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Tuesday, 19 September 2006 15:33 |
 | | Marc Mullinax |
"Whatës lost is nothing to whatës found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup."
ÇƒÏ Frederick Buechner
ï
MARS HILL ÇƒÓ The bleak hotel of death is never short of a room.
That stark truth should provoke fear, but this week letës investigate why it should not provoke anything except more life. Last week, I began a two-week monologue on facing mortality (my own). This week, we explain why "death" and "fear" should not be on speaking terms.
Death
is the one constant condition of existence. Living with this condition
is optional ... and a blessing. Life without this constant condition is
an early death, one bathed in fear.
Our Western
religions teach that we have one shot at death. We are condemned to
die, and doubly-condemned to die once. So you better get it right. (The
Eastern faiths are more blas?© about death; there, one is condemned to
live, and live and live yet again, and so death is repeatable, not
unique.)
"Getting it
right" puts a lot of pressure on us. I speak not of the final days of
life, but in all the days that lead up to that fate-driven time where
you know that death is not just inevitable but has a likely date and
method, custom-made just for you. Thus, we are taught that death is
something to prepare for, yea, to anticipate.
Good religion
says, "Fear not, the things that you are afraid of are quite likely to
happen to you, but they are nothing to be afraid of." Bad religion
keeps the fear-factor high. But good faith would have one view death as
a necessary function of life. It is necessary, because there is little
available to us that so focuses us ÇƒÏ as death certainly does ÇƒÏ upon
authentic living.
The truest
function of death on this side of the grave is to provide the necessary
entrance into our inmost selves. What are we doing? I mean, what in
hell are we doing with our time allotted?!
Socrates,
hazarding the dangerous thought that humanityës unique nature was that
we had a soul, instructed all those with souls to have as their lifeës
mission the caring for it. It meant using reason to test every action,
thought and commitment. "The unexamined life is not worth living," he
concluded. My student Miley White has midrashed on this statement the
following: "The examined life is worth dying for."
Death will one
day be my arrester, but it does not have to stop me cold but once.
Meanwhile, we live in an Israel-like land, a promised land that happens
to have a Dead Sea.
My students ask
me, "Would it not be better for us to die and go to heaven and be with
God early?" I respond, "Why wait till death to deliver such goods?
ǃÚHeavenës here on earthë sings Tracy Chapman. What advantage will death
give me to experience eternity and God, when they are available now,
and most satisfyingly so?"
Death? Iëm not
holding my breath; just breathing. The day of my death will be one when
I learn all I need to know about what Iëll need for that day.
Meanwhile, Iëm quite interested to invest the here and now with
ultimate significance.
Meanwhile, make
and tell good stories. Stories and memories survive. Bank up a
sufficient amount such that you are a million-story-aire when you die.
They wonët prevent death, but they will sure keep it in perspective.
Stories survive; they are the true immortals. All good stories (read:
lives) must include death; the issue is how much death will get
integrated into life.
Fear is the
anti-story, the ultimate four-letter "F" word. Fear stops a good story,
a good life, and is the cancerous side of death. Letës not go there.
ï
Dr. Marc S.
Mullinax, chairman of the philosophy and religion departments at Mars
Hill College, can be reached at mmullinax-at-mhc.edu.
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