A Lenten Reflection on Shuffling Off This Mortal Coil
In Preparation for Holy Week
“To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.” - Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1
Thank you for taking the time to reflect with me today. Our theme is one of weight and wonder, as we consider Shakespeare’s hauntingly beautiful line: “when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.” Spoken by Prince Hamlet in one of literature’s most famous soliloquies, these words wrestle with the deep, aching mystery of death - what lies beyond it, and what it means to live in light of that knowledge.
In these few lines, Shakespeare gives us language for what the Apostle Paul describes in far more certain terms. Where Hamlet peers into the darkness with anxiety and doubt, the Christian gazes into eternity with faith and hope. Hamlet’s “mortal coil” captures the tangled, noisy, burdened complexity of human life - a life weighed down by sorrow, sin, and suffering. But Paul writes, “we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8). For the Christian, death is no longer the terrifying unknown. It’s sleep before waking. It’s the shedding of perishable garments and the receiving of immortality (1 Corinthians 15:53).
The Longing to Be Unburdened
There’s a yearning in every human heart to be released from the “coil” - from this life’s pain, confusion, and limitation. Hamlet’s dread lies not only in death itself, but in the uncertainty of what dreams may come. For him, sleep may bring nightmares. But for those in Christ, we don’t fear that eternal dream. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Psalm 116:15). The Christian hope isn’t a vague afterlife, but union with Christ in glory, where we shall see him as he is (1 John 3:2).
The early Methodists, following the lead of the ancient Church, viewed death not as a defeat but as a passage. John Wesley wrote of the “happy deaths” of believers, describing them as moments of peace, praise, and victory. The veil thins. The shepherd leads his sheep home. The final breath is but the first note in a new song of everlasting joy.
From Mortal Coil to Immortal Crown
Yet we aren’t called to escape this life prematurely, nor to scorn it. The mortal coil, tangled and wearisome though it may be, is still part of God’s good creation. Ecclesiastes reminds us that God “has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart…” (Ecclesiastes 3:11). That yearning for the eternal isn’t meant to make us despise time, but to redeem it. The Christian is one who walks through this world with eternity written on their soul and heaven in their gaze.
Gerard Manley Hopkins called the world “charged with the grandeur of God,” even when it is “bleared, smeared with toil.” Beauty is here, if only in glimpses - a Rembrandt brushstroke, a Thomas Cole horizon, a Herbert verse, a child’s laughter. We don’t dismiss this mortal life, but hold it loosely, knowing we were made for more. The Imago Dei within us longs to be restored, unveiled, glorified.
A Hope That Gives Us Pause - and Peace
Hamlet’s pause is driven by fear - what if death holds more terror than life? But for us, the pause is one of peace. “To depart and be with Christ… is far better” (Philippians 1:23). Our lives, for all their complexity, are held in the hand of the One who conquered the grave. We don’t dream alone in death. We’re kept. We’re known. We’re loved.
It was Augustine who said, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our heart is restless until it rests in Thee.” That restlessness is the mortal coil. That rest is Christ. And to shuffle off this coil, for the believer, isn’t to step into a shadowy unknown, but into the brilliant, burning presence of divine love. It’s the beatific vision - to see the beauty of the Lord and dwell in his house forever (Psalm 27:4).
This Is Our Sure Hope
As shepherds of God’s people, we don’t offer glib answers or shallow comfort. Death is the last enemy (1 Corinthians 15:26). But it’s been defeated. Christ is risen, and in him we, too, shall rise. The mortal shall put on immortality. The tangled thread shall be unwound. The sigh shall become a song.
George Herbert, in his poem The Pulley, imagined God pouring out all his blessings on man - strength, wisdom, beauty, and honor - but holding back rest. Why? “For if I should (said he) / Bestow this jewel also on My creature, / He would adore My gifts instead of Me, / And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: / So both should losers be.” The longing for rest - that desire to shuffle off this coil - is a gift, meant to lead us not to despair, but to God. May it be so, for you and for me. Thanks be to God.
Thank you for joining me today to reflect on these deep and sacred truths. My hope is that you were encouraged and blessed as we considered the beautiful promise of what lies beyond this mortal life. As we approach Holy Week and Easter, we’re reminded that Jesus himself walked through the full weight of this mortal coil. He took on our suffering, bore our sin, and entered death not as a prisoner, but as a Redeemer. In Christ’s crucifixion, we see the mortal coil wrapped tightly around him - and in his resurrection, we witness it forever undone. The grave could not hold him, and because of that, it will not hold us.
This is the hope that gives us pause - not out of fear, but in reverent awe. Jesus’ death transforms our dying into rest, and his rising transforms our dreams into glory. Easter isn’t merely the celebration of an historical event; it’s the anchor of our future. Christ has conquered death, and because he lives, we too shall live. May this Holy Week draw your heart nearer to the cross, and may Resurrection Sunday fill you with unshakable joy.
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Deo Gratias