death and life

Thursday I attended the funeral of a gentleman who passed away after a nine year battle with cancer. I did not know Alman well; we saw each other once or twice a year for the last few years; but he was one you remember. He had a dry sense of humor and was always fun to talk with. 

I went to visit him about a week before he died. I was nervous on my way to his home; not knowing how alert he would be; what we would talk about. Although he looked very thin; his eyes were the same--full of life and wit.

He joked about feeling like the pope, the way people were coming one after another to visit him, most probably feeling uncomfortable. What do you say to a man who is going to die soon?

I have been in enough similar situations to know that the best thing is to just be real and natural, and most of all, listen. We talked about basketball--Alman was a UNC alumn. 

On the wall behind the sofa where Alman sat was a print of Rembrandt's The Prodigal Son. I don't know a lot of art, but knew that one. Henry Nouwen wrote a wonderful book based on the painting. Turns out Alman had read the book as well, in fact said it was one he went back and reread periodically. 

So we talked about the painting, and the book, about how the main idea is that at different times in life we are like all three characters in the story--the prodigal son, returning home after living selfishly; the father, forgiving and welcoming his son; and the older brother, jealous of his forgiven brother.

For just a few moments I felt so connected to this man who accomplished a great deal in this life, and by all accounts was an honorable, loving, Godly man. It felt strange to walk out knowing it was the last time I would see him. I was taken back to my father's death, and then thoughts of my own death. 

I don't really have any profound thoughts. I believe in heaven; although I don't know what it's going to be like--I think our modern supposings are more hopeful than accurate--I think it's something beyond what we can even imagine...

but being around death usually challenges me to live more now--be more present with my kids and my wife; try harder to enter the lives of the people I do church with; most of all it challenges me to connect with God, to seek Him, be with Him.

One of the ways I'm trying to do that these days is through silent prayer; just being with Him and listening to Him. So I go back to the beginning of this post and enter a time of prayer where I contemplate this beautiful painting, and the love of God behind it.