The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
A number of years ago, in a big stack of homeschooling magazines I plucked out of the free box at the public library, I found many glowing tributes to a homeschooling mother named Susie. Susie had just died, and many, many other homeschoolers lauded her accomplishments and encouragements. In a celebration of life after her death (From this distance I can't remember how it corresponded to a traditional funeral.) one dear friend got up and explained that she was afraid Susie's halo was getting uncomfortable by now, and she just wanted everyone to know that Susie died with a messy house. That apparently provided some emotional release for everyone. The room exploded in laughter.
I've thought often of that "testimony" about Susie--maybe because I can imagine something similar happening after I'm gone, and I'm glad to know that I'll be beyond blushing or feeling shame if that happens. I've thought of it for other reasons as well, especially when I contemplate how I feel after the death of someone whose record is publicly known to be significantly flawed, depending on whether that record is acknowledged or not.
When death occurs, some of us feel compelled to extract meaning from the life just past. Others struggle to find healing from hurts inflicted by the one who has died. Perhaps others would like to see, once-and-for-all, vindication for someone who was misunderstood, treated unjustly, or marginalized in life. Maybe for those who lived with the deceased person, there's a desire for understanding and affirmation of what they experienced. All of the above desires might be mixed together, with an overwhelming desire as well to have godly responses to all that life and death have brought. To me it seems clear that all of these desires are met most predictably when "the good, the bad, and the ugly" regarding the deceased person's life are all laid out as clearly as a love for truth requires.
Recently, someone who is typically a paragon of restraint in word choices expressed to me a deep dislike for "making a saint out of someone after they die when everyone knows they weren't." Well said.
I can't speak from personal experience about having been extremely close to someone who has died after having hurt me deeply, or who was in special need of vindication, or in whose care or company I have toiled and suffered long, but I do know what it means to desire to find meaning in the record of lives lived imperfectly. I've concluded that I can far more easily appreciate the good that was present if I can separate out and freely acknowledge and reject what was not praiseworthy. Doing that requires humility about my own flaws, recognizing that others have as much right to examine my record as I have to examine theirs.
"I'm glad we were able to be honest . . . " a family member of the deceased said after the death of someone with a flawed record, acknowledging that such honesty has not always been the case. I'm glad too. That's the best way to make sure a life past does as much good as it possibly can.
I've thought often of that "testimony" about Susie--maybe because I can imagine something similar happening after I'm gone, and I'm glad to know that I'll be beyond blushing or feeling shame if that happens. I've thought of it for other reasons as well, especially when I contemplate how I feel after the death of someone whose record is publicly known to be significantly flawed, depending on whether that record is acknowledged or not.
When death occurs, some of us feel compelled to extract meaning from the life just past. Others struggle to find healing from hurts inflicted by the one who has died. Perhaps others would like to see, once-and-for-all, vindication for someone who was misunderstood, treated unjustly, or marginalized in life. Maybe for those who lived with the deceased person, there's a desire for understanding and affirmation of what they experienced. All of the above desires might be mixed together, with an overwhelming desire as well to have godly responses to all that life and death have brought. To me it seems clear that all of these desires are met most predictably when "the good, the bad, and the ugly" regarding the deceased person's life are all laid out as clearly as a love for truth requires.
Recently, someone who is typically a paragon of restraint in word choices expressed to me a deep dislike for "making a saint out of someone after they die when everyone knows they weren't." Well said.
I can't speak from personal experience about having been extremely close to someone who has died after having hurt me deeply, or who was in special need of vindication, or in whose care or company I have toiled and suffered long, but I do know what it means to desire to find meaning in the record of lives lived imperfectly. I've concluded that I can far more easily appreciate the good that was present if I can separate out and freely acknowledge and reject what was not praiseworthy. Doing that requires humility about my own flaws, recognizing that others have as much right to examine my record as I have to examine theirs.
"I'm glad we were able to be honest . . . " a family member of the deceased said after the death of someone with a flawed record, acknowledging that such honesty has not always been the case. I'm glad too. That's the best way to make sure a life past does as much good as it possibly can.
posted by Mrs. I (Miriam Iwashige) at
8:45 PM
3 Comments:
Checking out your other posts! I remember after 9/11 all those people that died, and the news showed I don't know how many people crying over those they loved (which is good) and saying how wonderful that person had been. After days of this, my husband looked at me and said, "You mean to tell me that not a single person who died had been committing adultery, owed money they were slow to pay back, didn't abuse their spouse, or co-workers weren't hoping that jerk on floor 6 would get fired? Not one, good riddance?" I think people try to live by the saying, "Don't speak ill of the dead." (Which isn't in the Bible.)
I also think it speaks to how quickly people can forgive, not wanting a person to have to die for what they have done. I've read several articles where people wish they could live with irritating traits of their spouse, if only he/she was alive again. Tragedy has a way of doing that, pointing out what really matters.
I've been to one funeral where nobody said a word about the deceased, good or bad, and the person wasn't even a horrible person. It was very sad to know that nobody felt even enough good about the person to speak up.
Another funeral I went to there were a few glowing reports and when we left several people were actually asking others, "Who were they talking about? I never knew that person at all. Were we at the right funeral?" (Yes, they were, I knew them all.)
By
Todd, Tia, & Tyler, at 11/14/2012
I really resonate with this post. You put into words what I have often felt and wasn't sure how to express. I have told Brian several times to please, please don't eulogize me at my funeral in ways that are not honest. I would far rather have my faults readily acknowledged, and then Jesus honored by how he has worked in my life, and perhaps in ways that did bless others.
On a little different note, recently I was telling my girls that I think there are three ways that we can respond to life and hurtful circumstances. Usually we only hear of two: becoming "bitter" or "better." But I wonder if the options are actually three: becoming bitter, denying all pain and pretending nothing was wrong, or dealing honestly with both the pain and good in the person/circumstances that have been hurtful and then being freed to love and care well for them and others. It seems to me in my short experience with life that the first two options both end up in places that aren't good, even if outwardly they may appear to be totally different. What do you think? Would love to hear more! -Sherilyn
By
Anonymous, at 11/17/2012
I agree with you Sherilyn. The bitter/better options make a neat statement, but it's a little too simplistic. The "pretending" approach involves putting in place a facade and then expending energy to maintain it. That creates all kinds of secondary problems. No one can love or build a solid relationship with a facade, so loneliness is a very likely outcome. I'm sure that honesty does not always require saying everything one knows, but maintaining an openness to being known as we are is really freeing, and I grieve for all who don't experience that.
By
Mrs. I (Miriam Iwashige), at 11/17/2012
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