by Studs Terkel
WHEN I WAS about ten years old, I sang in the church choir, the kid’s choir. A great time in my life, by the way. It was in Grand Rapids, Michigan. My father was pastor of a church there. I remember one day when we came to church in the middle of the week to sing. I was vaguely informed that a little girl who was my age had been killed on her bicycle. I hadn’t really put two and two together. Before we sang at the church, we had an opportunity to walk through the vestibule, the entryway to the church, where the casket was. That was probably the first time that I came face-to-face with death. A little girl, my age, laying in a casket—I saw her there. I was as close as you and I are to each other. I felt a little fear. If somebody that age could die that easily and that quickly, so could I. Confusion, a little bit—not really understanding death. In our faith tradition, we baptize infants, and the big reason we do that is we want our children to know from a very young age that they belong to Jesus Christ. My parents taught me that very well. My grandfather was a baker, and he was one of the most godly men I’ve ever met in my entire life. I was learning very early on the songs like “Jesus loves me, this I know . . .” Prayers like: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I prayed that a lot when I was a kid. We were taught in those prayers that death was part of life. It’s a way of accepting death.
Death is the great unknown. It’s something that none of us has experienced but all of us will. I will fear death when it comes, but that fear is not going to be the overwhelming emotion that I experience. I believe that, at that time, my childhood faith, that faith that lives in me now as I go from here to there, that Jesus Christ is going to be with me, He’s going to hold my hand, and He’s going to walk with me through that valley of the shadow. I’ve seen that a lot. Because I’m a pastor, I have been present at the death of a number of my members. I get called in at the last moment when the machine is unplugged or when people are feeling that the time is coming near. I can’t express to you the feeling of peace that these people have as they face this great unknown. They’re not wanting to go, because of family. But I have had a number of godly saints say to me, “I want to go home”—they see it as home. One of our basic beliefs as Christians is that this isn’t really our home, that God puts us here to train us in how to live and how to love him, but that there’s a better thing coming.
When I talk about God I talk about him as a friend of mine, because He is a friend of mine. The big question that comes up in a lot of people’s minds is if somebody kills himself, can he go to Heaven? I know that there are certain faith traditions that say no—because you don’t have a chance to repent. This past weekend, as a matter of fact, I did a funeral for an eighty-three-year-old man who committed suicide. And I believe that man died in despair rather than in comfort. I’ve been talking to a lot of people about that this past week. You want me to talk to you about that? This gets at the heart and soul of my faith, in that I believe with all my heart—and the Scripture teaches—that once I belong to Jesus Christ, He doesn’t let me go. I do a lot of stupid things in my life. If I, say, am driving down Cottage Grove here and I’m distracted and I run the stop sign and I hit somebody and he’s killed, does that mean that I’m disobeying God’s will? God’s will is that I obey the governing authorities. If I disobey the law and I die, am I not going to go to Heaven? No, I don’t believe that’s the case. I believe that God knows—in fact the Bible says He knows—how we are formed, He knows the thoughts that go through our minds, and I believe—and Scripture says very clearly too—that God is gracious.
So you believe that that old man who committed suicide will go to Heaven?
Yes, I do. I believe so because my understanding of Scripture is that it’s God who gives me salvation and not myself. It’s not what I do, it’s what He does. One of my favorite passages, if you’ll allow me to quote it, is Ephesians 2, verses 8 and 9, which says: “It is by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, so that no one can boast.” It’s the salvation that comes completely and fully from what God does. He just gives it to me as a gift.
Does God forgive everyone?
Everyone who asks for it, yes, yes.
What if one commits a heinous crime, brutally?
Yes, he, too, is forgiven—I believe so. Salvation by grace is a basic teaching of the Reform faith. The Christian Reform Church, really, I don’t think has ever taken an official stand on it. This is something that I came to from my own understanding of Scripture. We are sinners, but God forgives us in spite of ourselves.
Do you believe in a Heaven and Hell?
Yes, I do. Heaven is being in God’s presence, living as we were intended to. The Bible teaches about Adam and Eve and the Creation. The Westminster Shorter Catechism, which is the expression of faith of the Presbyterian Church, begins by saying this: “What is the chief end of man?” And the answer is: “To enjoy God and glorify him forever.” That’s what we were made for. There’s a God-shaped hole in all of us that we seek to fill.
A God-shaped hole? There’s God within us?
Not really within us, no—God is not within us. But there is within us a need for God. We were built to have that peace in us. When we walked away from God in the Garden of Eden, we lost that peace.
Can you set the scene of Heaven?
I often think of Heaven, I think of a choir that is singing the praises of God continually. I think of a lovely garden, like the Garden of Eden must have been. The Bible talks about a new Heaven and a new Earth. I tell my kids all the time, I’m looking forward to walking in the grass and playing baseball. My golf game probably won’t be any better, but I won’t care. A new Heaven and a new Earth, that’s the promise of Scripture.
What about Hell?
Hell is the opposite, it’s a separation from God. Hell is the place where all the goodness of God that we take for granted today is gone—the fact that day follows night and my heart continues to beat and gravity continues to work. I believe that all of these things are the direct result of God’s constant care. And when those things are taken away, it’s Hell.
Do you think some people go to Hell?
I do believe so, yes.
Who would they be?
You’re asking me to make a judgment that I’m not sure I want to make. But that’s OK . . . I would say there are people who have heard the message of salvation by faith and Christ and who have determined not to accept it. Persons who maybe grew up in the Church and who know the truth, and yet who have chosen to live otherwise and not to put their faith in Christ.
What of someone who is not of that Church and of that faith?
The Bible actually talks about that, too. It talks about how God has built a basic law into people’s lives: the law of right and wrong, the law of good and evil. In every society, as far as I know, there are the laws of right and wrong. But I do want to say here that God is much more gracious than I could ever possibly imagine. And I believe there’s a whole lot more people in Heaven than people would dare to guess.
What about an atheist?
You’re asking a tough question. Biblically speaking, I would have to say that they wouldn’t be able to go to Heaven. To reject, to willingly reject the God who created you and who sent his son to die for you is a grave mistake. But again, I want to qualify that by saying my God is gracious—
Even to an atheist?
It’s very possible.
Otherwise I’d be going to Hell. Is there an in-between Heaven and Hell?
No, I do not believe in a purgatory. I believe in a judgment that takes place. There are two basic judgments. The first one is when we pass from this Earth and we go to the place where we have chosen, and the other is a judgment that comes when Christ returns—and that will be the final judgment.
When was a time you grieved, really grieved deeply? Has there been such a time?
I would have to say no, not grieving deeply. Mourning th
e loss of a loved one, somebody that I really cared about—my grandfather passed away when he was about eighty-eight. That was about ten years ago. He was a godly man, a wonderful man. I mourned because I would not see him anymore. But I couldn’t grieve, because I knew where Grandpa was.
So that’s a vaccination against grief.
To some extent. We still deal with the hole that’s left in our life from somebody who dies. When somebody dies, we come to know how much they meant to us. How many times we stopped by to see Dad or Mom or whatnot. And so we do have that grief. But there is, in a sense, for the Christian, an incredible joy. My grandfather’s funeral was actually a celebration. There was a reading of Scripture. The Bible has some marvelous things to say in it. Christ says, “I am the resurrection in the life. Anyone who comes to me will never be turned away. I am the way of life.” First Corinthians 15 is a marvelous passage about the Resurrection: “As in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive.” And then we sing songs from the faith. This past week we sang a song called “When Peace Like a River”: “When peace like a river attendeth my way / When sorrows like sea billows roll / Whatever my lot though has taught me to say / It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Was there any weeping at his funeral?
Oh yes, of course—there’s always the weeping for those that we love. I’ve had some close friends here at the church pass away rather suddenly from heart attacks, and the tears are always there. And the pain—you cannot avoid the pain . . . There is no immunization from the pain. If I see people who are immune from the pain, I know that there’s probably something going on in their hearts that’s not right or real: they’re denying. But it’s not the mourning without hope.
There’s a Southern song called “O Lovely Appearance of Death.” In a way that’s reflected in what you’re saying—going home.
Going home, yes . . . yes. I feel that burial or cremation doesn’t matter. God had the ability to create bodies out of nothing when the world started, and I believe that when Christ returns and the resurrection of the dead takes place, God’s going to be able to re-create those bodies with the same power that He made them with. So you can burn ’em, you can mash ’em, you can spread ’em all over the place if you want to—it doesn’t matter.
We have the Heidelberg Catechism, a summary of Scripture written in 1564: “What is my only comfort in life and in death?” And the answer is: “My only comfort is that I belong in life and in death to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.” We teach that to our children very, very early on.
Is God personified to you?
Yes. Jesus gives us permission in the Bible to call God father. I see him as the ultimate parent.
Him? Why?
Him, yes. The Bible talks about him as a him, as the father. Though the Bible does use some mother-type imagery for God—as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. The terms of compassion that are used are very feminine terms. The Bible presents him as male. I’m not going to argue with the Bible.
You see him anthropomorphically?
As having a lot of human traits, yes: compassion, love, anger. The Bible talks about God being angry. You can hurt him, you can grieve him.
Do you ever get angry at God?
A while back we were, as a church, looking for a second pastor to help out with the work around here, and we had a young man who was just fantastic. And we called him to come. At the same time, another church issued a call to him asking him to come, and he chose the other church over us. I was very angry with God . . . Why? Why? Just this past week when this elderly man killed himself, why? What’s going on? Why are you allowing this to happen? Yeah, I’ve been angry with God. But then I usually learn afterwards that God had a good reason for doing what he’s doing. Because since that time, we have hired another gentleman, my associate, Pastor Jim Lester, and I couldn’t have asked for a better man.
You said you feel angry at God at certain moments. When a child is killed, or an old man is a suicide, do you feel it’s God’s will?
No. I believe that the bad things that happen in this world are the result of Satan’s prompting and human choices. I do believe that God can take everything that happens and work it for good. One of my favorite texts also is Romans 8:28, where it says, “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.”
You believe in Satan, the Devil?
Certainly. Scripturally speaking, Satan is an angel—a fallen angel. He may have been the greatest of the angels, the highest form of creation that God ever made. But Satan decided that he knew better than God, that he wanted to be equal with God and he challenged God—and was thrown out of Heaven with his followers. But he is alive and well. And powerful.
Where does he live?
Wherever Hell is. [Laughs] I’m not going to say down or up.
How would you like to be remembered?
I would like to be remembered as a man of God—a man who found his hope, his purpose, his strength in loving and serving the Lord. In the way that I love and serve my wife, the way I love and serve my children, who, by the way, come before the church. My priority scale is God, my family, the church.
Church is second to family.
Yes, I believe so. God has called me to be the minister of my home before he’s called me to be the minister of this church.
You’d want a celebration?
I would love there to be a great deal of singing. I love to sing. I grew up singing around the family piano. “How Lovely Is Your Dwelling, O Lord of Hosts, to Me . . .” “It Is Well with My Soul”—what a great song.
Those songs that you sang, did they also deal with death . . .?
Yes. One piece, “Like a River,” does talk about when death arrives. I know it by heart:
Oh Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trumpet shall resound and the Lord shall descend
Even then it is well with my soul.
It’s good. There’s a Dutch word that’s the equivalent for shalom. I have a shalom pen holder over there. Shalom is this idea that everything is right. It’s not just peace, but everything is as it ought to be. The Dutch word: gezellig.* My dad is sitting in his chair at home and he has some food and the family is around and he’s enjoying the grandchildren . . . he’ll say, “This is very gezellig”—everything is as it should be.
And death, too, when it arrives.
When we get on the other side, it’s very gezellig.
*Pronounced “cchz-zelicch.”
Rev. Ed Townley
He has been an actor, director, and set designer. He is now a pastor at Unity Church.
I’M A FIFTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD Unity minister, here in Chicago. Before that I was in theater for a number of years. I divide my life in two parts: before age thirty, when I had a death experience, when I was declared dead, and then everything that’s happened since then. It was at age thirty that my life really turned around. Twenty-six years ago this October, as a matter of fact. I’m a recovering alcoholic. At that time I was not recovering—I was very definitely a full-blown. By age thirty, my life was totally a mess. Alcohol and drugs and all that that can do to you in every way. I have slept on streets and in doorways. I was in New York City then, and I was taken to a hospital on Long Island. I had just collapsed. I hadn’t been eating. All of the physical things that alcohol can do to you, it had done to me. I was turned away from one hospital because it was a Friday night—it was very busy, they didn’t have time, and I wasn’t going to live anyway. So then they had to race me across Nassau County to another hospital. The doctor came by. It was a very busy night. He said, “He is not going to live.” He signed my death certificate and said, “Fill in the details when it happens.”
And I had one of those experiences. Now, you’ve got to remember that this is 1974, before Kübler-Ross had become really well known. I could hear them talking about the fact that I was going to di
e. I had pancreatitis and bone cancer and just total destruction from alcohol. The doctor said to the nurse, “He’s not going to live, and I may not be able to get back.” I could hear it all. I was, like, floating above myself. I could look down on my body and I could hear them . . . [He pauses, a little choked up.] I don’t talk about this very much. I knew that I was dying, and I knew that that was just fine because all of the pain was down in the body and I didn’t have to deal with it anymore. It was like I was tethered in some way. I was drawn toward a light. This is really going to sound weird . . . I felt like I was on some sort of spaceship or flying saucer or something, but I was surrounded by beings. Without really talking in words, they told me that I had to go back, that it was not time. I didn’t want to go back because I’d made too much of a mess of it—I just couldn’t go back to that. And they said: “You really need to. You have to because we really need you to go back. Rest here for a while and we’ll talk to you again.” So I rested. I didn’t die. I was in a coma in intensive care for about ten days. At some point, they came back and they said: “It is really important that you go back—you have work to do. We will promise you it will never be that bad again.” I finally said OK, and I came back and I recovered. The doctors said, “You are absolutely a miracle. We don’t know how you are still alive. But as long as you don’t drink again you’ll be fine.” I guess the first sign of health was when something within me said, “I don’t know how to do that. But if I go back, I know what’s going to happen.” So I started my process of recovery, and I’ve been sober and drug-free from that experience to this day—twenty-six years.
These spiritual beings, they stayed fairly anonymous. They were sort of distant. They didn’t want me to get too comfortable there. I’ve never tried to understand the whole thing. If you talk to other people who have had near-death experiences, I’ll bet they say the same thing. From that day till this, I have never been afraid of death. I’m afraid of lingering and being in pain, but I’ve never been afraid of death itself. I didn’t see any of them. I remember being very annoyed because I felt their presence from everywhere—there was no up and down. It was like the yardsticks had vanished and I was just embraced in this energy. People ask me how did they communicate, did they speak English? I don’t know . . . I didn’t hear them—I just knew.