The Messengers of Death

Long ago, there lived a young man who was blessed with exceptional health, strength, and vitality. His name was Hans, and he was the envy of everyone in his village because of his robust constitution and seemingly boundless energy. While others fell ill with the common ailments that plagued most people, Hans remained perfectly healthy year after year. While others grew tired from their daily labors, Hans could work from dawn to dusk without showing any signs of fatigue.

Hans was proud of his good health, perhaps too proud. He often boasted to his friends and neighbors about his strength and endurance, and he had a tendency to look down upon those who suffered from illnesses or physical weaknesses. In his arrogance, he began to believe that he was somehow immune to the problems that affected ordinary mortals, and he lived his life as if he would remain young and healthy forever.

One day, as Hans was walking through a dense forest on his way to the next town to conduct some business, he encountered a strange figure on the path ahead of him. The figure was tall and imposing, dressed in a long, dark cloak that seemed to absorb the light around it. The stranger’s face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but something about his presence made Hans feel an unusual chill run down his spine.

Despite his momentary unease, Hans was not one to be easily intimidated. He was accustomed to being the strongest and most confident person in any situation, and he approached the mysterious stranger without hesitation.

“Good day to you, traveler,” Hans called out in his characteristically bold voice. “You’re blocking the path. I have important business to attend to, so I’ll thank you to step aside.”

The hooded figure turned slowly to face Hans, and although his features remained hidden in shadow, his voice carried a weight and authority that seemed to echo from the depths of eternity itself.

“Young man,” the stranger said in a voice like autumn wind through dry leaves, “do you know who I am?”

Hans shrugged dismissively. “I neither know nor care who you are,” he replied with characteristic arrogance. “I only know that you’re in my way, and I’m not accustomed to being delayed by anyone.”

The stranger seemed amused by Hans’s boldness. “I am Death,” he said simply, “and I have come to meet you because our paths will cross again someday. However, that day is not today.”

Hans felt a moment of shock at this revelation, but his pride quickly overcame his fear. “Death?” he scoffed. “Well, you can save yourself a trip. I’m not like other people—I’m strong and healthy, and I plan to remain that way for a very long time. You’ll have no business with me for many years to come.”

Death tilted his hooded head slightly, as if considering Hans’s words with interest. “Is that so?” he asked. “And what makes you so confident that you can avoid me indefinitely?”

“Look at me,” Hans said, flexing his powerful arms and puffing out his chest. “I’ve never been sick a day in my life. While others waste away with fevers and aches, I remain strong. While others grow weak and frail, I continue to grow stronger. I have nothing to fear from you.”

Death was silent for a long moment, and Hans thought he could detect the faintest hint of amusement in the shadowy depths of the stranger’s hood.

“Very well,” Death said finally. “Since you are so confident in your ability to resist me, I will make you a promise. I will not come for you suddenly or without warning. Instead, I will send my messengers to you first, so that you will have ample time to prepare for our final meeting.”

Hans laughed heartily at this proposition. “Messengers?” he said. “What kind of messengers could possibly worry me? Send whoever you like—I’ll be ready for them all.”

“We shall see,” Death replied mysteriously. “But remember this, young man: when my messengers have finished their work and you have received their warnings, I will come for you personally. And when that time arrives, there will be no more delays and no more chances.”

With these words, Death stepped aside to allow Hans to pass, and as the young man strode confidently down the path, he felt quite pleased with himself for having faced down such a fearsome adversary without showing any fear.

Years passed, and Hans continued to live his life with the same arrogance and confidence he had always displayed. He worked hard, played hard, and enjoyed all the pleasures that life had to offer. He ate rich foods, drank strong wine, stayed up late celebrating with friends, and generally lived as if there were no consequences for his actions.

For a while, it seemed as if Hans’s confidence was justified. He remained healthy and strong while many of his contemporaries began to show signs of aging and wear. He congratulated himself on his superior constitution and continued to believe that he was somehow special, somehow exempt from the ordinary rules that governed other people’s lives.

But then, gradually and almost imperceptibly at first, things began to change. The first sign was so subtle that Hans barely noticed it: he began to experience occasional headaches after particularly strenuous days. At first, he dismissed these as temporary annoyances caused by working too hard or drinking too much wine the night before.

“A little headache never hurt anyone,” he told himself, rubbing his temples after a long day of heavy labor. “It’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

But the headaches became more frequent and more severe, sometimes lasting for days at a time and making it difficult for Hans to concentrate on his work or enjoy his social activities. Still, he refused to acknowledge that these might be the messengers that Death had warned him about. Instead, he blamed his discomfort on external factors: the weather, stress from his business dealings, or the poor quality of the local wine.

Next came problems with his digestion. Foods that he had always enjoyed began to cause him discomfort, and he found himself suffering from stomach pains and nausea after eating meals that would have previously caused him no trouble at all. His appetite decreased, and he began to lose some of the weight and muscle mass that had always been a source of pride for him.

“It’s probably just something I ate,” Hans reasoned, even as the digestive problems persisted for weeks and then months. “Or perhaps the local food isn’t as fresh as it used to be. This will pass soon enough.”

But it didn’t pass. Instead, new problems began to appear with alarming regularity. Hans developed a persistent cough that left him breathless after physical exertion. His joints began to ache, especially in cold or damp weather. His vision became less sharp, forcing him to squint when trying to read or examine objects closely. His hearing became less acute, and he often found himself asking people to repeat what they had said.

Each time a new symptom appeared, Hans found elaborate explanations for it that had nothing to do with his overall health or well-being. The cough was caused by dust in the air. The joint pain was the result of old injuries from his youth. The vision problems were due to poor lighting. The hearing difficulties were caused by too much noise in his work environment.

As the months turned into years, Hans’s collection of ailments continued to grow. He developed problems sleeping, often lying awake for hours with his mind racing and his body uncomfortable. His memory became less reliable, and he sometimes forgot important appointments or misplaced valuable items. His energy levels decreased dramatically, and tasks that had once been easy for him now left him exhausted.

Through all of this, Hans maintained his stubborn refusal to acknowledge what was really happening to him. He continued to insist that each symptom was temporary and unrelated to the others, and he clung desperately to his belief that he was still the same strong, healthy man he had always been.

His friends and family members began to express concern about his declining health, but Hans dismissed their worries with the same arrogance he had always displayed.

“You’re all worrying about nothing,” he would tell them with forced cheerfulness. “I just need to get more rest, or eat better food, or find a different kind of work. These little problems will sort themselves out in time.”

But time was not on Hans’s side. As the years continued to pass, his health problems became impossible to ignore or explain away. His hair began to turn gray and then white. His face became lined with wrinkles. His back became stooped, and his gait became slow and uncertain. His hands developed tremors that made it difficult for him to perform delicate tasks.

Still, Hans refused to accept what should have been obvious to anyone observing his condition. He continued to make plans for the future as if he had unlimited time ahead of him, and he rejected any suggestion that he should begin to think about the end of his life or make appropriate preparations.

One morning, Hans woke up feeling more exhausted than usual. His breathing was labored, his vision was blurred, and his body felt weak and unsteady. But instead of recognizing these as serious warning signs, he simply assumed that he was having a particularly bad day and that he would feel better after a good breakfast and some fresh air.

As he struggled to get dressed and prepare for the day ahead, Hans heard a familiar voice calling to him from outside his cottage. He looked out the window and saw the same dark-cloaked figure he had encountered on the forest path so many years before.

“Good morning, Hans,” Death called in his eternally calm and patient voice. “It is time for us to meet again.”

Hans felt a surge of panic as the reality of his situation finally began to penetrate his stubborn denial. “Wait!” he called out, his voice weak and trembling. “You promised to send messengers first! You said you would give me warning before you came for me!”

Death’s response was gentle but implacable. “My dear Hans,” he said, “I have kept my promise exactly as I made it. I have been sending you messengers for years. Each headache was a messenger. Each digestive problem was a messenger. Your cough, your joint pain, your failing vision and hearing, your memory problems, your lack of energy—all of these were my messengers, come to warn you that our final meeting was approaching.”

Hans felt the weight of his own foolishness crushing down upon him like a heavy stone. “But I didn’t recognize them,” he whispered. “I thought they were just minor inconveniences. I thought I could overcome them with willpower and determination.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Death replied with something that might have been compassion in his voice. “You were so convinced of your own invincibility that you refused to see the obvious signs that your body was giving you. You explained away every warning, dismissed every symptom, and ignored every opportunity you were given to accept the reality of your mortality and prepare for this day.”

Hans sank down onto his bed, finally understanding the full extent of his mistake. “What if I had listened to your messengers?” he asked weakly. “What if I had acknowledged what they were trying to tell me?”

“Then you would have had time to set your affairs in order,” Death explained. “You could have made peace with the people you had wronged, expressed your love to those who mattered to you, and found comfort in accepting the natural cycle of life and death. You could have used your remaining years to live more thoughtfully and meaningfully, instead of continuing to pursue the same reckless pleasures that contributed to your decline.”

“And now?” Hans asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Now it is too late for preparations,” Death said simply. “Now you must come with me as you are, without having made any of the spiritual or practical arrangements that would have brought you peace and comfort in your final moments.”

As Hans rose unsteadily from his bed and walked toward the door, he reflected on all the opportunities he had missed and all the warnings he had ignored. He thought about the friends he had alienated with his arrogance, the family members he had neglected while pursuing his own pleasures, and the wisdom he had rejected in favor of his stubborn pride.

“I have been a fool,” he admitted to Death as they walked together into the morning mist. “I thought that being physically strong meant that I was invincible, but I was weak in all the ways that truly mattered.”

“Recognition of one’s foolishness is the beginning of wisdom,” Death replied kindly. “It is unfortunate that yours has come so late, but it is better than never achieving it at all.”

And so Hans learned, in his final moments, the lesson that he could have learned much earlier if he had been willing to listen to the gentle warnings that had been sent to him throughout his life. He learned that true strength lies not in denying our mortality, but in accepting it with grace and using our limited time wisely.

The story of Hans and the messengers of Death became a tale that was told throughout the countryside as a warning to others who might be tempted to ignore the signs of their own aging and decline. Parents told it to their children to teach them the importance of humility and self-awareness. Doctors told it to their patients to encourage them to take their symptoms seriously. Priests told it to their congregations to remind them of the importance of spiritual preparation.

The moral of this story is clear and important: life sends us many signals about our health, our mortality, and our need to prepare for the end of our earthly existence. These signals—illness, aging, fatigue, and other physical changes—are not our enemies to be fought or denied, but rather messengers to be acknowledged and heeded.

When we pay attention to these messengers and accept their warnings with humility and wisdom, we can use our remaining time to live more meaningfully, to repair damaged relationships, to express our love and gratitude, and to make peace with the reality of our own mortality.

But when we ignore these messengers out of pride, fear, or stubborn denial, we waste precious opportunities for growth, reconciliation, and preparation, leaving ourselves unprepared for the inevitable end that awaits us all.

The wisest approach to life is to remain always aware of our own mortality, not in a morbid or fearful way, but with the kind of healthy acceptance that allows us to make the most of every day we are given and to live with the kind of purpose and meaning that comes from knowing that our time is limited and therefore precious.