor, it's not very realistic. For most of us, Christians included, death is more like standing in line before a door. Even if we die at home surrounded by loved ones, there's a sense in which we each die alone because everyone must pass through the door single file. The dying person can't see what's on the other side of the door until he goes through the door. The next person in line, standing behind the dying person, can't catch a glimpse of what lies behind the door as he watches the person ahead of him go through the door. From a psychological standpoint, everyone dies separately from everyone else, even if they die together. That's part of what makes death an intimidating prospect. 

There are exceptions. Veridical near-death experiences. Grief apparitions and crisis apparitions. Deadbed visions. I remember yeas ago Billy Graham talking about how some of his godly relatives had deathbed visions. But none of that is something we can count on. 

In the past, death was a ubiquitous stalker of young and old alike. Nowadays it's easier to be in denial about your own mortality. Modern agriculture has made famine rare in the industrial world. Medical science has made death uncommon for young people. Likewise, there are couples who will never experience the ordeal of watching their child die because we have an increasing number of willfully childless couples. I imagine nothing has a greater capacity to foster heavenly-mindedness than having your child die in your arms. 

Many people feel like outsiders. For Christians especially, the psychological experience of an outsider leaving this world behind is less daunting than it will be for those who were desperately invested in this world. 

It's possible for a Christian to cling to the past, not because he clings to this life, but because he can't live in the future. As long as he's alive, he may cling to fond memories, but he will happily relinquish the past once he's allowed to relinquish this life. It's just a temporarily bridge to tide him over–like pictures of family when you're away from home.  So long as we're stuck in a fallen world, we have little coping strategies, but that's not something we live for. It's just something to help us along until the journey's end.