Shaped by Death

Today I attended the funeral of a man I'd never met. Surreal experience actually, and before you think it strange or wonder if I merely wander into funeral homes on a lark, I will set the record straight. I, in fact, am acquainted with the deceased's son and daughter-in-law. But I'd never had the privilege of meeting the man who passed away earlier this week.

Sitting toward the back, I observed with intrigue the social quantities associated with people passing from this life to the next. Some smiled with deep compassion and showed clear signs of personal relief that pain was now a thing of the past. Others looked pained themselves and clearly would have rather been elsewhere. Likely because death is foreign and threatening to them -- more like a final destination than a brief layover in life's terminal.

One particular woman sitting a couple rows ahead of me offered commentary on the music selections in nothing less than a stage whisper, "I don't care much for the music," she expressed to her neighbor. It was inappropriate in my opinion and caused me to wonder as if she were there for her own selfish intent rather than to be a blessing to the bereaved.

This all got me to thinking... how often are we shaped by death?

If you come upon an auto accident evidencing a fatality, how long does the experience change your driving habits, if they change at all? We all seem to operate in some realm of existential denial -- "It will always happen to someone else," we hope blindly. I've witnessed automotive death several times (unfortunately for those loved ones left behind), and though I know the risks involved with human transportation, I still ride a very fast motorcycle as many days per week as possible. Has death failed to make its mark on me?

Today, I didn't attend with the intention of taking something away. (Though, likely much to the distress of the woman seated two rows ahead of me, I found the music absolutely wonderful and very much to my liking, while formative to my heart and soul). But death did make an impression -- at a stranger's funeral. Today, I remembered how precious life is and how quickly it passes. Like a mist that appears for a moment and then vanishes (James 4:14). While this man didn't command a world stage (fewer than 100 people attended the funeral), it impressed me that he must have made a difference in the life of at least a few. One gentleman, not a member of the family, wept openly at one point during a video montage (which the music critic also indicated was much too long for her liking). Clearly, this man's life had shaped him and he mourned the loss.

I must admit, I didn't mourn directly today, but today I was shaped by death. If I make it home on my motorcycle tonight, I'll kiss my wife more passionately, hug my kids more sincerely and look for a way to change my world.

Death does matter, perhaps as much as life. We would do well to take time and access what impression it may have on us, before we ourselves vanish away.

Rest in peace, stranger. For in your passing, you touched a life.