The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of BCNN1. Opinions expressed are solely those of the author(s).
Just last week there was a futurist promising that we could all live forever if we could just make it to 2050. Then Kobe Bryant and eight other very affluent people with very bright futures died in a helicopter crash and the world observed Holocaust Memorial Day and the coronavirus continued to claim lives and life seemed exceedingly fragile.
Death cometh. We all know it and yet it still shocks us to hear of it. Why is that? Have we honestly come to believe the original lie that “we shall not die?”
When was the last time to you attended a funeral? What was said? What was sung? What was left unsaid? Now yourself: when was the last time a friend or coworker or neighbor died and there was nothing — no event, no funeral, no memorial service? What happened? Do you wonder? I do.
A few months ago my sister and I stood with our mother at my father’s grave. He died when I was 15. My mom was a young widow then. That year is mostly a haze to me. But on a recent very cold morning we stood there again in the cemetery in Brook, Indiana. We were there to say commend the body of my Aunt Marilyn to the ground. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. As the three of we Fowler women stood tightly together, huddled against the cold wind, my mom said, “the next time you girls will be here, it will be to bury me.” Death cometh.
Are you having these critical conversations with those you love best in the world? And not just the conversation about what songs should be sung or scriptures read but the conversations about life — after death? Why? Because death cometh.
Indeed, as Thomas Babington Macaulay wrote in Lays of Ancient Rome “Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late.”
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SOURCE: Christian Post, Carmen Fowler LaBerge