Putting death in its place

Death, be not proud

John Donne lived from 1572-1631, a contemporary of Shakespeare, and is reckoned to be one of the greatest poets in the English language. He was also a Church of England clergyman and (though he sowed a wild oat or two in his young days) several of his poems (the “Holy Sonnets”) demonstrate very clearly his strong Christian faith. “Death be not proud” is one of them; it has long been a favourite of mine, and I felt I would like to share it with you this Easter Sunday.

One problem with poetry, of course, is that it doesn’t always yield up its meaning easily, and this is especially the case when the language is 400 years old. So I’ve put the full text of the poem in bold print, and added a pretty rough-and-ready paraphrase in the hope of making the basic meaning clear. (Please don’t feel insulted if you know the poem!)

I suggest that, once you’ve got the meaning clear, you might like to read it straight through out loud. Donne is speaking directly to death – in fact, he is flinging contempt and defiance its face. So when you get to the last four words, don’t forget to shout them out good and loud!

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

Death, you can wipe that arrogant smirk off your face. Yes, men and women have often called you mighty and dreadful, but in fact you are nothing of the kind!

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

For those people who you think you destroy don’t in fact die – poor death! – and you can’t kill me either!

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

We get great benefit from rest and sleep – which are like imitations of you. How much more benefit will we get, then, from you yourself! The very best of people go in the end to you – and that is then a rest for their bodies and a deliverance for their souls.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

You’re nothing but a lackey! – a servant to fate, chance, political ambition and human violence. You work through poison, war, sickness, but we can find sleep through drugs and tablets – in fact better sleep than what you offer us! So what have you got to be so proud about?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

We simply have to pass into one little sleep, and then we wake for evermore and death shall be no more. Death, you shall die!

Donne doesn’t actually mention the resurrection of Jesus, but it’s on that event – the event we as Christians celebrate today – that his faith rests.

Christianity is totally honest about death. In 1 Corinthians 15 Paul glories in Jesus’ victory over the grave, but that doesn’t stop him referring to death as an “enemy”: “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (verse 26). And he comes to the climax of this great chapter with an exclamation of praise and wonder: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?… Thanks be to God! He gives to us the victory through out Lord Jesus Christ” (verse 54-57).

Yes, death remains an enemy – and we are particularly conscious of it at the very difficult time we are passing through at the moment. But victory over it is promised. That was the faith of the early Christians – and of John Donne – and of untold millions of believers in Jesus down the centuries.

I pray it will also be your faith and mine.

Thine be the glory, risen, conquering Son,/ Endless is the victory Thou o’er death hast one. Lord Jesus, thank you for the hope you give us. May it comfort and sustain us especially through these difficult days, and may it bring us to that day when we will see you face to face. Amen.