We're Only Immortal for a Limited Time
When we are young
Wandering the face of the earth
Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time
Wandering the face of the earth
Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time
Chorus from Dreamline, by Neil Peart of Rush
My wife once, or maybe a dozen times, told me that I have a problem with death. It is true, when my mother passed away, I completely flipped my lid. I even prayed that God would resurrect my mom. I wasn't ready for her to go, though I knew she wasn't 100% and her time was near. When my grandfather passed, I felt immeasurable guilt because I hadn't gotten to say goodbye or spend more time with him in his last few years. And when my dad passed, I mourned heavily, even though his passing was a relief after a long fight with cancer. Yes, I hate death. Death, according to Christianity, is the last enemy and it was conquered by Christ on the cross and through his resurrection. So what bothers me about death so much, despite my faith?
Even though death is a part of natural processes, I believe that human nature is elevated in Christ with the promise of a resurrection. Nonetheless, death is also the uncomfortable slipping behind the veil of uncertainty. My faith tells me that there is life in Christ, but my sins betray me. The sins of all people frustrate me. Though the promises of God exist for the world, I know some will reject God till the end and their eternity concerns me. I know that I too will be judged for my sins and this is oppressive. What bothers me about death is not the natural ebb and flow of it or the tension we feel in light of it. What bothers me about death is not even the wrestling with mortality. Rather, what bothers me is that people don't bother themselves to consider death beyond tacit measures or brief momentary recognition. I think if people really thought of death in its fullest, there would be less homicide, suicide, apathy, and fear. My bothering is not fear, but the sense of something out of order -- something striking at the human condition.
I have known many people, including loved ones who have had momentary suicidal impulses. Nearly 4% of Americans have suicidal thoughts each year. There are all kinds of reasons, and some seemingly legit. Pain -- physical and emotional -- are core. Pain management is hard. Some people presume that a self-induced departure might save loved ones long term hardship while alleviating their short term torment. Since we all die, it seems utterly natural not to delay the inevitable in light of deep seated pain. In some odd way, a suicidal person might actually respect life in their own devaluing of themselves, as if their actions would actually better the world. Though I disregard such nearsightedness, it is understandable.
I've known others who have no value of life -- theirs or others -- and live hedonistically. And then, most people just don't consider death at all and carry-on in blind ignorance, because life is, well... busy. They don't necessarily live to indulge and it isn't that they wouldn't care, but out of sight means out of mind. Death is for them inevitable, but to be dealt with later. Sadly, their indifference not only ignores their own eventuality, but also the severity of death for the helpless and hurting around the world, who become mere abstractions in the news, soliciting only the occasional, "Oh! That's terrible," followed by a return to the routine. I know this because I am often at this point in my daily life.
Theologically, the key is resurrection. I believe that we should all be more mindful and bothered by death, not out of fear, but because we will be resurrected. This gives us a clue that physicality matters. God did not create humans as mere spirits inhabiting shells to be discarded like peanut leavings on the floor of a smoke filled bar. God created all things in Genesis 1 and declared them good, including people. God intended for life to flourish. The most Christian thing to do in light of death is to live in honor of God's good creation. As Christians we might be redeemed into eternity, but Christ is Jacob's ladder -- the conduit between creation and the heavens. The Church is the incarnation of Christ in corporate form until he returns, so it is people who have an obligation to honor God's good creation. We are the stewards of what God has made and that includes people. In short, Christians are the priests of the planet, interceding for it all and giving example of what it means to display courage in light of the darkness of death.
Will it be hard? Absolutely.
I am reminded of the book of James. James wrote his book (letter) to a specific church where infighting existed between rich and poor Christians. The poor Christians understood that in Christ there is no ranking and so assumed that because they hadn't been made rich [yet] they were obliged to adjust for the disparity themselves, maybe even to the point of murdering other Christians. James challenged this church to persevere and hold fast to their faith, because the momentary struggles they felt would be but a blip on the radar screen of eternity. Though the pains and pleasures of life seem endless, these are such short-timed things compared to eternity with Christ.
Persevere.
For some, death seems a welcome thing, but their thinking is not deep enough regarding death. For them, death is viewed as an avenue to travel and not the enemy to hold fast against. With this, I am not talking about someone in hospice care who decided to yield to death after a period of fight, but someone who has decided not to fight because the pain is too real. If anything, that is a fear response. That is flight in its ultimate. In Christ we do not have a spirit of fear. Yet, my sympathy is real for those who struggle with life, because life is hard and pain is quite real. With all the pains I have experienced, I have never been so troubled to welcome death. My heart breaks for those who have reached this point. Adversely, the hedonist is obvious. They disregard reverence for life in favor of temporal pleasure or gain. Perhaps power. In the end, the common treatments of death include those with a disregard for life in suicidal nearsightedness, those who in hedonistic indulgence risk life, and those who miss out on life in ordinary indifference to death. What's needed is a healthy wrestling with and respect for death.
Last Tuesday, January 7, 2020, Neil Peart, the drummer and lyricist for the progressive rock band Rush died of brain cancer. It was not announced until late Friday the 10th. He was the same age my dad was when he passed -- 67.
For those who know me, I am a fairly big Rush fan. Their music is a varied landscape of textures, polyrhythms, odd time signatures, sonic surrealism, lyrical genius, powerfully riffed guitars, lead bass and keyboards, and where heavy metal meets new wave meets pop rock meets progressive rock. They have been classified as the godfathers of progressive metal, but they are a truly genre-less band. They are my band. They are the quintessential nerd-rockers.
Neil has been named one of the top drummers in history. Many rate him as number one, though most counts place him in the top five consistently. His loss is a loss of musical vitality and broad-influence. He was and shall remain my rock and roll hero.
Still, Peart was a celebrity that I have never met. It seems that every year there is a new class of celebrity deaths that "shock" people. Not being starstruck, no celebrity death has ever bothered me beyond a simple surprise or acknowledgement. I never expected to shed a single tear for even the celebrities I admire. But Peart proved me wrong. I found myself tearing up and sniffling, slightly embarrassed for having feelings for a man I never met and only admired from afar.
What did it for me regarding Neil Peart was my familiarity with the man. I've seen him in concert twice, with the first times being close enough to make clear eye contact (not that I did). I've listened to every song Rush has recorded and that Neil played on. I've allowed his music and lyrics to penetrate my mind and imagination. I've read his science fiction work and his series of travel books that he wrote while cruising the country between concerts on his BMW motorcycle (I used to see similar bikes traveling through Wyoming and hoped it might be him on one of his adventures). And, I've read biographies and histories of the band, which detailed their interactions with their fans. Rush has got to be one of the most fan-loving and humble, down to earth bands ever, despite their huge success. And Peart exuded every bit of that, though he was subtle and reclusive to a large extent (I feel him in this). At the end of the day, Neil Peart was a genuine and beautiful human being, which is attested to by countless people who have interacted with him. I honestly feel like he was a relative I have never met, but had a kinship bond with through his pen-pal authorship, which came by way of book and song lyric. Yes, I cried... I cried because one of the good ones died and too soon.
Then yesterday, while still masticating over the loss of Neil Peart in my brain, I sat in a coffee shop reading a book about cod fish (it's better than you'd think). During my leisurely moment, I stopped to observe my surroundings and sort of eavesdropped on two nearby conversations. One was a pastor having a business meeting with a colleague and another was a different pastor having a counseling session with one of his parishioners. As I passively listened while reading, I was struck by a multitude of feelings welling up inside me. At first, I missed my time as an Assemblies of God minister. Many a meeting was held in a coffee shop. Then, I thought how typical that pastors would conduct meetings in coffee shops. Many modern churches are Starbucks'ish themselves now days and many have their own fair-trade roasters within.
My third round of thoughts and emotions were more complex. I felt a sense of pity on these ministers. I compared their experiences to my own ministerial activities and recalled a sense of purpose and mission when I would have meetings in coffee houses too. Back then it felt like progress; it felt like real work [for the Kingdom] was being done. But what do I have to account for it? Perhaps I'm being too critical, but listening to these pastors speak seemed hollow and quite typical of what I experienced previously as vital and now only see as self-ascribed or inflated importance. This brought my mind to the book of Ecclesiastes.
Ecclesiastes is perhaps my favorite Old Testament book. It largely deals with the frivolousness of human ventures, including self-aggrandizing and pleasure seeking. When I was a pastor, my thrill was just being a pastor. The title, the congregational recognition, the feeling of self-importance, and the trappings were my status symbol. This was my eating and drinking and merriment. Perhaps I passively influenced someone's eternal disposition, but I struggle to find vitality in my old career. Only during my last pastoral assignment as the interim pastor of a small dying church in Burbank, California, did I feel like I was truly ministering beyond myself. But after being a credentialed minister for nearly fifteen years, I cannot say that I have a lot to show for it. I became depressed.
Depression is a common emotional state that may lead to self-harm on one hand or careless indulgence on the other. Together with the routine disregard for the inevitable in death, these things seem to mirror the nearsightedness of all of human venturing and the experiences contained in Ecclesiastes. But the author of Ecclesiastes didn't give up, but rather re-calibrated. This then brought me back to Neil Peart...
In 1997, Peart lost his daughter in a car accident, and then his wife in 1998, which sent him over the edge emotionally. He took a leave of absence from Rush, even declaring his retirement. He hopped on his bike and drove all over North America and down to Central America. This pilgrimage of mourning and discovery can be found in Peart's book Ghost Rider and in later Rush music. In Peart's wrestling with death, he transcended the nearsightedness of his pain and the frivolousness of routine and he truly met death head-on. He developed a healthy respect for death, which meant that he returned to life.
Peart, so far as I know, has never become a Christian, but his life since his family's passing reflected their memory as the catalyst for his moving from despair to vigor. In the Orthodox Christian tradition, when someone dies, anytime that person is mentioned in conversation, the saying of "May his/her memory be eternal" is stated. While the deceased may be in eternal rest with the Lord (or not), the vitality of that person's life is maintained in this saying, drawing people to fond memories. Peart accomplished this in his return to Rush and a second marriage and another daughter. Peart chose to not live for himself, but for his fans and for his new family and band-mates. Peart chose not to throw in the towel in deep darkness. Peart chose not to trivialize life in the ordinary, but gave back philanthropically and through his talents and passion.
So yes, I have a problem with death. It isn't an irrational fear, but a respect for life that makes me hate the vile enemy which destroys so many people who haven't figured our how to fight toward victory. We may yet fight, but victory has been won. I will miss Neil Peart as an ordinary hero and rock legend, but may his memory be eternal in his music and passion for life. May he embody an example for life like a modern epistle of James. May we (anyone who reads this and myself) be inspired to live purposefully, selflessly, and vibrantly. This is my prayer today.
___
Pack up all those phantoms
Shoulder that invisible load
Keep on riding north and west
Haunting that wilderness road
Like a ghost rider
Carry all those phantoms
Through bitter wind and stormy skies
From the desert to the mountain
From the lowest low to the highest high
Like a ghost rider
Keep on riding north and west
Then circle south and east
Show me beauty, but there is no peace
For the ghost rider
Shadows on the road behind
Shadows on the road ahead
Nothing can stop you now
There’s a shadow on the road behind
There’s a shadow on the road ahead
Nothing can stop you now
Sunrise in the mirror
Lightens that invisible load
Riding on a nameless quest
Haunting that wilderness road
Like a ghost rider
Just an escape artist
Racing against the night
A wandering hermit
Racing toward the light
From the White Sands
To the Canyonlands
To the redwood stands
To the Barren Lands
Sunrise on the road behind
Sunset on the road ahead
There’s nothing to stop you now
Nothing can stop you now
I've known others who have no value of life -- theirs or others -- and live hedonistically. And then, most people just don't consider death at all and carry-on in blind ignorance, because life is, well... busy. They don't necessarily live to indulge and it isn't that they wouldn't care, but out of sight means out of mind. Death is for them inevitable, but to be dealt with later. Sadly, their indifference not only ignores their own eventuality, but also the severity of death for the helpless and hurting around the world, who become mere abstractions in the news, soliciting only the occasional, "Oh! That's terrible," followed by a return to the routine. I know this because I am often at this point in my daily life.
Theologically, the key is resurrection. I believe that we should all be more mindful and bothered by death, not out of fear, but because we will be resurrected. This gives us a clue that physicality matters. God did not create humans as mere spirits inhabiting shells to be discarded like peanut leavings on the floor of a smoke filled bar. God created all things in Genesis 1 and declared them good, including people. God intended for life to flourish. The most Christian thing to do in light of death is to live in honor of God's good creation. As Christians we might be redeemed into eternity, but Christ is Jacob's ladder -- the conduit between creation and the heavens. The Church is the incarnation of Christ in corporate form until he returns, so it is people who have an obligation to honor God's good creation. We are the stewards of what God has made and that includes people. In short, Christians are the priests of the planet, interceding for it all and giving example of what it means to display courage in light of the darkness of death.
Will it be hard? Absolutely.
I am reminded of the book of James. James wrote his book (letter) to a specific church where infighting existed between rich and poor Christians. The poor Christians understood that in Christ there is no ranking and so assumed that because they hadn't been made rich [yet] they were obliged to adjust for the disparity themselves, maybe even to the point of murdering other Christians. James challenged this church to persevere and hold fast to their faith, because the momentary struggles they felt would be but a blip on the radar screen of eternity. Though the pains and pleasures of life seem endless, these are such short-timed things compared to eternity with Christ.
Persevere.
For some, death seems a welcome thing, but their thinking is not deep enough regarding death. For them, death is viewed as an avenue to travel and not the enemy to hold fast against. With this, I am not talking about someone in hospice care who decided to yield to death after a period of fight, but someone who has decided not to fight because the pain is too real. If anything, that is a fear response. That is flight in its ultimate. In Christ we do not have a spirit of fear. Yet, my sympathy is real for those who struggle with life, because life is hard and pain is quite real. With all the pains I have experienced, I have never been so troubled to welcome death. My heart breaks for those who have reached this point. Adversely, the hedonist is obvious. They disregard reverence for life in favor of temporal pleasure or gain. Perhaps power. In the end, the common treatments of death include those with a disregard for life in suicidal nearsightedness, those who in hedonistic indulgence risk life, and those who miss out on life in ordinary indifference to death. What's needed is a healthy wrestling with and respect for death.
Last Tuesday, January 7, 2020, Neil Peart, the drummer and lyricist for the progressive rock band Rush died of brain cancer. It was not announced until late Friday the 10th. He was the same age my dad was when he passed -- 67.
For those who know me, I am a fairly big Rush fan. Their music is a varied landscape of textures, polyrhythms, odd time signatures, sonic surrealism, lyrical genius, powerfully riffed guitars, lead bass and keyboards, and where heavy metal meets new wave meets pop rock meets progressive rock. They have been classified as the godfathers of progressive metal, but they are a truly genre-less band. They are my band. They are the quintessential nerd-rockers.
Neil has been named one of the top drummers in history. Many rate him as number one, though most counts place him in the top five consistently. His loss is a loss of musical vitality and broad-influence. He was and shall remain my rock and roll hero.
Still, Peart was a celebrity that I have never met. It seems that every year there is a new class of celebrity deaths that "shock" people. Not being starstruck, no celebrity death has ever bothered me beyond a simple surprise or acknowledgement. I never expected to shed a single tear for even the celebrities I admire. But Peart proved me wrong. I found myself tearing up and sniffling, slightly embarrassed for having feelings for a man I never met and only admired from afar.
What did it for me regarding Neil Peart was my familiarity with the man. I've seen him in concert twice, with the first times being close enough to make clear eye contact (not that I did). I've listened to every song Rush has recorded and that Neil played on. I've allowed his music and lyrics to penetrate my mind and imagination. I've read his science fiction work and his series of travel books that he wrote while cruising the country between concerts on his BMW motorcycle (I used to see similar bikes traveling through Wyoming and hoped it might be him on one of his adventures). And, I've read biographies and histories of the band, which detailed their interactions with their fans. Rush has got to be one of the most fan-loving and humble, down to earth bands ever, despite their huge success. And Peart exuded every bit of that, though he was subtle and reclusive to a large extent (I feel him in this). At the end of the day, Neil Peart was a genuine and beautiful human being, which is attested to by countless people who have interacted with him. I honestly feel like he was a relative I have never met, but had a kinship bond with through his pen-pal authorship, which came by way of book and song lyric. Yes, I cried... I cried because one of the good ones died and too soon.
Then yesterday, while still masticating over the loss of Neil Peart in my brain, I sat in a coffee shop reading a book about cod fish (it's better than you'd think). During my leisurely moment, I stopped to observe my surroundings and sort of eavesdropped on two nearby conversations. One was a pastor having a business meeting with a colleague and another was a different pastor having a counseling session with one of his parishioners. As I passively listened while reading, I was struck by a multitude of feelings welling up inside me. At first, I missed my time as an Assemblies of God minister. Many a meeting was held in a coffee shop. Then, I thought how typical that pastors would conduct meetings in coffee shops. Many modern churches are Starbucks'ish themselves now days and many have their own fair-trade roasters within.
My third round of thoughts and emotions were more complex. I felt a sense of pity on these ministers. I compared their experiences to my own ministerial activities and recalled a sense of purpose and mission when I would have meetings in coffee houses too. Back then it felt like progress; it felt like real work [for the Kingdom] was being done. But what do I have to account for it? Perhaps I'm being too critical, but listening to these pastors speak seemed hollow and quite typical of what I experienced previously as vital and now only see as self-ascribed or inflated importance. This brought my mind to the book of Ecclesiastes.
Ecclesiastes is perhaps my favorite Old Testament book. It largely deals with the frivolousness of human ventures, including self-aggrandizing and pleasure seeking. When I was a pastor, my thrill was just being a pastor. The title, the congregational recognition, the feeling of self-importance, and the trappings were my status symbol. This was my eating and drinking and merriment. Perhaps I passively influenced someone's eternal disposition, but I struggle to find vitality in my old career. Only during my last pastoral assignment as the interim pastor of a small dying church in Burbank, California, did I feel like I was truly ministering beyond myself. But after being a credentialed minister for nearly fifteen years, I cannot say that I have a lot to show for it. I became depressed.
Depression is a common emotional state that may lead to self-harm on one hand or careless indulgence on the other. Together with the routine disregard for the inevitable in death, these things seem to mirror the nearsightedness of all of human venturing and the experiences contained in Ecclesiastes. But the author of Ecclesiastes didn't give up, but rather re-calibrated. This then brought me back to Neil Peart...
In 1997, Peart lost his daughter in a car accident, and then his wife in 1998, which sent him over the edge emotionally. He took a leave of absence from Rush, even declaring his retirement. He hopped on his bike and drove all over North America and down to Central America. This pilgrimage of mourning and discovery can be found in Peart's book Ghost Rider and in later Rush music. In Peart's wrestling with death, he transcended the nearsightedness of his pain and the frivolousness of routine and he truly met death head-on. He developed a healthy respect for death, which meant that he returned to life.
Peart, so far as I know, has never become a Christian, but his life since his family's passing reflected their memory as the catalyst for his moving from despair to vigor. In the Orthodox Christian tradition, when someone dies, anytime that person is mentioned in conversation, the saying of "May his/her memory be eternal" is stated. While the deceased may be in eternal rest with the Lord (or not), the vitality of that person's life is maintained in this saying, drawing people to fond memories. Peart accomplished this in his return to Rush and a second marriage and another daughter. Peart chose to not live for himself, but for his fans and for his new family and band-mates. Peart chose not to throw in the towel in deep darkness. Peart chose not to trivialize life in the ordinary, but gave back philanthropically and through his talents and passion.
So yes, I have a problem with death. It isn't an irrational fear, but a respect for life that makes me hate the vile enemy which destroys so many people who haven't figured our how to fight toward victory. We may yet fight, but victory has been won. I will miss Neil Peart as an ordinary hero and rock legend, but may his memory be eternal in his music and passion for life. May he embody an example for life like a modern epistle of James. May we (anyone who reads this and myself) be inspired to live purposefully, selflessly, and vibrantly. This is my prayer today.
___
Pack up all those phantoms
Shoulder that invisible load
Keep on riding north and west
Haunting that wilderness road
Like a ghost rider
Carry all those phantoms
Through bitter wind and stormy skies
From the desert to the mountain
From the lowest low to the highest high
Like a ghost rider
Keep on riding north and west
Then circle south and east
Show me beauty, but there is no peace
For the ghost rider
Shadows on the road behind
Shadows on the road ahead
Nothing can stop you now
There’s a shadow on the road behind
There’s a shadow on the road ahead
Nothing can stop you now
Sunrise in the mirror
Lightens that invisible load
Riding on a nameless quest
Haunting that wilderness road
Like a ghost rider
Just an escape artist
Racing against the night
A wandering hermit
Racing toward the light
From the White Sands
To the Canyonlands
To the redwood stands
To the Barren Lands
Sunrise on the road behind
Sunset on the road ahead
There’s nothing to stop you now
Nothing can stop you now
Ghost Rider, by Rush (lyrics by Neil Peart)
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