On the other hand, we should not focus on death when it is close but rather should focus on Christ. This is because a large part of the terror of death comes from the awareness of our sins and our guilt before God. The unbeliever has no alternative but to hope that there is no God on the other side to judge him. The Christian, though, has a different kind of certainty, and he can focus on Christ rather than on his sin.

A few years ago, I received this unexpected request from one of my church members with multiple sclerosis: “When you have time, could you please do a Bible study on how to prepare for death?” This person knew that her condition was incurable and, although death still seemed a fairly long way off, she was anxious to receive advice on how to face it. I was taken aback by that request, but I should not have been. This was a very sensible idea. Why wouldn’t every church member be interested in such a Bible study? Yet, I could not remember the last time I preached or heard a sermon on that topic. The Bible is very upfront about the reality of death but also very clear that it is possible to die well. It is perhaps significant that one of the best-known Hebrew words in the Old Testament, the word shalom, which we associate with peace and well-being, first appears in the context of death (Gen. 15:15). Knowing how we may die “in peace” should be an important concern for us all.
As I reflected on this, I was struck again about how common that theme was in Christian sermons and devotional literature until about two hundred years ago. Toward the end of the nineteenth century, decisive breakthroughs in medical research, such as the discovery of germs and anesthetics, made death and pain feel more distant. For the first time in history, being healthy became the norm and being ill the exception. For most people in history, death was an ever-present companion. John Calvin, for example, gives a vivid description of how precarious life felt in his time:
Innumerable are the ills which beset human life, and present death in as many different forms. Not to go beyond ourselves, since the body is a receptacle, even the nurse, of a thousand diseases, a man cannot move without carrying along with him many forms of destruction. . . . Then, in what direction soever you turn, all surrounding objects not only may do harm, but almost openly threaten and seem to present immediate death. Go on board a ship, you are but a plank’s breadth from death. Mount a horse, the stumbling of a foot endangers your life. Walk along the streets, every tile upon the roofs is a source of danger . . . I say nothing of poison, treachery, robbery, some of which beset us at home, others follow us abroad.1
It is therefore not surprising that Christians felt the need to be trained in the ars moriendi (art of dying). In fact, the idea that the whole of life is a preparation to die was commonplace. As events in the world sometimes bring death considerably closer to us, I believe it is urgent for the church to recover the Christian ars moriendi. What we need in particular is not so much rehearsing general theological truths about death but precisely what that church member asked me: some practical advice on how to prepare ourselves for it. The Protestant Reformers and seventeenth-century Puritans can help us with this because they knew how to face death and how to think about it in concrete terms. They wrote a great deal on the topic but, for the sake of brevity, I will focus on Martin Luther, whose teaching on the matter sums up the Protestant ars moriendi.2
Luther’s view of the Christian life is attractive because of its concrete character. Luther was not simply a theologian of more abstract concepts such as justification but a pastor who preached and wrote to human beings of flesh and blood facing much hardship and who were never far away from death. Luther himself, like his contemporaries, did not expect to live for very long, and he thought he would soon die from illness or martyrdom. It is therefore not surprising that he preached and wrote about death throughout his life. As early as 1519, when he was only thirty-six, he wrote a series of exhortations for his sovereign, Elector Frederick the Wise, who was seriously ill.3 In that same year, he preached a famous sermon on preparing to die, and he no doubt preached many times on the subject. Practical considerations about dying are spread through his writings. We also have fairly precise information about Luther’s last days and his own death that allows us to know that he put into practice what he preached.
Luther can help us because he teaches us how to think properly about death both throughout our lives and when it is near. His insights can be summed up under four headings.
BE CONFIDENT BUT REALISTIC
First, Luther recognizes that death is frightening even for Christians. He is not so foolish as to believe that the fear of death can be neutralized by stoic fortitude, as certain atheists try to convince themselves. This is a conviction that is often found in his writings. For example, in a sermon on 1 Corinthians 15 preached on October 6, 1532, he says: “The heathens have wisely said ‘he is a fool who is afraid of death, for through such fear he loses his own life.’ This would be true if only a man could act on the advice. . . . They advise that nothing is better than simply cast all such fear aside, to rid the mind of it and to think: why worry about it? When we are dead, we are dead. That is certainly disposing of the matter in short order and completely extinguishing God’s wrath, hell and damnation!”4
Or again, in one of his table talks: “I do not like to see people glad to die. . . . Great saints do not like to die. The fear of death is natural, for death is a penalty; therefore, it is something sad. According to the spirit one gladly dies; but according to the flesh, it is said ‘another shall carry you where you would not.’ ”5
Yet, because Christ defeated death, Luther also knows that the death of a Christian is fundamentally different. As he says to Frederick the Wise in one of his fourteen consolations: “The death of a Christian is to be looked upon as the brazen serpent of Moses. It does have the appearance of a serpent; but it is entirely without life, without motion, without poison, without sting. . . . We do resemble those who die, and the outward appearance of our death is not different from that of others. But the thing itself is different nevertheless because for us death is dead.”6
This is why the Christian is able to prepare for death in a meaningful way. However, this preparation should take place throughout the whole of life, and this leads to Luther’s next insight.
THINK OF DEATH AT THE RIGHT TIME
This is perhaps the most insightful piece of advice and the most challenging for us today. The issue is not simply how to think about death but when. Luther’s oft-repeated advice is that we should familiarize ourselves with death while we are still healthy, while death itself still seems far away. Conversely, we should not stare at death when it is near us but rather focus on Christ. Now it is clear that most people today—sadly, including many Christians—do precisely the opposite. They studiously ignore death while healthy and are caught unprepared when it comes.
On the contrary, Luther understood that spiritual growth is a slow process that takes a lifetime and that facing death is something that has to be learned. This is why he encourages us to think often of our own mortality, to reflect on its cause and consequences and on its ultimate outcome for the Christian—the resurrection of the body. One interesting suggestion on how to do that is to meditate on our own death and when we pass cemeteries.
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John Calvin, Institutes of Christian Religion, trans. Henry Beveridge, 1.17.10. ↩︎
Throughout this article I refer to the Weimar edition of Martin Luther’s complete works (Weimar Ausgabe or WA). The “Fourteen Consolations” and the famous sermon on preparing to die referred to below are also available in the American edition of Luther’s Works (Concordia Publishing House), vol. 42. ↩︎
“Fourteen Consolations for Them That Are Laboured and Laden” (1519). ↩︎
WA 36, 539. ↩︎
WA 408. ↩︎
WA 118. ↩︎

Without an infallible Bible we have no authority to counsel people regarding what they must believe and do, or how God expects us to change. However, because we possess the infallible Word of God, we also possess divinely delegated authority to counsel according to its precepts and principles. We can and must say to others, “Thus saith the Lord,” and “this is what God requires of you.”

Scripture alone provides power and authority for counseling and soul care since it is the Word of the living God who created and redeems us. There is nothing we may experience which God does not directly or indirectly address in His Word. The Bible truly is sufficient to minister to the soul as we deal with the manifold problems men, women, and children face in our broken world because Scripture is the revelation of the living God (Psalm 19:7-11). Therefore, let’s reflect on three characteristics of Scripture that build our confidence in its unique ability to heal and transform us from the inside out.
Scripture Sanctifies Us
The Word of God confronts us when we get off the right path and shows us how to get back on, and it trains us to live godly lives so that we mature and become equipped to serve God: “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16-17). Because the Word of God is a living book, it has the power to expose our motives and transform the inner man—the heart—which consequently changes our behavior; that is, it produces righteous living (Hebrews 4:12). According to Jesus, Scripture is the Spirit’s primary tool in the process of sanctification (John 17:17). Therefore, we should test every truth claim made by any person by the standard of Scripture, which is the mind of God in written form (1 Corinthians 2:10-16). This does not mean we cannot benefit from extra-biblical (not un-biblical) knowledge that, when filtered through the Word, may amplify our awareness of human suffering. However, its help is always subordinate—never equal—to the authority of God in Scripture. We must interpret any knowledge we gain through general revelation or common grace by using the flawless lens of Scripture.
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Policies that exclude faith-based schools from private-school-choice programs are not just unconstitutional; they are unwise. Carson v. Makin is a victory not just for religious liberty but for educational pluralism. And the decision comes at a time when we need educational pluralism more than ever.

A quarter-century ago, as a young attorney, I participated in the first litigation challenging the exclusion of faith-based schools from Maine’s tuition-assistance program for students in rural school districts. On Tuesday, in Carson v. Makin, the Supreme Court agreed with me, holding in a 6–3 vote that the program unconstitutionally discriminates against faith-based schools. (I cried. Twenty-five years is a long time.)
In some ways, Carson is unremarkable. The case reiterates, for the third time in recent years, that the Constitution prohibits the government from refusing to permit religious organizations, including religious schools, to participate in programs providing public benefits—including school-choice programs. Chief Justice John Roberts’s majority opinion hammered the point home with perfect clarity: “The State pays tuition for certain students at private schools—so long as the schools are not religious. That is discrimination against religion” which “violates the Free Exercise Clause of the First Amendment.”
Critics of the decision, including the dissenting justices, responded with dark warnings about Carson ushering in a theocracy. Justice Sonia Sotomayor complained bitterly that the “Court continues to dismantle the wall of separation between church and state that the Framers fought to build.” Justice Stephen Breyer predicted that the decision would increase “the potential for religious strife.” Such statements are hyperbolic at best. As a matter of constitutional law, the opinion breaks little new ground, merely reiterating what the Court has said repeatedly: the Constitution demands government neutrality toward religious believers and institutions. Full stop.
That Carson was not groundbreaking does not mean that it is not a landmark decision. On the contrary, the ruling represents the culmination of a battle for the equal treatment of faith-based schools that stretches back to the first half of the nineteenth century, when Catholic bishops began to demand public funds for Catholic schools on equality grounds, since public schools at the time were functionally Protestant and hostile to Catholic children. Those demands largely fell on deaf ears, and later, courts—including the Supreme Court—took a hard line against aid to children attending faith-based schools, invalidating on Establishment Clause grounds even programs providing modest financial benefits.
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