The Long Viewing.. 2 Corinthians 2:15-16
The Long Viewing
(A Meditation on Life in Christ)
It dawned on me today—
when we are crucified with Christ,
we die.
Not someday.
Not just at the end.
We die now.
And yet—we live.
Because He lives.
I’ve thought of this before,
but maybe it struck deeper this time.
Maybe it’s because I’m going to a funeral tomorrow.
Or maybe it was something in the moonlight tonight,
the hush it cast over everything,
and the ache of time that refuses to stop.
When we’re born again,
as far as the world is concerned,
the rest of our life
is just a viewing.
Not the funeral.
The viewing.
They still see the body.
They still call us by our old name.
But something’s changed.
We’re not who we were.
And the world comes by—
every day—
to see if we’re still dead.
To smell.
To poke.
To watch for signs of life—or signs of decay.
I’ve been to a lot of viewings.
People say, “He looks so peaceful,”
but most of the time, they don’t.
Life leaves its mark on a face.
So does death.
And sometimes the body looks more like the undertaker’s work
than the person we knew.
That’s what religion tries to do—
fill the casket with soft lights,
pillows, frills,
flowers to hide the smell.
But when you’ve really died with Christ,
you don’t need embalming.
You’re not being preserved for a memory.
You’re already raised for eternity.
Still—some come to make sure:
Stick a pin in him.
Hold a mirror to her lips.
“Is she really dead?”
“Is he really changed?”
And what do they see when they come to my viewing?
Do they smell the old rot of sin—
or the sweet perfume of the risen Christ?
Do they mourn what I used to be—
or wonder at what I’ve become?
I suppose that depends on their nostrils.
I suppose that also depends on my yielding to the Spirit of Life in Me
Or A combination of both?
Because to the nostrils of the dead, the living stink.
And to the nostrils of the living, the dead stink.
We are in Christ—
the offscouring of the world.
Scraped off, thrown out,
and yet—kept by God.
They see our scars,
but not the joy.
They hear our sorrow,
but not the singing.
We carry in our bodies the death of Jesus—
and somehow, that shines.
We are the aroma of Christ.
To the perishing: the smell of death.
To the saved: the fragrance of life.
So let them come.
Let them see what death looks like
when it’s been swallowed by victory.
⸻
“For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish:
To the one we are the savour of death unto death; and to the other the savour of life unto life.
And who is sufficient for these things?”
—2 Corinthians 2:15–16
Your life in Christ is a long, slow viewing.
Not just a moment at the end. Not just the day they dress you up in a suit and line the room with flowers. No, it started the day you died with Christ.
From that moment on, the world’s been walking past your casket.
Looking. Judging. Mourning what you used to be.
Trying to figure out if it’s really you in there.
And sometimes wondering if you’re even dead at all.
A life lived as a viewing…
• Some will come respectfully.
• Some will come critically.
• Some will lean in just to see if you’re faking it.
• Some will sniff around, hoping the rot proves you’re not really changed.
• Others will weep—not because you’re gone, but because they miss the version of you that lived for this world.
But the truth is—you’re not in that metaphorical box.
You’re already risen.
Seated in heavenly places.
Hidden with Christ in God.
To them, it’s a viewing.
To you, it’s life more abundant.
And at the end, when your body finally catches up with what your spirit already knew,
they’ll close the lid on something that’s already long been dead—
and you’ll walk out into glory.
