Denying Death and Some Kind of Ecstasy

            Facing death, we often slip into denial.

            Sometimes such denial is tragic. I remember a friend who had terminal lung disease. Over time the disease left him constantly out of breath. He was confined to his home, then to his living room chair, and finally to bed. No doctor offered any hope for healing.

            Remarkably, my friend refused to face his impending death. When I tried to talk about it, he claimed that he wasn’t worried because he was waiting for a miracle. When I brought up some issues related to his will, he said, “later." When I said he needed to check into a hospice, he claimed my lack of faith was going to be the death of him. A few friends dropped by to pray for his healing and anoint him.

            And then, one day, he died.

            Now, I don’t want to give the impression that my friend was an idiot. Death is the last enemy, says the Apostle Paul (1 Cor. 13:26). It is an especially difficult one to face in your forties. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross told us long ago that in such circumstances denial is a natural emotional response.

            Still, right to the end, my friend remained in denial about his impending death. And that was sad on a number of levels. His affairs were not in order. He didn’t say goodbye to all his friends and family. He wouldn’t go out in public because he didn’t want to be embarrassed by the paraphernalia of dying he had to drag along. For months, he isolated himself from the world.

            My friend was an extreme case. The truth, however, is that most of us also deny death, often in mundane and thoughtless ways. Euphemisms such as “passing” and “no longer with us,” are used to get around mentioning death. Many of us stubbornly refuse to make wills, take out life insurance, prepare Advance Health Care Directives, or name someone to have power of attorney. We don’t have conversations with loved ones about end-of-life health care or financial issues. We don’t take children to funerals for fear of upsetting them. And, denial of death sometimes means putting more emphasis on praying for a miracle than on praying for courage or comfort.

            I’ve also noticed that people have begun speaking of funerals as “celebrations of life.” Family members will sometimes say that, “You know, Joe wouldn’t want us to be sad. He wants us to be happy.”

            Of course, when an elderly person who has suffered finally dies, it is natural that we are relieved that the suffering is over. At the same time, even the death of elderly people robs us of their company, their wisdom, and often, their love. To celebrate a life-well-lived at a funeral is fine; but this celebration should not come at the cost of giving ample opportunity for those who mourn to weep.

            Of course, denial shields us from the inevitable. Denial means never having to think about the pain or circumstances that might accompany our own end. But denial does so in the manner of a narcotic that sends us on a trip to Never Never Land.

            Denial also robs us of our ability to finish well, to care properly for our loved ones, and to deal with our own hopes and fears. Denial robs us, in other words, of the ability to fully live the time we have left by leaving a good part of that time in shadows we are too afraid to explore.

            Finally, denial even robs us of solace, of what Canadian composer Bruce Cockburn, in his song, “Wondering Where the Lions Are” describes as, “thinking about eternity.” A time, hopes Cockburn, when perhaps even “some kind of ecstasy” will get ahold of us.

(Do you have an example of denying death? What do you think? Leave a response!)

Fear, Yo-Yo Dieting, and Gratitude

            Weight is my enemy. I’m always on the verge of seeing my weight balloon uncontrollably. I can barely remember when it wasn’t so, when I didn’t have to stretch over to see my toes in the shower or feel self-conscious about the spare tire I lug around.

            I’ve tried a lot of different diets. They all work for a while. I lose weight. I celebrate my discipline. I buy new clothes.

            But then it slowly creeps back. I rue my dietary lapses. I buy new clothes yet again. I feel bad. Irene, my wife, worries about my yo-yo dieting. “It isn’t healthy,” she says. But without this dietary tapping of my metabolic brakes, once or twice a year, I’m afraid I’m in for run away freight-train weight gain.

            So I struggle. This month I’m starting a Herbalife diet. I make tasty milkshakes twice a day. They are loaded with supplements. I take vitamin pills. I try to remember to drink more water. And, of course, I try to eat less of everything else. I hardly dare visit the Tim Horton’s drive through anymore for fear that a momentary lapse of discipline might led to gobbling down a donut. In fact, yesterday, pathetically, while ordering my “medium black,” I broke down and also ordered a single Timbit. I felt guilty about it.

            The Herbalife diet is only the start. At church I’ve joined an exercise class for over-fifties. So far, I’ve discovered that I’m not limber. I can do the jumping jacks and lunges but am amazed at how hard the planks and stretches are.

            This is in addition to my three-times weekly (well, at least twice weekly) visits to my gym, where I put in 45 minutes of elliptical training. It all seems like wasted time. I could be reading or daydreaming, instead. That would be living.

            So why do I go through all this trouble? Fear. I want to be healthy. I want to see my grandchildren grow up. I don't want to die young. So, no matter how hard, no matter how inconvenient I try and I try again to keep this whole weight and health thing on track.

            But it also got me to thinking. Ultimately, this fear isn’t working for me. My weight remains a problem.  I always feel bad about it.

And this is exactly what authentic Christian life should not be like.

            The Christian life—including all of its good deeds such as loving neighbor or turning the other cheek—is not properly motivated by fear of hell, fear of being wrong, or fear of community rejection or judgment. Even when it is, you’ll just feel bad about it.

No, the healthy Christian life and every good work we do is properly rooted in gratitude.

            The bottom line is that in a cold and dark universe God has blessed each of us with the spark of life and a sun that rises and sets. Many of us are beloved by parents, children, and friends. We have skills to hone and days to spend. Life is a beautiful gift.

            The best response to such life is gratitude, gratitude that permeates every living moment and shapes our every act.

            And perhaps one day, I’ll even be able fit my dieting and exercise into that picture!

Why Doctrine Matters

            Over the past few years, I’ve become more and more curious about the fascination some Christians have with the minutiae of doctrine. Sometimes this doctrine is hoary ancient stuff from the sixteenth century or even earlier that defines the historic basis for denominations like the Roman Catholics, Lutherans, and Presbyterians. Lately, however, the doctrines that fascinate tend to be about Jesus’ expected return from heaven to judge the living and the dead and all that.

            That any contemporary Christians care much about any but the most basic doctrines ought to surprise us. We live in an anti-intellectual popular culture where reading both widely and deeply has fallen out of favor. Shakespeare is someone we sample in college, not something many of us read or watch on stage anymore.

            When it comes to the Bible, things get worse. In one of his famous "man on the street" interviews, Jay Leno asks a college student, "What is one of the Ten Commandments?" "Freedom of speech," is the reply. Leno asks a girl when Jesus lived. She thought maybe about 30,000 years ago. Not a promising answer for someone who turns out to be an Art History student. The fact is, most people seem to think that everything related to religion—and especially its doctrines—is just stuffy and irrelevant. What does matter, if anything, are personal spiritual feelings and intuitions.

            And yet, some Christians continue to care deeply about doctrine—about the nature of Jesus’ presence at the Lord’s Supper (is he spiritually ubiquitous, thus always present, or is he really the bread and wine—transubstantiation?), for example. Or, will Jesus return to earth before, during, or after a literal seven-year period of persecution (the pre-, mid-, and post-tribulation camps among premillennialists)?

            Why? What is the drawing power of learning, holding, and fighting scorched earth battles for such doctrinal positions? Why do some people—people in the pews, people who never went a to seminary a day in their lives--nevertheless take the time to study, read, and argue about these doctrinal positions?

            As much as I wish that there might be a simple answer, there probably isn’t. People probably get engaged and excited about intellectually complicated doctrines for a whole host of reasons. It might be for the sheer intellectual delight of mastering difficult bodies of knowledge. Some people are indoctrinated to believe doctrinal change represents a slippery slope to perdition. Others teach in churches or colleges or seminaries where changing your mind—or even raising difficult questions—is not allowed if you want to keep your job.

            But there is one other possible answer. Christians sometimes concern themselves about historical doctrines, or esoteric, speculative interpretations of scripture about when Jesus will return as a way to avoid the heart of scripture. Such preoccupation is an unconscious avenue for not having to deal with other more serious matters of the law, and especially the heart of the law, love of God and neighbor. A focus on doctrine leaves little room for wrestling with practical questions posed by our wealth and others’ poverty, by our relationship to the environment, by war in the Middle East, or the ways gun culture or television violence poison Western culture. I’m reminded of how one of the Teachers of the Law, one who could even recite the greatest command, was judged by Jesus, in the end, to be “not far” from the kingdom of God while still apparently missing the point of the kingdom entirely.

            Which makes me think that whatever the point of holding to doctrines might be—and as I noted above, there are a few—the bigger issue is always going to be figuring out how holding them doesn’t get in the way of the main thing. 

Good News of Great Joy: A Christmas Meditation

             One of the words the Bible uses to describe itself is the Greek word “euangelion.” Translated in English, this word means “good news,” as in the words of the angel, from in the gospel of Luke: “I bring you good news, of great joy.”

            Good news. It reminds me of the time many years ago, when Irene and I went to the hospital because the time had come for her to give birth to our first child. After a visit with the doctor, we were told, "not yet. Go for a long walk around the parking garage, and then come back." So we did. When we got back we were shown to the birthing room. Our doctor came in. I applied ice on Irene’s forehead, and counted, more ice and more counting. Finally, our son   William was born at 12:15 am. I returned home a few hours later, but couldn't sleep. So at three in the morning, I picked up the phone, and I called everyone I could think of--parents, grandparents, friends, siblings. I got them all out of bed, but it didn't matter.

            I had good news, and it wouldn't wait. The good news of the Christmas is like that—only more so.

            Years later, Irene and a friend of ours, Claudia, took their kids to a beach. Irene, William, and Claudia's son, David, were playing follow the leader a few yards from shore. Claudia watched from the beach. Irene would clap her hands and the two kids would clap their hands. Irene would jump and the kids would jump. The next thing Irene knew, Claudia was shouting at the top of her lungs and running as fast as she could through the knee-deep water roughly towards where Irene was standing. Terrified, Irene turned around and realized that William was nowhere to be seen. She frantically thrashed around in the water, but couldn't find him. Meanwhile, Claudia, who had seen everything from shore, reached a spot a few feet from Irene, reached down, and pulled William out from deep under the water, and rushed him to shore.

            William hacked and coughed and spit out a lot of water. He said, "Mom, it was dark, I couldn't find you. Where were you?" He had fallen into a lakebed pit that was over his head. Claudia saved his life. But once everyone was calm and sitting on shore again, Claudia said it all when she said to Irene, "You know, sometimes we receive our children twice."

And you can be sure that, with tears of joy and thanksgiving, we shared that good news, once more, with family, friends, and anyone who would listen. William was saved. The gospel is like that, joyful good news, except--more so. Because, as the angel said, this is not good news just for the few who know and love me or my son, but it is good news "for all the people."

            Good news. John the Baptist says, "The crooked roads shall become straight, the rough ways smooth. And – in this child – all humankind will see God's salvation" (Luke 3:5,6). Good news. Jesus said, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, and to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free.” Good news. Like the angels sang: “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.”