“Every year the two most important days of your life go by.
One is your birth day. The other is your death day.
The one you know, and celebrate.
The other passes unbeknownst to you or anyone else.”
~ Mark Twain
Ten years ago, I attended a memorial service for a friend I'd known for some two dozen years. She was a major figure in the international classical music world, a member of the Boston Symphony Orchestra for 30 years, a highly respected violin teacher, and a much beloved wife, mother, mentor, and friend. She passed away after a seven-year battle with cancer. A life-long Christian Scientist, she had a profound relationship with God that eclipsed that of many a professed Christian.
The memorial service was held in Jordan Hall at the New England Conservatory of Music. Dozens of musicians from all facets of her life presented a nearly three-hour long concert in tribute to their mentor, teacher, colleague, and friend. In between the musical pieces, friends, fellow musicians, and former teachers shared their memories of this amazing woman. As I sat there listening, I heard over and over mention of a life lived with passion and joy. All talked about her calling as a teacher, about the profound influence she had on their and others' lives, both musical and personal. I can't say I was jealous of all that was being said, but I certainly was inspired. My friend lived her life in the moment, and for the moment. She knew that each moment mattered, and she made certain it mattered for all she spent time with. She knew, in the end, that God's love made all the difference in the world, and she made sure to let everyone else know that too. It was amazing, in that mostly secular setting, to hear person after person talk about God's love as it shone through their friend and teacher's life. The final speaker, my friend's husband (a friend of even longer standing), talked about her peace and contentment, right up to the end of her life. She died, he said, without regret.
On the 10th anniversary of this memorial service, my friend’s husband posted a follow-up on Facebook that received over 500 responses of comments and emojis. Reading those comments last week reminded me all over again of the wonder, the power, the necessity of a well-lived life and how the light of my friend’s influence has not dimmed one iota over the past ten years. The love for her was just as strong, the loss just as poignant. What a privilege to have known someone like that, and what an important reminder of the importance of how we live our lives!
Every year I like to share William Cullen Bryant's poem "Thanatopsis" with the juniors. Bryant was an American poet, Massachusetts born and raised, who first made his mark on the literary world in the early 1800s at the age of 17 with the publication of this meditation on death. A fairly long poem, it addresses the natural cycles of life, the importance of living that life so that when death comes along, there is no fear, no worry, only peace and contentment. I had to memorize the last nine lines of the poem when I was a junior in academy. I’ve never forgotten them. The words made an impact on me then, but I didn't realize at that age what they really meant until later. The words have been haunting me again since I read the Facebook post about that Sunday night ten years ago. It is no coincidence that Bryant and his poem are usually in my lesson plans towards the end of the school year. I need his reminder of the importance of living our life so well that when our time comes to leave this life, we can go peacefully, and with no regrets. And I like for that to be one of the last things I share with students before we separate for the summer—and with some, maybe, forever. Bryant put into words what my friend put into reality. Both challenge me to reexamine my own approach to life and live it to the fullest, and with confidence and joy. Here are those last nine lines of a profound poem written by a teenager two hundred and nine years ago (an amazing thing in and of itself):
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Another American writer, humorist Mark Twain, wrote a somber observation once that I quoted at the beginning of this devotional. Once you get over the cleverness of his statement, you have to admit its truth: we don't know the hour of our death. But according to Bryant, we should know the necessity of living our lives so that our day of death is not an issue of concern. We should be attentive to the way we live our life is and the quality of our relationship with God. It is always a timely message for me to be reminded of that. This time, the reminder was complimented with the reminder of that decades-ago experience in memory of my friend. She was able to show us all the way to so live our lives. She stood tall as an example of Paul meant when he wrote in 1 Corinthians 16: 13-14, “Keep your eyes open, hold tight to your convictions, give it all you’ve got, be resolute, and love without stopping (The Message).” My prayer is that we each so live our lives that if our time comes before Jesus does, we can go to our rest, ready for that great getting-up day when He returns to awaken those who rest in Him.
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