Most of us spend a great deal of time learning how to live and very little time learning how to die.

We plan careers, homes, vacations, retirements, and our children's futures. We prepare for emergencies. We buy insurance. We write wills. But even Christians can avoid the one appointment none of us will escape.

Death.

Earlier generations of Christians were often more willing to look at it directly. In the late Middle Ages, a short Christian guide became widely known by its Latin title, Ars Moriendi - “The Art of Dying.” It was written for people who knew that death could come quickly and who wanted to face their final hours with faith rather than fear.

There is much in those old guides worth recovering. But Christians today also have reason to go further. The New Testament gives us a fuller picture of what it means to die well - one centered not on how well we perform in our final hour, but on what Jesus Christ has already done for us.

The art of dying well begins with learning where our hope really rests.

The Ars Moriendi appeared in Europe during the fifteenth century, after generations had lived through plague, war, disease, and sudden death. It became one of the most popular Christian devotional works of its time. Copies circulated in handwritten manuscripts and, later, in early printed books and woodcuts.

The shorter version followed a dying person through five temptations: loss of faith, despair, impatience, pride, and attachment to earthly things. The pictures were vivid. Demons tempted the dying man. Angels and saints urged him to remain faithful. The message was simple: death was not merely a medical event. It was a spiritual moment, and a Christian should be ready for it.

Some of the theology reflected the medieval Catholic world in which the book was written. We do not have to accept every part of that framework to recognize something it understood very well: death has a way of exposing what we really believe.

When money can no longer buy another day, when titles no longer matter, when strength leaves the body, and when the world continues without us, the heart is forced to answer questions it could once postpone.

What am I trusting in? What am I afraid of losing? What happens when I can no longer fix anything? And am I ready to meet God?

Those are still good questions.

The old guides understood that dying should not be spiritually improvised.

They told Christians to prepare before the final moment. They warned that fear, regret, anger, pride, and love of possessions can become especially powerful when death draws near. They expected family, clergy, and other believers to gather around the dying person, pray, read Scripture, and remind him of truth.

That is still wise.

A Christian facing death may be tired, medicated, confused, afraid, or in pain. That is not the ideal time to begin asking what the Gospel means. The deepest truths of our faith should already be familiar. We should spend our lives learning to trust Christ so that when our strength is gone, we rest in truths we have heard and believed many times before.

The old Ars Moriendi also reminds those of us who are healthy that dying well is not only the responsibility of the dying person. There should be Christians around the bed. There should be people willing to stay, pray, listen, read, serve, and love.

No Christian should have to face death abandoned if the Church can help it.

This is where I believe a New Testament Ars Moriendi must become clearer.

Our hope in death does not rest on whether we handle our final days perfectly.

We may be frightened. We may have moments of doubt. We may become confused. We may regret things we did or things we failed to do. We may die before every relationship is repaired or every task is finished.

None of those things change the foundation of the Gospel.

Hebrews 10:14 says that by one offering Christ has perfected forever those who are being made holy. Notice both parts. God is still changing us. We are not finished. Yet our standing before Him rests on Christ's finished sacrifice.

That matters enormously at the end of life.

A dying Christian need not wonder whether he has finally become good enough for God. He never was, and neither am I. Our confidence is not that we completed ourselves before death. We are confident that Jesus completed the work required to save us.

The thief beside Jesus had no time to repair his life, build a record of good works, or prove that his faith would last for decades. He turned to Christ. Jesus told him, “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).

That is grace.

The Gospel does not teach us to die trusting the quality of our death. It teaches us to die trusting Christ.

If we were writing an art of dying for Christians today, I would begin here.

Christian faith does not require us to pretend death is beautiful.

Paul calls death an enemy (1 Corinthians 15:26). Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus. Christians may grieve the loss of time, family, plans, health, and the people we love.

Faith does not mean calling an enemy a friend. It means knowing that the enemy does not have the final word.

We can speak honestly about fear and sorrow because our hope is not built on pretending they are not real.

When the end comes, our greatest need is not one last heroic act of faith. It is the same need we have had every day of our Christian lives: Jesus Christ.

Romans 8 begins with the assurance that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ and ends with the promise that nothing in all creation can separate God's people from His love in Christ. John 10 pictures Christ's people safely held in His hand.

Those promises do not grow weaker as our bodies grow weaker.

The question is not, “Did I die impressively?” The question is, “Whom am I trusting?”

Death has a way of shrinking the things we once thought were enormous.

In 2026, former U.S. senator and university president Ben Sasse spoke publicly after being diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer. He described how serious illness quickly exposed the idols and false sources of security in his life. He also repeated Paul's words: “To live is Christ and to die is gain.”

Sasse's suffering does not save him, and he has not claimed that it does. But suffering can expose us. It can reveal what we have been leaning on besides Christ.

That is one reason to think about death before we are dying. We can ask those questions now.

What am I treating as permanent that is actually temporary? What do I need to say? Whom do I need to forgive? What am I afraid to surrender? What do I want the people I love to remember about Christ when I am gone?

The New Testament never tells Christians not to grieve. It tells us not to grieve as people who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

That difference matters.

Colleen Chao has spoken openly about living for years with cancer, pain, and the possibility of leaving people she deeply loves. Her testimony is useful because it does not turn Christian hope into a smile pasted over sorrow. There is real grief. There are things she does not want to lose. Yet she continues to speak about Christ and the hope of eternal life.

That is a better picture of Christian courage than pretending death does not hurt.

We can cry and still believe. We can grieve and still hope. We can hate what death takes from us while trusting the One who will raise the dead.

Near the end of his life, Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

He did not say he had lived a flawless life. He knew better. His confidence was not perfection but perseverance.

Finishing well means continuing to trust Christ. It means refusing to trade the Gospel for fear, bitterness, or false hope. It means telling the truth about our sin and telling an even greater truth about our Savior.

For some believers, finishing faithfully may mean years of illness. For others, there may be very little warning. The length of the final chapter is not ours to choose.

Faithfulness is.

Thinking about death should change the way we live now.

If someone needs to hear “I love you,” say it. If an apology is needed, make it. If forgiveness has been withheld, deal with it. If your family does not know what you believe about Christ, do not assume there will always be another opportunity to tell them.

We cannot repair every broken relationship. Reconciliation requires more than one willing person. But Scripture gives us no reason to carry unnecessary pride, bitterness, or unfinished words to the grave.

Dying well begins with living honestly today.

Stephen's death in Acts 7 is one of the clearest New Testament pictures of a believer dying with his eyes fixed on Christ. He saw Jesus, entrusted himself to Him, and even prayed for the people killing him.

Most Christians will not die as martyrs. But every Christian can leave a final witness.

Our families may forget many things we accomplished. They may forget titles, awards, possessions, and projects. But they may remember how we faced the final season. They may remember whether our faith still mattered when there was nothing earthly left for faith to gain.

That does not mean putting on a performance for them. It means allowing the same Christ who carried us through life to remain visible as He carries us through death.

The art of dying is also an art of staying.

Michael and Tracy Balboni tell the story of Lois, a woman with terminal cancer who had almost no one to call. After she reached out to a pastor, the Balbonis brought her into their home and cared for her through her final months.

That story asks the living a hard question: What does Christian love look like when someone can no longer give anything back?

Sometimes it looks like sitting in a room with nothing clever to say. Reading a Psalm. Holding a hand. Bringing a meal. Giving a caregiver a break. Praying the same prayer again. Staying when illness becomes uncomfortable.

Jesus identified Himself with the sick and the vulnerable. The Church should be known for not abandoning people when they become weak.

Christian hope is larger than “going to heaven when I die.”

The New Testament points beyond death to resurrection. Christ rose bodily from the grave, and those who belong to Him will be raised. First Corinthians 15 does not end with souls escaping the world. It ends with death swallowed up in victory.

That is why Christians can face the grave without calling the grave good.

The grave is temporary.

Christ is not.

Death may separate us from the people we love for a time. It cannot separate us from Christ, and it will not keep God's people forever. The final Christian hope is resurrection, restoration, and life with God in a creation made new.

This subject is not merely historical or theological to me.

I have reached a season of life when mortality is no longer an abstract idea. That has made me think more seriously about what it means to finish well.

I do not know when my final day will come. None of us does. But I do know some things I want to be true when it does.

I want my family to know that I love them. I want the people whose paths have crossed mine to know that Jesus Christ mattered more to me than anything I wrote, earned, owned, or accomplished. I want to make peace where I can. I want to leave as little unfinished business of the heart as possible.

And when my own strength is finally gone, I do not want my confidence to rest on whether I did enough good things, understood everything correctly, or faced death without fear.

I want my confidence to rest where it rests today: in Jesus Christ.

He has loved me. He has forgiven me. He has carried me. And if I have anything worth leaving behind, I want it to point someone else toward Him.

The old Ars Moriendi asked an important question: How should a Christian face the final hour?

The New Testament gives us an even larger question: How should a Christian live now, die in Christ, and wait for the resurrection?

That changes the art of dying into an art of living ready.

Prepare now. Know the Gospel now. Forgive now. Love people now. Tell your family what matters now. Learn the promises of Scripture now. Serve people who are sick and dying now.

Then, when the final hour comes, we will not be asked to invent a new faith for a new situation.

We will be doing what Christians have been learning to do all along: trusting Jesus.

The Christian does not prepare to die by learning how to make one final heroic act of faith. He prepares by spending a lifetime learning to trust the Savior who has already done everything necessary to bring him home.

Do not wait for a diagnosis to think about how you want to finish.

Ask yourself what death would expose if it came sooner than expected. Is there a relationship you need to address? Someone you need to forgive? Someone who needs to hear that you love them? Does your family know where your hope rests?

And if someone near you is facing serious illness, do not assume someone else will show up.

Call. Visit. Listen. Pray. Stay.

The art of dying well begins long before the deathbed.