It seems
Americans have two particular fears; one the fear of public speaking, and the
other… the fear of death. There’s an adage that says the one in the casket has
no wish to trade places with their eulogizer in the pulpit!
But death is the
last unknown. I’ve often thought about this subject. Call me morbid, call me
weird, but death is a fascinating subject to me.
It’s kind of a
paradox. I have found myself shying away from nursing homes, hospitals and
funerals over the years, as family and friends approached their demise. It wasn’t
right. It’s just a fact.
Maybe I’m more
interested in the theory than the reality.
A particular
American soldier wrote a prophetic poem during World War I… “I have a rendezvous
with death at some disputed barricade, when Spring comes back with rustling
shade, and apple blossoms fill the air. I shall not fail that rendezvous.”
Job’s wife asked,
“If a man die, shall he live again?” (Job 14:14, KJV) Well, we find the answer
in the Book of Hebrews, “It is appointed unto man once to die.” (Heb. 9:27,
KJV)
Chuck Swindoll
tells of walking into his home church one day, ready to assume his duties for
the day, when he became aware of solemn music drifting out of the sanctuary.
Looking in, he was taken aback. For there before him were numerous bouquets of
flowers, a closed casket, and… a large photograph of none other than he,
himself on the stage!
He momentarily
wondered if someone had forgotten to notify him that he had joined the ranks of
“The Dearly Departed,” and he looked at his watch to see if it was still
running.
It seems someone
on his staff had decided to play the ultimate joke on him.
In his sermon he
draws a somber conclusion, “Though I had some conflicting emotions about ‘this
little ha ha,’ it reminded me that one day someone else would fill my pulpit,
and someone else would use my office.
How will we be
remembered? How long will the echo’s of our lives reverberate? How many will be
able to say, “_________ influenced my life like no one ever did,” or “If it
weren’t for _______, I don’t know what I’d be doing today.”
Not long after my
Uncle’s death my Grandmother awoke to hear footsteps in the house. Of course,
she thought someone had broken in on her. But suddenly she felt comforted. For
she recognized a familiar gait, the particular shuffle of her (deceased)
brother. Now, I don’t know what I believe about ghosts, and that’s not the
issue here, but shall we leave an sweet afterglow? Will we leave footprints
behind?
Colonel Gould Shaw
of the 54th Massachusetts Colored Regiment once wrote home to his
mother… “I fear that when it’s all said and done, my life won’t be of much
account.” But his fear was for naught. Colonel Shaw died attacking a
Confederate fort, along with half his men.
The majority of us
are given about 25,000 days; some less, some more. Think of it! Life seems so
much shorter when measured in days. But you figure it up. That’s about the sum
of our lives.
I want my life to
count. More than fame, more than riches. More than anything else I want my life
to impact the less fortunate, the unlearned, the languishing soul.
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