Deathbed Experiences

David Nelson, a physician of the nineteenth century, ultimately became a Christian partly because of the experiences he had at the bedside of many of his patients just before the time of their death. He wrote:

First, I have known those--the cases are not unfrequent--who were brave, who had stood unflinching in battle's whirlpool. They had resolved never to disgrace their system of unbelief by a trembling death. They had called to Christians in the tone of resolve, saying, "I can die as coolly as you can." I had seen those die from whom entire firmness might fairly be expected. I had heard groans, even if the teeth were clenched for fear of complaint, such as I never wish to hear again; and I had looked into countenances, such as I hope never to see again.Again, I had seen cowards die. I had seen those depart who were naturally timid, who expected themselves to meet death with fright and alarm. I had heard such, as it were, sing before Jordan was half forded. I had seen faces where, palled as they were, I beheld more celestial triumph than I had ever witnessed anywhere else. In that voice there was a sweetness, and in that eye there was a glory, which I never could have fancied in the death-spasms, if I had not been near.¹

According to Nelson, when about to die, some of his patients would call out, "Catch me, I am sinking; hold me, I am falling," while others would say, "Do you hear that music? Oh, were ever notes so celestial!"²
John Wesley heard what he thought was the music of angels when he was at the bedside of a dying young woman:

I firmly believed that young woman would die in peace; though I did not apprehend it would be so soon. We have had several instances of music heard before or at the death of those that die in the Lord. May we conceive that this is, literally, the music of angels? Can that be heard by ears of flesh and blood?³

Eleven days after John Wesley wrote these things in a letter to his brother Charles, he made some additional comments, apparently in response to a letter from him about it:

I cannot apprehend that such music has any analogy at all to the inward voice of God. I take it to differ from this toto genre, and to be rather the effect of an angel affecting the auditory nerves, as an apparition does the optic nerve, or retina.⁴

Angelic music is only one manifestation of the heavenly bliss that awaits those who die in the Lord. Consider, for example, the following words spoken by John Payson at the time of his death:

"Christ died for me. I am mounting up to the throne of God!" Then breaking forth in rapturous strains of praise, he said: "I know I am dying, but my death-bed is a bed of roses; I have no thorns planted on my dying pillow. Heaven already is begun. I die a safe, easy, happy death. Thou, my God, art present, I know, I feel Thou art. Precious Jesus! Glory to God!"⁵

At the same time, those who die apart from Christ die in anguish. The death of the infidel, Thomas Paine, was as follows:

He would call out during his paroxysms of distress, "O Lord, help me! God, help me! Jesus Christ, help me!" repeating the same expressions without the least variations, in a tone that would alarm the house. "I would give worlds if I had them," he cried, "that The Age of Reason had never been published."⁶

The death of David Hume was similar to Paine's, contrary to popular belief. Robert Haldane had a neighbor, Mr. Abercromby of Lullibody, who, in the autumn, of 1776, was travelling in a stage-coach to Haddington. One of the topics of conversation was the recent death of David Hume. Mr. Abercromby's son-in-law, Colonel Edmonstone of Newton, had been one of Hume's intimate friends, and had said that Hume had died in an atmosphere of buoyant cheerfulness. Alexander Haldane writes:

Whilst the conversation was running on in this strain, a respectable-looking female dressed in black, who made a fourth in the coach, begged permission to offer a remark. "Gentlemen," she said, "I attended Mr. Hume on his deathbed, but I can assure you I hope never again to attend the death-bed of a philosopher." They then cross-examined her as to her meaning, and she told them, that when his friends were with him, Mr. Hume was cheerful even to frivolity, but that when alone he was often overwhelmed with unutterable gloom, and had, in his hours of depression, declared that he had been in search of light all his life, but was now in greater darkness than ever. The anecdote has been told by those who probably had it from some of the other travellers. Mr. Haldane's version is substantially the same, and Mrs. Joass often repeated the circumstances as related by her venerable father.⁷

Similar statements, all contrary to popular belief, have also been made with respect to the death of Voltaire and other well- known infidels.⁸
In his book, Life After Life, Dr. Raymond Moody wrote that, in the experiences of those who were dying, there was never any reference to heaven or to hell. There was always a sense of universal forgiveness, acceptance, ecstasy, and peace. There was never any judgement when the sins of the individual were made manifest. Stephen Board has taken issue with this observation, expressing his belief that the benevolent beam of light described by Dr. Moody reveals an air of moral tolerance and the philosophy of "I'm okay, you're okay."⁹
Maurice S. Rawlings, a cardiologist at the Diagnostic Center in Chattanooga, Tennessee, came to faith in Christ as a result of an experience with a dying patient who kept screaming, "I am in hell!" Rawlings wrote:

The patient began "coming to." But whenever I would reach for instruments or otherwise interrupt my compression of his chest, the patient would again lose consciousness, roll his eyes upward, arch his back in mild convulsion, stop breathing, and die once more.Each time he regained heartbeat and respiration, the patient screamed, "I am in hell!" He was terrified and pleaded with me to help him. I was scared to death. In fact, the episode literally scared the hell out of me! It terrified me enough to write this book. . . .
He said, "Don't you understand? I am in hell. Each time you quit I go back to hell! Don't let me go back to hell! . . .
As a result, I started working feverishly and rapidly. By this time the patient had experienced three or four episodes of complete unconsciousness and clinical death from cessation of both heartbeat and breathing.
After several death episodes he finally asked me, "How do I stay out of hell?" I told him I guessed it was the same principle learned in Sunday school--that I guessed Jesus Christ would be the one whom you would ask to save you.
Then he said, "I don't know how. Pray for me."
Pray for him! What nerve! I told him I was a doctor, not a preacher.
"Pray for me!" he repeated.
I knew I had no choice: It was a dying man's request. So I had him repeat the words after me as we worked--right there on the floor. It was a very simple prayer because I did not know much about praying. It went something like this:

Lord Jesus, I ask you to keep me out of hell. Forgive my sins. I turn my life over to you. If I die, I want to go to heaven. If I live, I'll be "on the hook" forever.

The patient's condition finally stabilized, and he was transported to a hospital. I went home, dusted off the Bible, and started reading it.¹⁰

A few days later, Dr. Rawlings approached his patient with pad and pencil in hand for an interview. When he asked him about his experiences in hell, the patient did not recall these experiences, and could not remember being in hell. However, after he recovered, he became a strong Christian, whereas previously, he had gone to church only occasionally. He did remember the prayer they had said together, then losing consciousness once or twice after that. Although he did not recall the experiences in hell, he did recall standing in the back of the room, watching the medical team working on his body on the floor. He also remembered meeting both his mother and stepmother in one of the death episodes that took place after praying with the doctor. Rawlings wrote:

The meeting place was a gorge full of beautiful colors. He also saw other relatives who had died before. This experience was very pleasurable, occurring in a narrow valley with very lush vegetation and brilliant illumination by a huge beam of light. He "saw" his mother for the first time. She had died at age twenty- one when he was fifteen months old, and his father had soon remarried. This man had never even seen a picture of his real mother, and yet he was able to pick her picture out of several others a few weeks later when his mother's sister, after hearing of his experience, produced some family pictures for identification. There was not mistake. . . . He was astounded and so was his father.¹¹

Rawlings points out that cases of this kind may explain why many researchers only find "good cases" during the course of their research. If patient interviews are delayed, it may allow time for any good experiences to be mentally retained and all bad experiences to be obliterated from recall. To get dependable results, it will be necessary to interview patients immediately after their resuscitation from clinical death, rather than a few days later, as is now normally done by most researchers into such phenomena.

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1 David Nelson, The Cause and Cure of Infidelity (New York: American Tract Society, 1841), p. 307.
2 Ibid., p. 312.
3 John Wesley to Charles Wesley, London, October 20, 1753.
4 John Wesley to Charles Wesley, London, October 31, 1753.
5 Quoted by Oswald J. Smith, The Battle for Truth, 6th ed. (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1962), p. 38.
6 Ibid., p. 35.
7 Alexander Haldane, Memoirs of the Lives of Robert Haldane of Airthrey, and of His Brother, James Alexander Haldane (London: Hamilton, Adams, and Co., 1852), p. 581.
8 Oswald J. Smith, pp. 35-38.
9 Stephen Board, "Light at the End of the Tunnel," Eternity, July 1977, pp. 13-17.
10 Maurice Rawlings, Beyond Death's Door (New York: Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1978), pp. 18-20.
11 Ibid., pp. 22-23.


Op Noah- I believe this is an old tract which I ran across on the web. Reminds me of a book at an old couples guest bed room nightstand. The two different times I have stayed the night there I would turn over its pages and ponder eternity.