17, The River of Death

"The Completion of Life, the Dawn of Resurrection"

The Boundary Between Life and Death

Is there truly a boundary between life and death?
John Bunyan, in The Pilgrim’s Progress,描 portrayed death as a river.
Yet in reality, such a boundary does not exist.

Death is merely a biological transition—
in the timeline of God, it is a passage
from life into life.

Through the cross and the resurrection,
Jesus has already crossed that river.
In Him, death is no longer a rupture
but an invitation into eternity.

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Before the River of Death

Christian and Hopeful finally arrived
at the River of Death.
A thick mist hung over the waters;
the waves were deep and dark.

“I… I cannot see anything…”
Christian’s voice trembled.

Hopeful gripped his hand.
“Brother, faith will give you peace.
Do not attempt to cross on your own.
The Lord Himself will bring you through.”

The water thrashed violently,
spray striking their faces.

“Hopeful… I’m sinking!
My sins are dragging me down!”

“Your sins have already been nailed to the cross.
Lift your eyes! Look—over there—see the light!”

Christian raised his head,
gazing at the faint glow beyond the mist.

“Yes… I see it.
I see the other side.”

Hand in hand,
they pushed through the waves.
The River of Death could not swallow them.

Fig.17-1: Christian and Hopeful crossing the River of Death

At the Gates of the Celestial City

A brilliant light wrapped the two pilgrims.
Two angels welcomed them:

“Here, the steep and the shallow paths
no longer matter—
you left the body behind.”

The pilgrims rose effortlessly,
as if their souls were singing,
and drifted toward the gates
of the Celestial City.

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The Death of Purumi the Stork

Whenever I stand before the River of Death,
I think of one life—
Purumi, the stork.

Fig.17-2: Farewell to Purumi

Purumi was born at Vogelpark Walsrode in Germany
and arrived in Korea late in his life.
He was already an elderly stork,
and I accompanied him
through his final days.

As winter deepened,
he refused to eat.
His wings slowly lost their strength;
without a heater,
he could not endure the cold.

As though accepting his final hour,
he sat quietly in a corner,
drawn breaths coming softly,
his eyes drifting closed.

I stayed beside him
without a single word.

Purumi was thirty-two—
about eighty in human years—
when he left this world.

His final moments were peaceful;
there was no fear in his eyes.
He returned to the embrace of nature.

And in that moment, I understood—
death is not destruction,
but homecoming.

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The Meaning of Death

I often ask myself,
“Will I be able to meet death as gently as Purumi did?”
People study how to prolong life,
yet few know how to prepare for death.

But a believer is different.
To prepare for death
is to bring one’s faith to completion.

As the psalmist confesses—
“They have no pangs in their death,
their bodies are firm and strong,
they are free from human burdens.”
(Ps. 73:4–5)

Even when we step into the River of Death,
God remains beside us.
We do not cross alone.
Hope—that is, Jesus Christ—
crosses with us.

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A Pilgrim’s Prayer

“Lord,
as Purumi drew his final breath,
may I also rest quietly in Your embrace.
Let me cross that river
not with pain but with peace,
not with fear but with faith.
Let me see Your hand
on the other side.”
Amen.

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Jesus Riding on a Donkey

Fig.17-3: Jesus riding on a donkey

At the end of the St. Isidore Pilgrimage Trail,
I stood before the sculpture
of Jesus entering Jerusalem.

His eyes were calm,
yet filled with resolve.
The crowds shouted,
‘Hosanna! Son of David!’
But He did not smile.
He was already looking toward the cross.

Jesus did not ride a horse.
He rode a donkey—
the symbol of peace.

“If you find a young donkey tied there,
untie it and bring it here.
Tell them, ‘The Lord needs it.’”
(Luke 19:30–31)

Quietly, I asked myself,
“Is there anything still tied
in my own heart?”

Things I have not surrendered,
things that must now be released.

“The Lord needs it.”
At those words,
I lay everything down.

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The Day He Was Sentenced to the Cross

Figure 17-4: Jesus Standing Before Pilate

That day, He was silent.
He did not raise His voice in defense,
nor did He protest the injustice.

Before Pontius Pilate, seated in the chair of power,
He stood quietly, His hands bound.
The Lord of heaven and earth
stood in a human court.

It was not resignation.
It was not silence born of helplessness.
That silence was obedience,
and that obedience was love.

“Take this cup from Me.”
Yet in the end,
He drank the bitter cup Himself.

His flesh was torn by the whip,
His brow pierced by thorns,
and blood ran down His face.

That suffering was not an accident.
The price of someone’s sin
was being carved upon His body.

I cannot stand before that scene.
No—I cannot remain standing.

When His gaze searches within me,
the sins I tried to hide
are exposed in the light.

I knew that love, yet turned away.
I received forgiveness, yet fell again.

Still, He endured my stubbornness
with long patience,
as if waiting silently
for me to return.

The moment I realized
that His standing before Pilate
was love directed toward me,
I could stand no longer.

My knees gave way.
Tears fell—
one drop, then another.

The sound of them striking the cold stone
echoed against my heart.

That day,
the sentence was pronounced upon Him.
Yet the one who truly deserved judgment
was me.

On the road of Lent,
I stand again before that court
and ask:

Am I still among the crowd,
or am I the disciple kneeling?

The cross is not
an ancient instrument of execution.
It is love that calls me today.

Before that love,
I bow my head once more.

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The Risen Lord Who Comes as a Stranger

Fig.17-5: The Risen Christ

After His resurrection,
Jesus did not appear
to those who condemned Him.
Neither Pilate nor Caiaphas saw Him.

He came instead as a stranger—
as a gardener to Mary Magdalene,
as a traveler to the disciples on the road to Emmaus,
as a fisherman on the lakeshore.

And even now,
He comes to me in unfamiliar faces,
whispering:

“I love you.
I have seen your burdens,
and I know your weakness.
Yet I will never let you go.”

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The Road to Emmaus

Fig.17-6: Jesus walking with the two disciples

Two disciples were leaving Jerusalem
in despair.
Though the risen Lord walked with them,
they did not recognize Him.

But as He spoke,
their hearts began to burn.

“Were not our hearts burning within us
while He talked with us on the road
and opened the Scriptures to us?”
(Luke 24:32)

That burning was the beginning of life.
They recognized Him
when He broke the bread.
Then they ran back to Jerusalem:

“The Lord has risen indeed!”

Despair had not ended—
it had become
the doorway of resurrection.

Fig. 17-7: The two disciples who experienced the moment of recognising the risen Jesus

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The Resurrection of Christ

Paul writes in his Letter to the Romans,
“The wages of sin is death.” (Romans 6:23)

Yet he does not stop there.
In another letter, he unveils a deeper mystery:
“So that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.”
(2 Corinthians 5:4)

As we trace Scripture back to its beginning,
we discover that humanity was not created with death as its premise.
Life was, from the start, connected to God,
and sin severed that bond.
Death emerged as the result.

Thus, in biblical terms, death is not merely
a biological cessation,
but a separation from life itself.
Before sin entered the world,
Adam and Eve existed in communion with God,
the very source of life.

The resurrection of Christ
is not a passive restoration in which death simply disappears.
It is a dynamic event in which a greater life—
the life of Jesus, Zoë—
enters into us
and overwhelms and consumes the power of death.

When this life dwells within us,
our bodies may still be mortal,
but our spirits already live
by the resurrection life of Christ.
We are no longer who we once were.
We are new creations.

The old order—
“the wages of sin is death”—
is quietly yet completely replaced
by “the law of the Spirit of life
in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:2).

Eternal life is not merely a matter of duration.
It is a matter of whose life we live by—
a transformation of our very identity.

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The River of Death Before Me

Now I stand
at the final stretch of the pilgrim’s path.
Before me flows the river of death.
Yet I am not afraid,
for the Lord of Emmaus
still walks beside me.

“If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead
dwells in you,
He who raised Christ from the dead
will also give life to your mortal bodies.”
(Romans 8:11)

Death is not the end.
He has already crossed this river,
and now, in Him,
we live again.

Trusting this path of life,
I stand at the river’s edge.
And quietly,
I bring this pilgrimage to its close.

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