The greatest of all human mysteries is death. Its sphinx-like profile casts a mysterious shadow upon the light of our progress. It becomes a riddle even to us today because, we, too, are unable to comprehend it. There is very little we can document about death. We do know that death is the unwelcome stranger who comes without invitation. This dark angel is no respector of age and social status. The rich and young die alike. Alexander and Jesus died at age thirty-three; Keats succumbed at twenty-six; Kennedy was assassinated at forty-six.

Death is a paradox. We know biologically that we are going to run out of plasma and protoplasm. Yet when death finally comes we are shocked ... frozen ... numb. Often, in our emotional mixture of anger and helplessness, we lash out at God. "He does not care…