Reflections on the death of a friend

7. November 2007 by BruceSmith.

Suicide. The taking of one’s own life. Here are my reflections on the recent loss of a friend of the family to suicide.

On Death

November 7, 2007

A few days ago my two oldest children and I attended a funeral service held in memory of a friend of the family who had just committed suicide. While standing there in a room filled with people I could not help but recall the poetry of John Donne, particularly his sonnet on death. Sadly, as I thought about Donne’s powerful poem, I realized that too few of those in the room on this day could claim the message of Donne’s words, “Death be not proud”. In this particular setting, on the occasion of the death of a beautiful, financially secure, fit, and “together” forty-six year old woman, death’s grip was clearly winning the day. Indeed, the prevailing theme of the service was clear in the words of the deceased’s sister, “How do we make sense of this event?”

That question will, no doubt, haunt many of those in that room for years to come. When it came time for the funeral home’s minister on hire for the day to give a “message” to those in attendance, it was clear he had no real connection to the woman that died or to those in the room. To me, this somehow brought an even deeper sense of tragedy to the situation. I could not help but think to myself, “God, I truly hope that at my appointed time people are able to make a strong link between the meaning of my death and the purpose of my life, and I hope that someone who really knows me preaches my send off.”

This death, in this way, at this time, has somehow served to remind me of just how empty and void of meaning life is apart from a knowledge of God. Without an intimate relationship with Him, it seems clear that the meaninglessness of life is too much to handle. The horrors that surround us on a daily basis, the darkness of our own souls, the fragility of our psyches, and the pain of our past are too ominous for us to overcome without a divine compass. What do we do when pain so fills us that we cannot seem to find the strength to continue another day, another moment? Where is our hope to live when God is not in the picture? If this is all there is, then, and if the going is good, GREAT! But what do we do when the going is too tough? Why not just end it all? If this is all there is and the reality of our lives is largely pain and sorrow then what is the meaning of continuing on? It’s a logical conclusion isn’t it? Be done with it.

Death has a way of bringing life into view strangely enough. In witnessing deaths, it seems that those of us who are the onlookers are forced to really consider what makes a life worth living. Clearly beauty, success, fine homes, picket fences, boats, cars, and the pursuit of the American dream don’t make us whole. There must be something more, something beyond what we see, buy, accumulate. This death of a friend, and examples of others who have lost hope despite all the perks of a life of plenty (Owen Wilson for example), have served to remind me that above all my greatest need is to walk in relationship with my Creator.

There will be moments of triumph in my life, and no doubt, there will be moments of intense misery, failure, and pain. Amidst all of these, I find my balance, my purpose, and my hope in my walk with God. As I walk with Him even death does not have the last word in my life. In hopes of reminding you of this reality I leave you with the words of John Donne as he speaks to death. His words are for all of those who have embraced a life of hope in relationship with a God who offers us the ability to overcome. This ability to overcome empowers us with the courage to live another day, and ultimately secures our souls amidst our greatest foe, death itself. And these words are a clarion call to those who have nothing to live for beyond what they can see, feel and touch. Our hope in this life, and in the life to come, is found in the person and work of Jesus Christ. John Donne writes,

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Praying and hoping you are finding your rest in Him, even Christ Jesus. For it is in Him alone that our souls find rest.

Bruce Smith

optimuslife.org

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