The house was deserted and devoid of life. The front door was cracked open, the once-attractive exterior color had retired to a glum grayish-brown, and the silence of death packed the halls. The bubbling tide washed this abandoned residence right up to my feet—it was a suntanned shell, formerly occupied by a hermit crab that vacated it during molting. There comes a moment in every hermit crab’s life when they must depart their old shell in search of a new one. These ten-legged crustaceans do not typically die when they surrender their obsolete housing to the ocean—they simply move on and move into an upgraded version.

The time will come when every Christian must say goodbye to the shell of their old flesh as well. The body is merely a temporary residence and the tide of death will bury your mortal frame six feet beneath a headstone. But the real you—your soul, that is—will live on. If you believe that the death of Christ was the deathblow to death, the earthen vessel of your body is all that truly dies (cf. John 11:25). You will bid adieu to your old shell and live in the eternal presence of the Author of life (Phil. 1:23), and the Lord shall grant you a new and improved body when He returns: “[Jesus] will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself” (Phil. 3:21).

A believer’s death, therefore, is not the end. It is simply the end of living in the fragile shell of the flesh. “For we know,” promised Paul, “that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling” (2 Cor. 5:1-2). And the new shell will be unlike anything you have ever known before:

“Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality” (1 Cor. 15:51-53).

A now-omitted stanza in the cherished hymn Sweet Hour of Prayer, written by William W. Walford (1772-1850), puts it splendidly:

“May I thy con­so­la­tion share,
Till, from Mount Pis­gah’s lof­ty height,
I view my home and take my flight:
This robe of flesh I’ll drop and rise
To seize the ev­er­last­ing prize.”

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