I gotta say this Coronavirus pandemic has got me thinking about death more than I ever thought possible. I am writing out my will and taking care of other such documents. I suppose we all understand that life comes to an end but I think we all have high hopes of living life to the fullest with as much longevity as is reasonably possible.
I guessed as a child I would live to be seventy something. That seemed like quite a long time span for a child’s mind but now that I’m 72 years old I find myself rethinking the matter. I’m quite okay with 80 or even 90 should I be so lucky . . . .
Yet through all this idle speculation (harmless in itself) comes a new sense of urgency with the appearance of the Coronavirus in Wuhan, China. Indeed, in the days and weeks that followed such thoughts of death took on a profound new meaning. This is real, this could happen.
I suppose a soldier on the battlefield might have a sense of the immediacy of death different from the rest of us, but I was a conscientious objector. I never took the path to the killing battlefield and so never developed that instinctive, inordinate fear that life could end in the blink of an eye.
Instead, I have tried to live up to Dr. King’s approach to such weighty matters—that “longevity has its place” yet ultimately there are key principles worth fighting for even it if costs you your life. That brings me back to my first point, that we want our lives to stand for something.
We hope people will say of us that we were true to our beliefs, that we were honest and loyal friends upon whom others could trust and depend. At our best, we gave and shared love. Perhaps we even imparted, as well as received, guidance and inspiration along our life’s journey.
Dr. King said at the start of one of his masterful speeches:
“Every now and then I
guess we all think realistically about that day when we will be victimized with
what is life’s final common denominator—that something we call death.
“We all think about it and every now and then I
think about my own death and I think about my own funeral. And I don’t think
about it in a morbid sense. And every now and then I ask myself what it is that
I would want said and I leave the word to you this morning.
“If any of you are around when I have to meet my
day, I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy
tell him not to talk too long. Every now and then I wonder what I want
him to say . . . .”
Dr. King went on to list a few of the things he hoped people would say about him—urging them to skip over his accomplishments and awards. Rather, he hoped that they would remember to say simply that he tried to love and serve humanity. After that, he began expressing his final goodbyes as he concluded his sermon on a powerful note of hope and optimism for the future:
“Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. Say that I was a drum major for peace. I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter. I won’t have any money to leave behind. I won’t have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind.”
Yes, this pandemic has made me think about my own death (has it done this to you, too?) more than I would like . . . but after all my reflecting this is where I end up, drawing inspiration from the words of a black minister who gave his life for his people’s freedom and the nation’s healing.
To all my friends, should the worse happen:
I just want to leave a committed life behind.
to ��+�
