Last Tuesday I brought the eulogy and message of my uncle Kevin’s memorial service – he died two weeks’ ago of COVID. It was a time of sadness but was also infused with so much joy. Here is some of what I said.
Perhaps the starkest reality of life is the one we rarely think about, or talk about, because we have become so self-sufficient, and so impressed with our own ability to control so much of our lives in this modern world. We have technologies and techniques and learning, and have made momentous discoveries that, had they been around say, 200 years ago, would have been thought miraculous. We have become so clever, so intelligent and so apparently invincible in all that we can now do, that we human beings rarely think about the starkest reality of life. The starkest reality of all.
We blot it out, we ignore it, we counteract it with busyness and frenetic energy expenditure and the pursuit of pleasure that leaves little time to contemplate much else except the next appointment, or dinner date, or project. The starkest reality of life is this: we have no control over how and when we come into this world as helpless little babies – “no say in it at all” as the old birthday ditty goes. And then, one day, we are leaving this world and, in the vast majority of cases (save for the tragedy of suicide), we have no control over the moment when we will voluntarily breathe our last breath. Life comes to an end. It’s never a question of “if” we’re arriving and then leaving, but only ever a question of “when” and “how”. We have no say over those two inevitabilities of life - arrive we do, and leave we will – sooner or later. It’s just a question of how long we are here – and what we do, and how we steward out lives, whilst we’re here.
You or I may, one day, as was my uncle’s disappointing and painful experience, find that your body, beset by illness, allows little control over your person - no ability to exercise your autonomy in any meaningful way. Or, perhaps, no way of even communicating your wishes, or your heart’s concerns as you breathe your last.
That’s such a stark, confronting reality as death approaches – especially when we are not expecting it. And when a cherished loved one leaves us in that kind of way, when we expected differently, it’s a pretty jarring, painful experience. The apostle Paul said this:
Romans 14:7
“For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone.”
That is so true! If that wasn’t true, if the reality of life was that we lived only for ourselves and no one else mattered, funerals would never bother us, and there would be little or no grief. But we don’t live for ourselves alone. That is not the natural or moral order of things. There is a piece of us that belongs to others, and it is a deeply cherished thing … and it hurts so much when we’re gone whether temporarily on a work assignment, or permanently in death … This is the bedrock of community – we don’t live for ourselves alone ...
This same realisation that the apostle Paul expressed has been repeated in different ways throughout history by writers, artists and poets. The 16th century English poet and minister in the Church of England, John Donne, one of the great metaphysical poets of the English Renaissance, wrote his classic poem, “No Man is an Island”. This was his observation.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were:
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
There is so much to consider here! Suffice to say, that Donne was expounding, essentially, something of the same thing the apostle had said centuries before. “None of us – none of us – is an island.” Donne explores the interconnectedness of humanity and the impact of loss. He asserts that no individual is isolated, but is rather an integral part of the broader human collective - the great community of humanity. And whether someone wants to be part of it, or not, doesn’t change the fact. The poem compares the human collective, the community of souls, to a continent, with each person being a "piece" or "part" of the whole. Then he gets right down to the loss between friends and families and the huge impact of a single person’s loss. And so, no man/woman, is an island.
We don’t live that way, and were never meant to live that way. But there are so many individuals today who live as if they are an island. Even though that is just not true, they still try to do that consciously - or unconsciously. Kevin Oliver wasn’t one of them.
Both unconsciously and very consciously he lived life with this deep sense that he was part of the whole and he not only held that sacrosanct with all its attendant responsibilities, he revelled in it. He loved it. And it showed. It was expressed in hundreds of relationships, in thousands of ways over his lifetime. He did not live to himself alone! Kevin lived unto the Lord in such a generous and gracious way, that the result of that, the product of that, the blessing of that left rich deposits of grace in all of us. Kevin consciously did not live to himself alone; he was no island living in selfish introspection, he lived with a deep sense of generous connectedness with other people which flowed from his faith connection to Christ. The character of Christ in him overflowed to us. If there is one passage of scripture that described how Kevin understood himself, and by which he understood his relationship to God, and thus to other people, it would be this passage from Romans 14
Romans 14:7-8 (NIV)
“For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone. 8 If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.”
This was our rich experience of Kevin Oliver. When we achieve some clear, conscious sense of why we are grieving the loss of a husband, a wife, a father, an uncle, a friend – a divine perspective - we are able to cherish and value their blessing to us such that it becomes not just a memory, but a legacy. A legacy is far more enduring and useful than just a memory. Without a sense of legacy, memories fade and become nostalgia. Kevin’s life, as we recall it, is blessed legacy more than he is fond memory. Why? None of us lives to ourselves alone … and many people have to stop living as if that isn’t true – because it is true. We are all part of the whole, not a piece of clod. Not an island. To think yourself an island in the great scheme of things is the ultimate selfishness that leads to moral decay.
When we really understand the “why” of Kevin’s life - a life lived by faith in Christ his Redeemer - we understand grief and joy at the same time, and treasure it. When we recognise the legacy of a righteous person, gone from our midst, and humbly, reverently, value it and honour it properly, we’ll necessarily review how we are living, and doing relationships, and especially where we stand with God. We will review just where we might need to give very careful thought to any “I’m an island” subconscious leaning in us, and make important life changes while we can.
No man is an island.
Ps Milton