As indicated in my profile, and also in my be-it-resolved re-purposing article "Into my Room" (March 27, 2020) these blog posts are the thoughts of one who speaks his mind. They are not necessarily devotional, not necessarily comforting, not necessarily prophetic, humorous, analytical, nor entertaining. They may, however, be any one of these at any given time, if so dubbed by the reader. Strident, I think was the word. I would speak my mind, not only because I feel healthier giving expression - sometimes vent - to that which dwells in my inner being. I can even think of a Bible verse which would support that, For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of (Matt.12:34b). Also, nobody is paying me to be nice. 😌 I did not realize at that time that a further characterization might have been appropriate. This is one my wife and children already know about, but only recently becoming clear to me. Grumpy.
So during this pandemic, when everybody is retreating 'to their room' there is still much of the same old same old. Us being creatures of habit this becomes evident everywhere. Long-time old-time relationships continue in social distancing coffee shops (Timmies anybody?), or talks across the neighbor's fence or from two meter opposite side of the sidewalk greetings, or (Lord have mercy) Facebook posts. And also, yes also at virtual gatherings. All things are possible with technology (?). Yes, almost all things including impressive celebration of life gatherings - funerals we used to call them. Yes, the need to die has already been thought of and written about by yours truly (April 23). And yet, even as dying becomes more commonplace with a little help from Corona, avoidance seems still the mode operande.
What is it that resists our own mortality? This morning in his sermon our pastor told of a TikTok posting (another of those new social media things) he had seen of a twenty-something young lady who was mortified at her great grandmother's matter-of-fact statement at her 94th birthday celebration, "Thank you for the cake and the good wishes." said the elder lady, "I hope it's my last." I get similar responses to my occasional quip about hoping that I die before my wife, because she has better home management skills than I have. She would easily continue on the financial and legal matters, as well as ongoing cooking and family extravaganzas in our house, etc. Clearly it would be more convenient! It's a backhanded way of complimenting her I know, but the kids do not seem to appreciate it much. Perhaps I have inherited my dad's matter-of-fact approach to things. One day when I had stopped in for an overnighter at their house, he came shuffling to the breakfast table with a forlorn look on his face, "Disse nacht prauvd ekj en mohl wada to schtoaven." And then one of his typical one liners, "Dout yaehft nusht." Transl. This night I tried dying again. Nothing doing! 😲
The irony is that alongside this resistance to death talk, we venture into philosophical, psychological, legal, and/or religious perspectives on topic of medically-assisted dying. So, while we resist talking about it, we clamor right on into it! We all know there are unbearable physical or mental pains or a medical condition where the only compassionate thing is to bring on end of life. Furthermore, even while we are talking or not talking about it, there is an ongoing medical practice of unofficially helping to accommodate death wishes without even quite calling it that. This goes on all the time. It reminds me of my years of long-haul trucking where occasionally logbooks required some 'touch-ups' to add some distance per day so as to deliver a hot load on time or sometimes to make up lost time because of a mechanical breakdown. D.O.T. inspections were never welcome in midst of a pressurized trip like this, but if occasion came, the greatest gift would be an 'understanding' inspector who would choose not to notice the logbook violations!
So, even among the talk, whether about end of life or logbooks or other realities, there are grey areas, official and unofficial - probably those messy areas as one of my good friends has entitled his blogsite, "Messy Notes". Indeed life is messy, and there are gracious and there are angry ways of living this reality. My approach? Why not just talk about it, and perhaps even receive a full measure of the grace of God in the process. [Once upon a time I memorized Ephesians 2:8-10 when a Bible School student. Very relevant still!] I submit it is better to be transparent and realistic in conversation, rather than squeamish or fearful. That is why I prefer to call death what it is. That is also why I have a bit of a bone to pick with the current trendy practice of end-of-life celebrations. These days many obituaries contain paragraph after paragraph of the deceased's career and personality and worldwide travels and hobbies, but hardly a reference to God, to faith commitment or possibly church or other spiritual information even if committed or at least nominal Christians. In years gone by this religious info was the template of an obituary. If today's celebrations of life ignore the reality of the spiritual or the afterlife when physical death has just occurred, there is a telling omission.
So, this is my case for funerals, not because I am old fashioned or afraid of change. Especially as a pandemic scares the living dickens out of those afraid to die, I posit that the funeral gives better attention to the issue at hand. Funerals of course do not need to be merely a churchy heaven or hell litany. No, regardless of faith or unfaith of the deceased, funerals are the right way to acknowledge life, ahem, especially when the end has just been reached! When I die I hope it will not just be about me. I would much rather have some ritual, scripture, prayers to God of the living and the dead, and the hymns of faith. AND if deemed desirable there may also be a place for pictures and stories at the fellowship lunch (after Corona that is). A funeral properly focused is in fact a holy celebration of life. Thus endeth this latest point of view from grumpy.
