and rise up from the dead;
and Christ shall give you light.’”[i]
“Even the paths of righteousness lead through the valley of the shadow. Death lies ahead for all of us, saints and sinners alike, and for all the ones we love.”[ii]
“The unexamined life is not worth living.” Socrates, Plato’s Apology
Seated in a funeral home I look around me, taking in the faces of my fellow bereaved——tears flowing from reddened eyes; people shyly hiding their faces as mucous flows as freely from their noses as do the tears from their eyes, tissues and handkerchiefs blotting away the remnants of both. Relatives and friends embrace, consoling one another, sharing stories about the recently departed. The solemnity in the air is palpable. Grief. Ubiquitous grief; Death has come yet again to collect reparations.
My eyes land upon the casket and I think of the friend who is now encapsulated within. I think of his life and those he leaves behind. A review of the myriads who have gone before me begins to unfurl in my mind. I relive the grief and loss and can still feel the piercing vacancy they each have left. As I reflect on another life that has come to an end, my thoughts shift almost imperceptibly inward, and I find something that is especially curious to me; I have been here before. I am revisiting thoughts I have had with every encounter with death.
I sense regret beginning to form as I wonder why it has taken their death for me to see where they have tread in my heart and the depth to which they have touched my life. I am troubled. I believe that I genuinely love others, and I allow those I love entry into my heart, but yet when I experience queries such as these, I realize that there is something off, something is out of alignment with what I think about myself, and what is true. As I probe this dichotomy it quickly becomes an excavation of my soul. I dig and I dig, going deeper and deeper into the depths. But then suddenly——I strike upon something. I clear away the debris and gently brush away the dirt; I see I have found a container of some sort. It has been buried for a very long time, ages it seems. Uneasiness begins to rise as I consider what contents the thing might yield. I slowly pry open the lid to peer inside and see there is something strange and misshapen lying in the bottom but yet, it is somehow familiar. As I stare at the object, my mind searches through my memory for this familiarity. It comes to me with the suddenness of a thunderclap and I feel a shiver run down my spine —— I have unearthed, not just a box, but a sepulcher, and the shrunken thing inside is…
…my heart.
I am shown once again that I am not as loving as I want to believe, and I am not as open and intimate with those I love as I may think. It seems I must re-enter this lyceum of death with every passing of a loved one. I have allowed spiritual torpidity to blind my heart, and only I am to blame. There is love present, but it is only on the surface, this lazy, lackadaisical stupor is analogous to a stagnate pond. There is a thin layer of life on its turbid surface, but beneath there is stillness and darkness. But this is exactly what a shallow creature seeks, it is what we all seek, and to declare otherwise is to lie to oneself, and there is no more nefarious deception than self-delusion. We don’t want others to know us as we really are, thus, we cloak ourselves in a façade, wrap ourselves in lies, and don a mask of deception. We would rather keep people at arm’s length and have superficial relationships than bare our soul to another. Intimacy requires vulnerability, and conversely, vulnerability requires intimacy. They are the double helix of relationships and are bound together by love and trust.
One must pause in order to smell the roses in this life, to behold the true beauty of the people in our lives. The goal is to allow the fragrance of those we love to permeate our beings; to let them infuse us with their own lives, and each progressive step towards vulnerability requires a greater degree of openness than the last. Embedded within the deeper levels of intimacy is a peremptory demand for introspection, to look inside of ourselves and evaluate our feelings about, as well as our experiences with the person. We are in effect conducting an analysis of their heart to determine if they are trustworthy, if they are someone, we can be vulnerable to. But roses have thorns, and as we increase in intimacy, we also unlock the prospect of pain and even of betrayal. Very few if any ever pass this assessment and make it into the depths of our hearts. Our analysis is always skewed by our subjectivity; we see things through the lens of our own experiences rather than how things really are; once pricked by a thorn, we tend to proceed cautiously with the next rose.
I notice a small boy, maybe five or six years old. The child appears to be inconsolable as huge tears stream down his little face; his hands balled into tiny fists, rubbing against his eyes. His mother gently pulls his hands away and pulls him close.
“It was his time to die Billy.”
“But, but, but why did he have to die Mom?”
“We all have to die son.” as she begins cleaning his face with her handkerchief.
He pushes the handkerchief away, “Even you?”
“Yes, even I must die.”
The boy looks away from his mother and faces towards the casket, turning these new thoughts over in his mind. I can hear him sniffle and see each hitch in his chest as his tears continue to flow. After a few moments, he calms himself. He stares at the coffin for what seems like a very long time. I watch as he turns back to his mother with an appearance of solemnity beyond his years. He only looks at her for a few moments, seemingly scanning her face, then in a near stoic declaration says, “So, I will die too.” He turns from her and sits down.
Few among us ever spend the time necessary to understand ourselves and the intricacies of our own hearts, and this is the major inhibitor in relationships: the lack of knowledge of ourselves. We must perform introspection so we can learn our inner workings, how we view things, and why we see them that way. Introspection is an exploration into how we feel about ourselves and our experiences when we are alone with our thoughts. This is intimacy with the soul, with our self. The goal is maximum truthfulness with the one I know best: me. But, as we all know, we can quite easily deceive ourselves, in fact, we do it regularly. As in our resistance to forming intimate relationships with others, we tend to avoid these greater levels of introspection. To expose the dissonance in our hearts, our own lack of integrity, the lies we tell ourselves, this will cost us and sometimes dearly——we don’t always like what we find hidden there in the dark.
I look across the aisle at a young couple and behold their love for one another; it is a beautiful thing. I watch as their eyes move to the front of the room, and I see that they are viewing the casket. A somber appearance sweeps across their faces, and there is little doubt what they are thinking. All couples struggle with the fact that one day they will be alone, and the attempt to come to grips with this certitude is consistently avoided. A void, a vacuum will remain as one of them leaves the other behind. Who will see death first, you or I? They slowly move their eyes from the casket with these thoughts in their minds. I observe as they lower their heads, and then look at each other, not directly, but peripherally, fearing that should they make eye contact these thoughts would become prophetic, somehow sealing their fate. Too late.
The word “sleep” was used formerly and is still sometimes employed today, not as a metaphor but as a euphemism to describe death. We seek to avoid discussion of death and if we must, then we take care to soften its blow. But when you think about the application of the word “sleep” to the subject of death, the irony becomes evident; it is actually death that rouses us, it is death that shakes us out of our slumber to face life. As I examine my thoughts, I see that though I have been exposed to death repeatedly in this life, I still tend to look upon it as a mere curiosity, something surreal; it doesn’t have the flavor of authenticity to me. Death is reserved for others, not for me. But each time I am confronted with loss, I am awakened, rather reawakened. It is as if I must be aggressively shaken to take death seriously. Death awakens me to my own mortality; this illusion of being set apart from all others is violently torn asunder, and it is a lesson I seemingly must learn over and over again with every passing of a loved one. This too is a kind of blindness. It is a blindness of disbelief, and the denial of the reality of death. It is like watching a train heading at you at full speed with your feet cemented to the tracks and yet denying it is going to hit you. This is why death causes us such trepidation and angst when we are alone with our thoughts——we know it is coming, we know we cannot avoid it, but we refuse to acknowledge this truth.
My gaze moves back to the front of the room, and I stare at the casket. I wonder if my friend, now entombed, had these same thoughts of immunity to death. As I mull over this question I suddenly hear,
“Yes, but as you can see, I was in error, just as you are now.”
Reflecting on this, I could not then, nor can I now discern whether the bodiless speaker was he, or if those words originated in my mind. No matter. Whatever the source, my folly was exposed.
What seems like hours have only been moments since taking my seat in the funeral parlor. The illusory nature of time comes to mind. Aversion to introspection, a lack of intimacy in relationships, a lifelong delusion of immortality, each of these are egregious errors. It is now that they have been exposed that I realize I was aware of their existence all along——it wasn’t that I didn’t know; it was that I didn’t want to know. I am grateful they have been brought into the light, but a better way of describing this disclosure is not with the imagery of something being in total darkness no, these things were in the shadows; though barely discernable one could still accurately describe what they were. This was an intentional suppression of knowledge. The recognition of these flaws causes me despair, and it is exacerbated by the fact that I chose to conceal them. Again, self-deceit is the perpetrator of this grand deception. He is more than an illusionist, he is a master builder, constructing these walls and modes of resistance as a means of self-protection. However, rather than shield us from being wounded, they end up transmogrifying into chains that enslave us, crippling our ability to walk freely in this life. We are inhibited from being vulnerable to others, and they effectively neuter our capacity for intimacy and to love unconditionally. At any cost to our pride, and our perceived identity, these things must be rooted out and destroyed with all haste.
Even as I acknowledge these hidden banes about myself, I sense there is still something else that hinders me. It too has concealed itself, hidden behind these other weaknesses. There is a dense fog within my soul, and I find my heart is grudgingly resistant in divulging what remains. I peer in that direction and it seems that as my eyes land upon it, it detects my gaze and flitters away. Over and over, I experience this elusiveness. But eventually it steps from the shadows and slowly comes into focus. I am initially shocked by a flood of dismay as my heart yields this new revelation. I am not grieving solely for the decedent…
I am also grieving for myself.
Revulsion quickly follows. I am appalled and I find it very difficult to admit to myself what I have just discovered——I believe it is the height of self-centeredness, the epitome of narcissism, that horrid pride filled thing called self-pity.
Once my shock and anger subside, I am relieved to find that this self-grief is not tainted by even a hint of hubris. I do not detect any selfish motives in this self-grief, and I sense it is justified. It is a condition of brokenness. One in this situation is to be pitied, for despair is a constant companion. There is little, if any comfort. It is a state of unassuageable grief, and its source is found deep within; it is the effects of love that was never given. It is as if there were a wellspring of love within that has reached the point of bursting, thus the love comes forth, gushing as it were from the soul in the form of grief and tears. We experience that tightness in the chest, the inability to catch our breath, our entire being is filled with pain. The pain of love not given must be liberated from the confines of our hearts. This love must be given if we are to breathe again.
There are two forms of love that was never given, and though they are distinct, we typically experience an inseparable mixture of them.
The first of these is the love not given due to a lack of opportunity. An example would be a physical separation preventing that love to be given to the recipient; say, the beloved’s profession entailed being called away from home frequently, or they resided in another city, state, or country. Another possible situation where the love was not given would be when that love was rejected or scorned by the beloved. One might argue that spurned love is still love given, but outside of a completely selfless love, there is always an embedded desire that our love be received. We seek acknowledgement of that love and the resulting reciprocation; thus, a rejected love which caroms or rebounds from the intended recipient is in effect, love never given. In either of these situations, as well as the many others like them we could imagine, the lack of opportunity to give the love is the contributing factor. Our pain, grief, and self-grief are a result of the love that was never given. We grieve because that love was, and still is within us seeking to be delivered to the beloved, but now the beloved is gone.
But I recognize that it is not this form of love never given that I am experiencing. The associated self-grief is laden with heaviness, and I sense that it holds a need to make amends with the beloved. Why do I need to make amends? Here we find the truth about this self-grief, this other form of love never given. I can almost hear my soul weep in its sorrowful lament. This plaintive cry is a result of my shallowness with the beloved, and the subsequent lack of intimacy. This self-grief goes by a name we are all too familiar with. And its name is,
Guilt.
This form of self-grief, of love not given, is more intense because it is guilt driven. In all grief we feel physical pain but here it is magnified, almost some sort of flagellation of the soul. There is an innate desire to ameliorate, to attempt to rectify the situation we find ourselves in, to provide evidence to the lost loved one that we really can love and be vulnerable. This form of love not given is the antithetical to the one formerly described. This grief is diametrically opposed. This is where we also discover an additional truth: we are all guilty of this heinous act. It is shameful and should cause us to fall to our knees in repentance. What horrid creatures we can be. This guilt we feel is not only warranted, but should be embraced, for this is not simply love not given due to inability. This is love…
that was withheld.
We must offer a plea to the beloved for forgiveness for our failing. Contrition must be made for our reluctance, rather, our obstinate denial in giving them love. We suffer, and rightly so—— look at the condition of our soul! We should provide recompense for withholding the single thing that we can truly give to another: Love. We should bathe ourselves in our guilt and regret until we learn this invaluable lesson. I believe that Thoreau grasped this truth beautifully when he wrote, “Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”
Now we finally come to the crux. All I have bared to you on this journey culminates in having my eyes opened to this inescapable truth: I am not really living this life. I should say, living life to its fullest.
I am not preparing to espouse some hedonistic self-centered approach to life, but the polar opposite. And I am not declaring anything new, even the simplest of minds already has inherent knowledge of this truth. What is more, I can declare with all certainty and with the witness of every single person who has ever existed,
the only life worth living is one devoted to the service of others.
But here is the catch——the only way to live a life in service to others is by being vulnerable, becoming intimate with each and every one. We must be open, baring our souls to those we love. We must strip ourselves of the façade and show our true selves. We must rid ourselves of pride and develop the attributes of meekness and kindness. I am reminded of some of the most beautiful words ever penned, and they were formed in the mind of a formerly prideful man whose heart was filled with hate, malice, and murder.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.”[iii]
As you read the letters of Saul of Tarsus (chronologically), you can see him evolve into a completely different person.[iv] The transformation which took place in this man was nothing short of miraculous and encourages me; if the Spirit of Christ can transform one such as he, then I too can have hope. This is not religion; this is relationship. Religion is about me transforming myself through systems and dogma, whereas relationship transforms me via vulnerability and intimacy with someone. I am made anew. The change is so complete and so radical that I bear little appearance to the former. When we reach this level, we become selfless, or something very near it. This is what enables us to live for others and to truly live a life worth living.
I find myself thinking about death more these days, and I believe there is an imperative to do so. We sidestep the subject and avoid it if we can, but what a change it would make were we to look death straight in the eye and meet him headlong. By confronting death, he loses the majority of his power over us. The honed edge of worry and anxiety loses its sharpness as we grow to accept our fate. After all, why worry over something that I can no more stop than I could cause this world to cease spinning on its axis? Please understand, it is not that my queries about the last great journey have been answered, it is that they are losing their importance. As I grow in acceptance of my destiny, I find a transition taking place. I am becoming less concerned with myself and my impending departure, and more focused upon others and living this day. The question that arises is, will I live a life worth living? The prerequisite is intimacy with ourselves, and the key which unlocks the door is introspection. It is our relationships that help to shape and mold us, and they can only be formed in intimacy and vulnerability. As the sailor must be attentive to the signs in the weather, we must sharpen our dull wits to be alert as people enter our lives. Some come blustering in like a blue norther, at first refreshing and invigorating but later, they leave behind a cold, barren stillness. Others drift in like a soft summer breeze, almost imperceptibly, yet bringing with them the redolent fragrances of love and of peace. It is these that seem to touch us in ways that are the most profound, that help us to grow, to become something more than we were prior to their arrival, and it is in our reciprocation, the giving of ourselves where we discover that we can and actually will live a life worth living.
With tongue in cheek, I believe we can all agree that no one gets out of this life alive. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Death and dark are not the end. Life and light are the end. It is what the cross means, of course. The cross means that out of death came, of all things, birth.”[v] When I die and step across the barrier between life and death, I believe it will come as a surprise. If I believe the Scriptures, then I am a co-heir of Christ and will not only receive the bounty of the riches of heaven but also enjoy the wonders of that place. Think of that! Everything I could possibly imagine awaits me. But I am to also have bestowed upon me that which is of even greater importance than that eternal destination. I will be here in this life one second and in the next, I will be in the presence of Christ. Please understand that I do know Him now, but as I think about Him, I find that there is a growing eagerness to physically meet Him, to experience being in His presence, to feel His embrace and to be enveloped in His love. After all, the real destination is not really a Where but is a Who.
“It is in the giving up of the self that human beings can find the most ecstatic and lasting, solid, durable joy of life. And it is death that provides life with all its meaning. There is no worse bitterness than to reach the end of your life and realized you have not lived.” [vi] M. Scott Peck
As the funeral ends, I follow the procession to the front, choosing to be the last to pass by the closed casket. I pause and reflect upon my friend’s life, and the new life that he has begun. I think about the things that I have learned today and how my eyes have been opened. I gently place my hand upon his casket and say goodbye. With my head down, I slowly turn and begin to walk towards the exit. Tears blur my vision as I pass the empty pews, when suddenly I feel a hand reach up and grab my forearm. Even before I look, I can feel there is much love in that gentle touch; I can feel the skin is paper thin, and the fragrance of roses wafts up to my nose. I slowly raise my head, and my eyes behold an elderly woman. She is wrinkled and grey but wears the smile of a much younger woman. There is so much vitality in that smile. Light seems to emanate from her; she is beauty personified. As our eyes meet, I behold the intelligence in them, what is more, the knowing. Her smile widens and my heart is filled with warmth. As if reading my thoughts, she winks and utters these words, “Honor those who have gone before you by living a life worth living.” She gently nods her head, while releasing her grip on my arm, then she gracefully turns away.
C. Klingle
[i] The Holy Bible, New King James Version. Tennessee: 1982) Ephesians 5:14
[ii] Buechner, Frederick. The Clown in the Belfry: Secrets in the Dark. Pg- 128, New York: Harper Collins, 2006
[iii] The Holy Bible, New American Standard Bible. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan Publishing House,1995, Galatians 5:22-23
[iv] 1 and 2 Thessalonians A.D. 50 and 52; 1 and 2 Corinthians A.D. 56; Philippians A.D. 56 or between A.D. 61 and 63; Galatians A.D. 56 or 57; Romans A.D. 57 or 58
Captivity Letters- A.D. 61 to 63 during Roman imprisonment. Colossians; Philemon; Ephesians
Pastoral Letters- A.D. 66 or 67- 1 and 2 Timothy; Titus
Hebrews- Possibly written by Paul but authorship is still definitively unknown. Either just after A.D. 70 or later A.D. 80 and 90.
[v] Buechner, Frederick. The Clown in the Belfry: Secrets in the Dark. Pg- 128, New York: Harper Collins, 2006
[vi] Peck, M. Scott. The Road Less Travelled: A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth. New York: Simon and Schuster 1978
Curtis Klingle 
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