Coming to grips with the reality of death is a staggering part of life. Some do it better than others; some don't do well at all; and some keep running from the thought until they die. Woody Allen, the American comedian, once said, "I don't mind dying. I just don't want to be around when it happens." Cute thought, but I don't hear anyone out there laughing too hard.

Other than contemplating our own mortality, perhaps the most painful of life's moments is hearing the news that a loved one has died.

With all the massive onslaught of media coverage regarding the war in Iraq that has come my way over the last couple of months, one article grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. In a war of "shock and awe," push-button computer wizardry and everyone embedded in "real time," this particular article brought home the reality that the world of computer disks and hard drives cannot, or for that matter should not, communicate everything related to a conflict. The personal flesh-and-blood touch still has a place, even when it's a difficult place to be.

Perhaps there is no more traumatic event for relatives of a soldier than to see a car pull up in front of their house and see two individuals in dress uniform get out of the vehicle and slowly walk up the sidewalk towards their home. Life stops, and your mind races.

Perhaps there is no longer walk for the two uniformed individuals than that from the car to the door in front of them. They mount the front steps, rest on the porch to collect themselves, and then knock on the front door. The door opens and lives change forever.

Mike Anton, a Los Angeles Times staff writer, caught the essence of this moment in a fascinating depiction of the personal responsibility some soldiers carry of conveying to family members that a fellow warrior has died. It is a completion of camaraderie that is played out in the living rooms of parents, wives and children of fallen soldiers. Anton offers a moving analysis of the hearts and minds of soldiers and relatives alike in his article, "Notifying Officers Dread 'The Call,'" which appeared in the Los Angeles Times, April 13, 2003.

"I Can't Mess this Up"

Anton begins his article with Marine Major Daniel Hooker as he got the call "to make the call." The article describes how he went into his room and took out his dress uniform with the sensation he was donning religious vestments. He just knew, "I can't mess this up." He tore out a page from the manual he had been given for such occasions and began reciting the prescribed lines: "The commandant of the Marine Corps has entrusted me..." The article poignantly describes how he couldn't get through it alone and asked the chaplain in for encouragement and help to practice his lines.

Anton goes on to share some of the basic guidelines that were crafted through many years of shared experience. Wear a dress uniform. Drive a government car. Do not go alone. Do not use the word "dead."

The reporter duly notes that, like everything in the armed services, everything is done according to the book. But beyond the book, in the end these soldiers must draw on their inner resources for what may be their most challenging assignment outside of combat itself. And it is an assignment that is given and expected of the troops alone—not a social worker, psychologist or member of the clergy who may have more finesse in dealing with death and grief. This is one-on-one, up close and personal—no professionals or computers allowed.

In Anton's interview with Navy Chaplain Gary Dallmann, we gain the emotional terrain that surrounds the moment once the knock on the door is heard. "To look at somebody and say 'I have this terrible news for you'—it's heartbreaking," Dallmann said. The chaplain has accompanied 18 notification personnel over 22 years and recollects, "I can vividly remember every case."

The chaplain not only is there to support the family, but to help the soldier get up on the porch, knock on the door and give the notification. Often the men have said, "Chaplain, will you do it?" It is at that moment that Dallman rallies them with "notification is your job. You can do it." As reporter Anton so vividly pinpoints, it is at that moment of contact that they become the embodiment of the armed forces. It is the grim and respectful reality of soldiers taking care of soldiers.

Be understanding, but don't overtalk

But it's never easy. Air Force Colonel Gene Quintanilla, who has performed seven notifications, is quoted as saying, "You still dread doing it. I'm gun-shy at this point. Every time the phone rings at home, I just cringe because of the war in Iraq." In the article, Quintanilla shares his blueprint for successfully presenting a dignified and sincere notification. He must be prepared emotionally as the knock is made and the door opens.

He contemplates the deaths in his own family, be it grandparents or his own dad; and the holes they have created in his present and future. They must know he understands. As he and his partner drive to the home of the deceased, Quintanilla makes sure he has everyone's names straight and has the accurate details of death.

Chaplain Dallman was very candid about the "do's and don'ts" of notification. One of the big "do's" is: Do be prepared for a wide range of reaction. With that said, don't be defensive if the next of kin blames the military. Reactions can range from stunned silence to fury. The chaplain shared how one woman who answered the door closed it and left it closed for 45 minutes because she was unable to face what she instantly knew. The door finally opened.

Dallman also recounted how it's not uncommon for one of the uniformed individuals to be assaulted. He describes how a teenage girl pummeled him with her fists and screamed "you killed my brother" until family members could pull her away. That is why a part of the training and "going by the book" is not to say, "I know how you feel" or "you will get over it." They are instructed not to "overtalk." At a time such as this, pat condolences ring hollow and can seem to minimize a family's loss.

It is at this moment, in their own way faced with the devastation of loss, that a family must give their own cry to the moment—be it the cry of silence or the roar of longing. As I read through this section I could hear the echo of David's lament coming from 2 Samuel 18:33; "O my son Absalom—my son, my son Absalom—if only I had died in your place! Oh Absalom my son, my son!" It is every parent's plea, every parent's nightmare and, yes, the beginning of every parent's long night of life searching for meaning. And it's every soldier's duty not to "mess up" in this moment of emotional encounter.

Every case is different

Every case is different, and some of the recipients of life's worst news are incredibly generous in returning emotional support to the men in uniform sitting in their living rooms. Remember Major Hooker, who at the beginning of this article said, "I can't mess this up"? He had to drive five hours through a snowstorm from Albany, New York, to South Burlington, Vermont, to notify Mindy Evnin that her son, Corporal Mark A. Evnin, had been shot to death in a firefight in Iraq. Once he got there, he found out she wasn't home, so he notified a neighbor to give him a call on his cell phone when she got home.

The call came and he and his uniformed companion went over to the house. She was watching TV and relaxing with a frozen dinner when the knock came. She opened the door. As reporter Anton so vividly projects in word pictures: "Hooker stood straight and stiff. But his hands trembled." He quotes Evnin as saying, "Just tell me, is he dead, is he wounded or is he captured?" It was then that Hooker asked if he could come in and sit down. He then delivered the speech that he so desperately did not want to "mess up."

The deceased soldier's mother can only remember two words from the speech—the two words, "he died." She went on to say of Major Hooker that "he's a very lovely man. He teared up when he told me." She then recounted telling him, "I'm sure this must be horrible for you." She remembered his saying it was the first time he had done this. Perhaps that is why the words of General Robert E. Lee should be remembered by every generation that has forgotten the horrors of war. His words, solemly spoken after he witnessed the death of so many young men at the battle of Chancellorsville, simply but eloquently say it all: "It is well that war is so horrible, lest we should grow fond of it."

Tell it like it is

The staff of World News and Prophecy has a vital responsibility to tell it like it is. Therefore, we do point out the current human condition of war, strife, greed, pestilence and envy. But it is not designed to simply broadcast doom and gloom to a world that is already edgy, but to declare victory is at hand by proclaiming the most overwhelming news ever offered—the very real return of Jesus Christ with a Kingdom of solutions for what ails this earth.

A part of that reality is described in Isaiah 2:4 when it describes a world in which "nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore." Yes, no more war. Yes, no more casualties. Yes, no more young men pacing back and forth wondering how they are not going to "mess up" in sharing such critical news with family members. Yes, no more long walks up to the porch with someone peering at you from behind the drapes, dreading what's coming. Yes, no more knocks on the door.

Why is this possible? It was nearly 2,000 years ago that another notification was given. Another young man had been cut off in the midst of life. Another young man with a mother had been taken from the land of the living. In fact, she was there when he died.

Reversing pattern of life and death

But that's not the notification I'm talking about. Three days after He died, women who had come to honor His grave site were met with a startling notification by angelic messengers concerning the One who had been in the tomb. Imagine a reversal of the notification process! Instead of notifying near and dear ones about the living dying, a complete switch was in store. One who was dead is now living!

The account speaks clearly in Matthew 28:5-8. "But the angel answered and said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. And go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.' So they went out quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples word."

God's angels sent "the troops to tell the troops." No religious professional or theological guru could better explain what had occurred. Just ordinary people like you and me to proclaim extraordinary happenings. Sometimes, if not oftentimes, it's just best hearing it from one of your own.

Imagine the rush to Jerusalem and the pounding on the doors of those who had followed Christ to His death, now given the good news that they could follow Him again, in life, forever. Yes, imagine anxious knocks on the doors of Jerusalem that reverberated the reality that because God had reversed the pattern of life and death through Christ's resurrection, humanity is no longer headed for disaster, but redemption and a future laden with design and opportunity.

No matter how heavy the stone

Yes, imagine a knock on the door that would assure them that even in great tragedy—no matter what happens—no matter how heavy the stone that lay across a heart because of the loss of a loved one—it too can be rolled away. And that same power that raised Jesus Christ from the dead is still available to us, the living, today. It can enable us to have the courage to take the walks and knock on the doors of those whose lives have been shattered with tragedy, and then stand by them in their hour of need.

Perhaps Major Hooker exemplifies best the millennial refrain found in Isaiah 30:21 of "this is the way, walk you in it" when he simply states, "I can't mess this up." Just like Major Hooker, we've got to know it, rehearse it, believe it, feel it and feel for others, because life is going to come knocking at our door, starting now.