A good friend of mine died many years ago and I was given the honor of delivering his eulogy. The church was packed and I was nervous.
His children, parents, siblings, friends, and professional colleagues were all there. It was important for me to strike the right tone.
Tragically, my friend died by his own hands. He had been through a difficult divorce and then fell into a pernicious depression resistant to therapy or medication.
Delivering a eulogy under such sad conditions is difficult, but my friend’s rich legacy of goodness made the task easier. In the days leading up to the funeral service, I interviewed his family, friends, and co-workers. What emerged were wonderful stories and recollections stitched together by a common theme of love and kindness.
I shared these stories and my fond memories during the eulogy. There were tears and there was laughter. Later, at a reception, more stories flowed. We laughed and cried some more.
Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you. — Shannon Alder
My friend left us far too young, but the memory of his goodness remains. One cannot help but smile when his name is brought up. Loved ones and friends still remark, “He was such a good friend.” “He lived life large.” “I could always count on him.” “He was such a devoted father.” “God I miss him.”
I’ve been to many funerals in my life. Pastors and family members celebrate the best of their departed loved ones and gloss over any failings. One can learn a lot by people’s facial expressions, by what’s not said, and by the whispers shared in huddled groups.
Funerals celebrate the lives of those we lost, but they mainly exist for the living, so we can remember, reminisce, and say our goodbyes.
Funerals also enable us to think about our mortality, who we are today, who we can be tomorrow, and the future direction of our lives.
Honesty is humanity’s anchor to reality
Charles J. Chaput has given a lot of thought to issues of life and death. A retired Catholic archbishop (and first Native American archbishop), Chaput is the author of “Things Worth Dying For: Thoughts On A Life Worth Living.”
The inside book jacket on Chaput’s book states:
Charles J. Chaput delves richly into our yearning for God, love, honor, beauty, truth, and immortality. He reflects on our modern appetite for consumption and self-obsession and offers a penetrating analysis of how we got here and how we can look to our roots and our faith to find purpose each day amid the noise of competing desires.
Chaput’s book drives home the notion that if we are to die well, we need to learn how to live well. And living well is not about consumption, wealth, or self-absorption. It’s about virtue, love, and what we do for others.
Honesty is humanity’s anchor to reality. — Charles J. Chaput
Near the end of the book, Chaput introduces a simple thought experiment he discovered in his early years of reading. An excerpt:
Imagine your own funeral. Imagine being present, but unseen. And then imagine listening to the attendees talk about you. Imagine what you would want people to say. Then compare to what they might actually say, based on the record of your life so far. It’s a sobering exercise with a serious lesson: Begin with the end in mind. Lead with a clear and good goal. Live the same way, toward a good end that others will remember as worthy.
There’s a four-word question that should accompany thoughts about your imagined funeral. This four-word question can improve your life if you can be honest with yourself.
What is the four word question?
What will they say?
What will they say, indeed? Before you ride off into the celestial sunset, you might want to ponder what they will say.
Will there be kind words about your sacrifices and efforts to help others? Or will they whisper about your vanity and egocentrism? Saint or sinner, who do you want to be?
To choose a path
We don’t spend much time thinking about our deaths. We’re too busy ignoring and delaying death, with our diet fixations and health fads. But death always catches up with us, sooner or later.
We spend a tremendous amount of time tending to the health of our bodies, and much less time tending to the health of our interior lives. It’s easier to fixate on six-pack abs than sculpt the depth of our character.
Charles Chaput argues that death may be a source of fear, but it’s also a source of completion and release. He notes:
The sheer honesty of pondering one’s death forces a person to consider what matters, to choose a path, to focus on the direction and meaning of his life or her life, and to treat others accordingly.
Imagining what people would say at your funeral invites you to take stock of who you have been, and who you are today. It also encourages you to choose a path going forward.
What path will you choose?
I wear the chain I forged in life
None of us are perfect. Some have more personal wreckage in their pasts than others. But it’s never too late to change direction. To choose a better path forward.
Consider Ebenezer Scrooge, the protagonist in Charles Dickens’ 1843 novella “A Christmas Carol.” Scrooge was a miserly, miserable man who lived alone despite his wealth.
Then the ghosts of Christmas past, Christmas present, and Christmas yet to come, all visit Scrooge, forcing him to confront the error of his ways. He awakes on Christmas Day, a changed man. He goes on to treat everyone with kindness, compassion, and generosity.
I wear the chain I forged in life, replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.” — The Ghost of Jacob Marley, Scrooge’s deceased business partner
You can brighten your future by being brave enough to visit your funeral. Have the courage to imagine what people will say about you at your funeral.
Be brutally honest with yourself. And then choose a path. A path that leads to a better you.
Don’t forge a chain in life that you’ll wear in death. Going forward, build your life around love, virtue, kindness, and generosity. Doing so will (someday) make your eulogist’s job easier, and those who attend your funeral will always celebrate the wonderful person you were.
Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss, an artist, writer, and photographer. To get my latest work, sign up for my free Saturday Newsletter here.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
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Illustrations and photographs by John P. Weiss