Lesson 163 from A Course in Miracles offers a declaration that pulls us out of fear and into remembrance:
There is no death. The Son of God is free.
The Bible offers glimpses of this same idea across centuries of longing, struggle, and revelation. We don’t need to scan its pages for proof texts—we enter its story to see how the thread of life keeps rising, even in the middle of pain, even where death seems to speak the loudest.
Psalm 118 speaks from the other side of threat. The line “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord” follows affliction, not comfort. The speaker reclaims his life as a vessel for truth, not a prize for endurance. In the context of Lesson 163, this marks a turning point—not from death to survival, but from survival to remembrance. Life is no longer something to cling to. It becomes something to give. The Course joins this turning point. Freedom is no longer about escaping death—it becomes the recognition that life was never held hostage. Remembering who we are shifts our attention from self-preservation to offering what lives in us fully.
In Ecclesiastes, the writer sits with the contradictions of time—birth and death, planting and uprooting. Yet woven into this cycle is a line that slows us down: “He has set eternity in the human heart.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11.) Even in a world of decay, there is a memory of continuity. We are built with a longing for what doesn’t change. The Course doesn’t explain this longing—it calls us back to it.
Isaiah lifts his eyes from human sorrow to a larger promise: “He will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces.” (Isaiah 25:8.) Isaiah’s promise speaks to a future held securely in divine care. Isaiah’s words look beyond sorrow without bypassing it. His vision places death within a larger arc—one shaped by healing and return, not finality. In Isaiah’s vision, death is something God absorbs—not a power to be feared, but a veil to be lifted. What follows is a picture of restoration. Isaiah doesn’t dismiss sorrow—he places it within a future where God draws near, not only to console but to renew. The Course speaks of that same undoing—not of the body, but of the thought system that taught us to fear.
Job’s cry reaches deeper than argument. “I know that my Redeemer lives . . . and after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.” (Job 19:25–26.) Job doesn’t outline when or how. What he offers is a firm trust that nothing can interrupt the bond between him and his Redeemer. The connection between Job and God holds firm, even when everything else falls away. The Course carries this same thread, teaching that what comes from God cannot be undone, and what does not come from God holds no lasting power.
Psalm 16 moves gently: “You will not abandon me to the realm of the dead . . . You make known to me the path of life.” (Psalm 16:10–11.) The verse speaks in the present. The walk with God is already unfolding—it doesn’t wait on a future event, and it doesn’t pause at the edge of death. The psalmist trusts that the presence guiding him through his days won’t disappear when the lights go out. The trust described in Psalm 16 rests not on circumstance, but on a sense of God’s nearness—one that holds steady in life and beyond it.
Then there’s the moment at Lazarus’s tomb. Jesus turns to Martha and says, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.” (John 11:25–26.) Jesus speaks these words to Martha in the middle of her grief over her brother’s death. This moment hinges on a personal declaration. Jesus speaks directly to Martha about who he is and what that means for those who trust him, even in the face of death. In the context of Lesson 163, this moment reflects a shift away from death as the final word, toward life as something already present and active. This encounter echoes the core of Lesson 163. It draws attention to the idea that life, as understood in the Course, does not begin or end with the body, but remains rooted in something constant and unshaken by death. In the context of Lesson 163, this moment echoes the idea that true life is not interrupted by death, and that belief reconnects us with what cannot be lost. The Course invites the same step—not into explanation, but into recognition. The grave doesn’t own the story. Love does.
Jesus says elsewhere, “Whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life . . . has crossed over from death to life.” (John 5:24.) Eternal life, as described in both the Gospel and the Course, is active now—not something that follows later. The movement from death to life is already underway in those who receive and remember the truth being offered. There’s a movement that happens within, the moment we remember the Source we came from. The Course calls this the undoing of death—beginning in the mind, not the body.
In the Gospel of John, another familiar verse speaks simply: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16.) The movement of God is toward restoration. Toward union. The Course shares that rhythm. Eternal life isn’t earned. It’s remembered.
Paul echoes this in Romans: “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23.) Sin, in Course terms, is a mistaken belief in separation. Death follows naturally from that idea. But the gift waits patiently for us to accept what was never withheld.
Finally, in the letters of John: “God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life.” (1 John 5:11–12.) The Son, in the Course, is not a single person—it’s the shared identity of all who remember their origin in God. Life is not separate from that identity. It flows from it.
Taken together, these passages reflect the heart of Lesson 163. They bear witness to the same truth expressed across different voices—that life as given by God does not end, and what is rooted in Him remains whole. The Bible and the Course both invite a shift in perception. They acknowledge how death appears, but direct the mind toward what continues beyond it. What seemed like an ending becomes a threshold. The mind that returns to its Source discovers that life was never lost—only misperceived.
