“I Hate Death, But I Hope in Christ”

I hate death. I always did.

It started young, when I was a kid—

A hamster still, beneath wood shavings,

No more squeaks, no signs of cravings.

A tiny loss, my first deep pain,

I cried, not knowing how to explain.

It came again not long from then—

Not fur or paw, but flesh and kin.

My great-grandmother, old yet dear,

We drove to see her body and I was filled with fear.

I hate death. It continued more and more—

Too many funerals, I could not ignore.

I learned to mourn before I could

Struggling to understand it as I should.

Then came the blow that crushed me then—

My little brother, age just ten.

My world undone, my heart was torn,

By death again, cruel and worn.

I hate death. I hated it then,

And I still hate it now, again and again.

As I grew older, so did the list—

Names of friends, now sorely missed.

Lives cut short, like songs half-sung,

With echoes still on every tongue.

Each casket buried was a life we lost,

Each goodbye a bitter cost.

And Eden’s gates seemed far away—

Paradise lost, when death had no final say.

Wanting to share with the world of this place,

I became a pastor and actively preached of God’s grace.

And now it was my job to bury friends and kin,

Each loss a wound beneath my skin.

And then, it was my dear dad—death claimed him too,

And oh, the ache that still feels new.

I hate death—its sting, its weight,

Its cruel hands that steal and take.

But more than I hate death’s dark night,

I cling to Christ, my Hope, my Light.

So hear me when I say that I hate death,

Yet I speak these words with hopeful breath

For I know One who faced the tomb,

And left behind the grave’s cold gloom.

I know a Savior, scarred and raised,

Who burst the stone, whom angels praised.

He crushed death's jaw beneath His feet,

With love and power none could beat.

He wore the thorns, endured the woe,

For my dad, my brother, and others, this I know.

He bore the weight, He took the loss,

He bore it all upon the cross.

Because this story’s not yet done,

Resurrection’s yet to come.

My brother will rise, his voice will sing,

My dad will dance before the King.

My friends in Christ will rise and cheer,

In glory bright and hearts sincere.

I hate death—but death will die,

When Jesus splits the eastern sky.

And till that day, I walk in faith,

My hope in Christ, secure and safe.

One day each grave will open wide,

Each tear I’ve wept, the Lord will dry.

And names I’ve mourned in shadowed days

Will rise to meet Him, filled with praise.

We don’t just wait for skies to part—

He meets us now, and cleanses the heart.

So come to Christ—don’t wait, don’t stall,

He bore your sin, He took it all.

The grave He conquered, love displayed,

The debt you owe? It’s fully paid.

New life begins when hearts believe,

When sinners turn, repent, receive.

This hope is yours—don’t walk away,

Everlasting life can begin today.

And on that day when He returns to make things right,

Jesus will end all death, and flood the earth with His light.

So run to Him, your risen Friend,

In Jesus, life will never end.

This is our song, our hope, our cry—

Come to the One who’ll never die.

He is the Son—true God made flesh,

Still risen, reigning, and giving us breath.

The Father sends, the Spirit seals,

The Triune God who saves and heals.

Eternal love in perfect Three,

Now calls to you: come, bend the knee.

Christ died, Christ lives, and will appear—

He bore the cross to bring you near.

Judgement will come, so instead turn to the One,

Who faced the cross and said, "It’s done.”

And His strong grip now holds my soul,

With love that makes the broken whole.

So I will wait and pray and sing,

Until He comes, my risen King.

Resurrection’s near at hand.

Maranatha—come and stand.

Jesus, bring Your Kingdom bright,

And put to death the dying night.

by: Matt Jones | Categories: Devotional Tags: poem, pastor matt, Good Friday