‘Everything Is Ready Now’: A Near-Death Experience

‘Everything Is Ready Now’: A Near-Death Experience by RICHARD JOHN NEUHAUS April 4, 2015 [America's Pre-Eminent Lutheran Theologian And Convert To Catholicism Writes...]

NOTE: The following piece is excerpted from an essay, “Born Toward Dying,” that originally appeared in the February 2000 issue of First Things and became the basis for the book As I Lay Dying: Meditations upon Returning.

The operation took several hours and was an unspeakable mess. The tumor had expanded to rupture the intestine; blood, fecal matter, and guts all over the place. My stomach was sliced open from the rib cage down to the pubic area, then another slice five inches to the left from the navel for a temporary colostomy. I’ve noticed that in such cases the doctors always seem to say that the tumor was “as big as a grapefruit,” but my surgeon insists the blackish gray glob was the size of “a big apple.”

After they had sewed me up, the hemorrhaging began, they knew not from where. Blood pressure collapsed and other vital signs began to fade. What to do? The surgeon advised my friend to call the immediate family and let them know I would likely not make it through the night. The doctors debated. To open me up all over again might kill me.

On the other hand, if they didn’t find and stop the hemorrhaging I was surely dead. Of course they went in again. The source of the effusion of blood was the spleen, “nicked,” as the surgeon said, in the ghastliness of the first surgery.

Given the circumstances, I’m surprised that parts more vital were not nicked. The spleen removed and the blood flow stanched, they sewed me up again and waited to see if I would live. The particulars of that night, of course, I was told after the event. “It was an interesting case,” one doctor opined in a friendly manner. “It was as though you had been hit twice by a Mack truck going sixty miles an hour. I didn’t think you’d survive.”

My first clear memory is of the next morning, I don’t know what time. I am surrounded by doctors and technicians talking in a worried tone about why I am not coming to. I heard everything that was said and desperately wanted to respond, but I was locked into absolute immobility, incapable of moving an eyelash or twitching a toe.

The sensation was that of being encased in marble; pink marble, I thought, such as is used for gravestones. The surgeon repeatedly urged me to move my thumb, but it was impossible. Then I heard, “The Cardinal is here.” It was my bishop, John Cardinal O’Connor. He spoke directly into my right ear, repeatedly calling my name. Then, “Richard, wriggle your nose.” It was a plea and a command, and I wanted to do it more urgently than anything I have ever wanted to do in my life.

The trying, the sheer exercise of will to wriggle my nose, seemed to go on and on, and then I felt a twinge, no more than a fraction of a millimeter, and the Cardinal said, “He did it! He did it!” “I didn’t see anything,” said the surgeon. So I tried again, and I did it again, and everybody saw it, and the Cardinal and the doctors and the technicians all began to exclaim what a wonderful thing it was, as though one had risen from the dead.

The days in the intensive care unit was an experience familiar to anyone who has ever been there. I had never been there before, except to visit others, and that is nothing like being there. I was struck by my disposition of utter passivity. There was absolutely nothing I could do or wanted to do, except to lie there and let them do whatever they do in such a place. Indifferent to time, I neither knew nor cared whether it was night or day.

I recall counting sixteen different tubes and other things plugged into my body before I stopped counting. From time to time, it seemed several times an hour but surely could not have been, a strange young woman with a brown wool hat and heavy gold necklace would come by and whisper, “I want blood.” She stuck in a needle and took blood, smiling mysteriously all the time. She could have said she wanted to cut off my right leg and I would probably have raised no objection. So busy was I with just being there, with one thought that was my one and every thought: “I almost died.”

Astonishment and passivity were strangely mixed. I confess to having thought of myself as a person very much in charge. Friends, meaning, I trust, no unkindness, had sometimes described me as a control freak. Now there was nothing to be done, nothing that I could do, except be there.

Here comes a most curious part of the story, and readers may make of it what they will. Much has been written on “near death” experiences. I had always been skeptical of such tales. I am much less so now.

I am inclined to think of it as a “near life” experience, and it happened this way. It was a couple of days after leaving intensive care, and it was night. I could hear patients in adjoining rooms moaning and mumbling and occasionally calling out; the surrounding medical machines were pumping and sucking and bleeping as usual. Then, all of a sudden, I was jerked into an utterly lucid state of awareness.

I was sitting up in the bed staring intently into the darkness, although in fact I knew my body was lying flat. What I was staring at was a color like blue and purple, and vaguely in the form of hanging drapery. By the drapery were two “presences.” I saw them and yet did not see them, and I cannot explain that. But they were there, and I knew that I was not tied to the bed. I was able and prepared to get up and go somewhere. And then the presences — one or both of them, I do not know — spoke. This I heard clearly.

Not in an ordinary way, for I cannot remember anything about the voice. But the message was beyond mistaking: “Everything is ready now.” That was it. They waited for a while, maybe for a minute. Whether they were waiting for a response or just waiting to see whether I had received the message, I don’t know. “Everything is ready now.” It was not in the form of a command, nor was it an invitation to do anything. They were just letting me know. Then they were gone, and I was again flat on my back with my mind racing wildly. I had an iron resolve to determine right then and there what had happened.

Had I been dreaming? In no way. I was then and was now as lucid and wide awake as I had ever been in my life. Tell me that I was dreaming and you might as well tell me that I was dreaming that I wrote the sentence before this one. Testing my awareness, I pinched myself hard, and ran through the multiplication tables, and recalled the birth dates of my seven brothers and sisters, and my wits were vibrantly about me. The whole thing had lasted three or four minutes, maybe less. I resolved at that moment that I would never, never let anything dissuade me from the reality of what had happened.

Knowing myself, I expected I would later be inclined to doubt it. It was an experience as real, as powerfully confirmed by the senses, as anything I have ever known. That was some seven years ago. Since then I have not had a moment in which I was seriously tempted to think it did not happen. It happened — as surely, as simply, as undeniably as it happened that I tied my shoelaces this morning. I could as well deny the one as deny the other, and were I to deny either I would surely be mad. “Everything is ready now.” I would be thinking about that incessantly during the months of convalescence. My theological mind would immediately go to work on it.

They were angels, of course. Angelos simply means “messenger.” There were no white robes or wings or anything of that sort. As I said, I did not see them in any ordinary sense. But there was a message; therefore there were messengers. Clearly, the message was that I could go somewhere with them. Not that I must go or should go, but simply that they were ready if I was. Go where? To God, or so it seemed. I understood that they were ready to get me ready to see God.

It was obvious enough to me that I was not prepared, in my present physical and spiritual condition, for the beatific vision, for seeing God face to face. They were ready to get me ready. This comports with the doctrine of purgatory, that there is a process of purging and preparation to get us ready to meet God. I should say that their presence was entirely friendly. There was nothing sweet or cloying, and there was no urgency about it. It was as though they just wanted to let me know.

The decision was mine as to when or whether I would take them up on the offer. — Richard John Neuhaus was the editor-in-chief of First Things. This excerpt from “Born Toward Dying” is reprinted with permission.

Read more at: http://www.nationalreview.com/article/416438/everything-ready-now-near-death-experience-richard-john-neuhaus

Thank you Mrs. Don-O for sharing an excellent experience.

I had to laugh as your sharing hit home for me. The Lord works in mysterious ways!!! Sometimes I even wonder if He is a bit sadistic!!

I’ve often referred to my ex-wife as the “Ex-wife from hell.” I swear she has a pin cushion doll with my name on it, made in my image that she gains pleasure skewering. She left me, but took with her huge quantities of anger that are still pointed my direction.

The irony in your comments; “Forgive your DeeDee’s.” That’s my ex-wife’s name!!! It’s a message I keep getting in my prayers. Now He’s even communicating through you. LOL...

Thank you.... and most of all, Thank God.

“And if Satan does exist then God must also exist.”

“I think that’s absolutely true.”

I agree... But God is in control and uses satan for a purpose. I a recent meditation, I prayed and asked why an individual was constantly attacking me.

The vision I had in response to the question was an aircraft carrier turning into the wind so the planes could take off. The message was that it was the resistance of the wind that allowed the planes to climb higher and faster. It is the same for our souls on our journey. Without satan, we would be much less likely to look toward God for help.

Thank you for sharing your story, I guess it is time I shared mine.

In 1984 our 18 year old son was broadsided at an intersection and killed instantly. I am sitting in the church waiting for his funeral to begin. I feel a scream welling up inside me as I try to fully comprehend what is going on.

I had been to a funeral a few months ago where a young woman did scream at her fathers funeral and I didn’t want to do that.

I prayed to God to please give me the strength to endure what was before me. Suddenly I felt something brush my head and then my shoulders and my entire body. I felt as if I was wrapped in a down comforter.

I sat quietly and heard nothing and felt nothing, this detached feeling stayed with me for several weeks. My calm demeanor prompted some to say they were surprised that I was able to handle this tragedy so quietly.

Eventually I came out of this state and when i read The Book of Job I realized that this is what was described there.

Happy Easter to you all and He is Risen!

Thank you for sharing your story, I guess it is time I shared mine.

I had been to a funeral a few months ago where a young woman did scream at her fathers funeral and I didn’t want to do that.

Eventually I came out of this state and when i read The Book of Job I realized that this is what was described there.

Happy Easter to you all and He is Risen!

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