I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. Probably because the anniversary of my late wife’s passing is coming up in a few days. I remember the feeling of those final hours. People tell me those feelings get stuck in the body and that’s why certain emotions and pains show up this time of the year. The body keeps the score, they say, but I can’t always tell if I’m losing or winning.
The major lesson from watching someone die is the impotence of the situation. I had the same feeling seeing the gruesome video of Charlie Kirk’s death as I did in watching my late wife breathe her last gasps of air in the little side bedroom that is now a storage area for The Portico equipment.
I felt helpless.
There was nothing I could do to change the situation. There was the common checklist that pops up in mind after the fact, and it usually starts with, “What if I had….?” Regrets are to be expected. They are a normal part of taking inventory of all the possible options that might have helped keep death at bay. But bottom line, death only answers to One Voice. The same voice that said, “It is finished,” is the same Word that left death in place so that all of humanity takes its turn as it is ushered into another realm. Death is the great equalizer. It overlooks no one. There are no DEI guidelines in death. Economic status doesn’t matter. Race or gender doesn’t matter. Death is no respecter of persons. And while that sounds morbid, the irony of it; it is morbid. Death is fascinatingly unpreventable. There is no other way to look at it.
This is the conclusion I have come to. What value do I gain by being afraid of death? Why fear the inevitable? Fear has one effect on the human soul, and that one effect will rob me of the life that I have left. And I’ll be damned if I miss out on anything because I chose to let fear dictate how I view the here and now. I now stand at concerts and dance in the aisle while others stay seated.
I’ve experienced a dark season of depression where the idea of death seemed more favorable than continuing to stay alive. I’m glad to say I am no longer in that state of mind. But I understand what it means to be depressed and it gives me compassion for those who feel stuck there.
Death is one realm in which science cannot help us understand it. Science needs data and research, all of which we have none. Science can’t tell us what it’s like to cross over and leave our bodies and loved ones behind. Science believes in what it can measure and test. Death laughs at that parameter and says, good luck trying to figure me out.
To understand death, we need to look to Faith for help.
Faith as it is defined, “to be sure of what we hope for and certain of what we can’t see.” The eyes of science can’t see what Faith can. Take religion out of it. Reduce Faith to what it takes to explore the unknown. It takes Faith to trust there is something out there that can’t be understood scientifically. Science helps us make sense of a number of ideas and leads to new discoveries daily. But even science hasn’t followed a dying body into the grave and came back a year later with definitive research findings and a thesis paper to back it up.
Where did we get the idea that dying takes us to a better place? How often is it said at a funeral, “she’s in a better place now.” I would argue that it is Faith who takes us there.
Coming to terms with death gives me permission to be fully present in the moment. I got to savor every minute of Wedding Week for my daughter as I cooked her rehearsal dinner for 60 and officiated the ceremony this month. I celebrate the completion of another season of The Portico Experience as it continues to take on a life of its own. I am writing again, making music again and even in a relationship again.
My daughter had a theme for her wedding that is meaningful to both of us. She peppered the decor with this statement, “The Best is Yet to Come.” I affirmed that statement in the ceremony by proclaiming the power of Hope. Like Faith, Hope is understood outside of the circumstances of the present moment. How can the best be yet to come when your mom dies and isn’t here to be a part of it?
But if Hope is true, Hope will always do her best work in the future. Hope isn’t like an Olympic athlete who ran her world record in her 20s and will never surpass that personal best. If Hope isn’t for the future, then Hope ceases to be.
And without Hope, what’s left?
