Not-So-Grim Reaper

Cyrus McCormick, who invented the reaper and founded the company that became International Harvester, was a generous contributor to Chicago’s Presbyterian Theological School. Because of that fact, the school later changed its name to McCormick Theological Seminary. Faculty and students have quipped that death is never referred to as “The Grim Reaper” at McCormick, but always as “The International Harvester.”

“Grim” is not a word which describes the experience of many people who find themselves nearing life’s end. Like Dr. Abraham Maslow commented after a heart attack which made him realize that his own death was not far away: “Death, and its ever-present possibility makes love, passionate love, more possible.  I wonder if we could love passionately, if ecstasy would be possible at all, if we knew we’d never die.”

Likewise, psychiatrist Irvin Yalom, who worked with terminally ill cancer patients, reported that “grimness” was far from their attitudes about passing on. Yalom tells us that once his patients accepted the fact that their lives were rapidly drawing to an end, positive and exciting changes occurred. He reports that they felt a sense of freedom to do what they wanted to do. Furthermore, they lived in the present and enjoyed it more. They found themselves appreciating the world around them in ways they never had before. They communicated more deeply with loved ones and actually looked forward to holidays in joyous anticipation.

Because these people knew they were dying, they figured out how to live. Nothing grim here. They came alive in ways never before possible. Like one dying woman said to me, “Life sparkles.”

Oh, maybe you don’t want to volunteer to hop on that bus today, but we’ll each set off on the journey soon enough. And from what I can tell, it promises to be an exciting adventure. But in the meantime, what if you set out to start living now as if your short days here were truly numbered? When “The International Harvester” knocks on your door, may it be opened by somebody who didn’t wait until it was time to die to learn how to live.

-- Steve Goodier

Image: flickr.com/lrutherford03

The Way Home

I have a friend who tells a heartwarming story about a little girl who walked home from school every day. The quickest way home for her was through the town’s cemetery. It was her favorite time of day. She loved to feel the breeze in her hair and to watch the birds. Sometimes she just threw herself on the soft, green grass and watched the clouds turn into castles and angels and great white stallions. As she skipped around gravestones, she whistled her favorite tune or sang a song. Other times, she liked to kneel down and read the names and dates on gravestones, and to glide her fingers across the engraved lettering. She particularly enjoyed those peaceful walks through the beautiful graveyard.

Still, her friends asked, “Why do you walk through the cemetery after school?”

“That’s easy,” she would always reply. “Because it’s the way home.”

In an ultimate sense, that is true, isn’t it? The way home is always through the cemetery. The Shawnee warrior and chief Tecumseh may have said it best: “When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”

You are going home. You have been away a long time, and you are finally going home. 

It does not have to be a fearful passage at all, this way that leads home. And don’t worry about getting lost. Your heart knows the way.

-- Steve Goodier

Not Skeered of Dyin'

Image by Lynn Cummings

Economist Jeremy Gluck speculated on US Federal Reserve Board Chairman Alan Greenspan’s epitaph. Picking up on the tone of so many of Greenspan's speeches, he decided the epitaph would probably read something like this: “I am guardedly optimistic about the next world, but remain cognizant of the down-side risk.”

Though many people feel at peace about their own eventual death, others are concerned about the possible “downside risk.” One of humankind’s greatest fears is around death and the process of dying. Like the song “Old Man River” says:

“Ah gits weary an’ sick of tryin’
 Ah’m tired of livin’ an’ skeered of dyin’”

Some people believe that the most basic of human fears is the fear of death. “Skeered of dyin’.” Maybe you feel it a little, too.

I take heart in a story about John Quincy Adams. In his later years, Adams spoke about growing old. He said, “I inhabit a weak, frail, decayed tenement battered by the winds and broken in on by the storms and, from all I can learn, the landlord does not intend to repair.”

Though he may have held out no hope that he would not die, he approached his own death with acceptance and a remarkable lack of concern. When the elderly statesman fast approached his 80th birthday, he succinctly related his philosophy of death. The occasion happened as he hobbled down the street one day in his favorite city of Boston, leaning heavily on a cane, and a friend suddenly approached and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, how’s John Quincy Adams this morning?” the friend inquired.

The old man turned slowly, smiled and replied, “Fine, sir, fine! But this old tenement that John Quincy lives in is not so good. The underpinning is about to fall away. The thatch is all gone off the roof, and the windows are so dim John Quincy can hardly see out anymore. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if, before the winter’s over, he had to move out. But as for John Quincy Adams, he never was better...never was better!”

I have spent much of my life around death. I have sat with people as they died. I have listened to others relate near-death experiences. I have studied theology and am aware of what scriptures and religions say about life and death. And I have come to the conclusion that death is not to be feared. Moreover, when it is time for me to move out of this tenement in which I am housed, I intend to look forward to it joyfully. I want to say, “I never was better...never was better!”

– Steve Goodier

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Passionate Living

One man quipped: "It's not that I'm afraid of dying. It's just that I've been alive for as long as I can remember, and I'm kind of set in my ways."

Some people ARE afraid of dying. Others are not concerned about their death ... but they worry about how they're going to get there. Will illness linger? Or will it be sudden?

I can't even guess how or when I might die, but knowing my life will end has actually helped me to live more passionately. I think others have discovered the same phenomenon.

Journalists Bill and Judith Moyers documented death and dying in the U.S. They discovered that many terminal patients they interviewed actually began to live with joy and passion only after they learned they were dying. Like one man said, "If you are told you will never see spring again, and you live to see spring, spring takes on a whole new life." ("Modern Maturity," Sept. /Oct. 2000)

Psychologist Abraham Maslow had a similar experience. After his first heart attack he realized that his remaining days on earth were short. He wrote about it to a friend: "My river never seemed so beautiful (Maslow lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the Charles River). The confrontation with death -- and reprieve from it -- makes everything look so precious, so sacred, so beautiful and I feel more strongly than ever the impulse to love it, to embrace it, and to let myself be overwhelmed by it...."

Can you imagine feeling that way? He ends with this remarkable statement: "Death and its ever present possibility makes love, passionate love, more possible. I wonder if we could love passionately, if ecstasy would be possible at all, if we knew we'd never die."

Why wait until we are told by a doctor that we may not have much time to live. Aren’t we all terminal? We became so at birth. And that is a wonderful thing to know. For strange as it may seem, knowing life is all too short can help us to live ... beautifully, meaningfully, passionately.

It is a matter of embracing every day as if it were your last. Saying what needs to be said today. Making plans to do today what you’ve been putting off. And taking some time maybe just to do nothing but appreciate life.

Like Emily says in Thornton Wilder’s play “Our Town”: “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it -- every, every minute?” I hope that I can say, “Yes, at least a few times, I think I really did.”

 -- Steve Goodier

Image: freeimages.com/Enrique Velazco