On life and death

I've found myself revisiting a favorite poet this week. I've been fond of John Keats since a high school English teacher discussed "When I have fears" with us. That poem remains one of my favorites, and I find myself turning back to it every now and then.

I always feared my lit professors would worry about my mental health since I always tended to write papers about death. I not only wrote about "Fears" in my Romantic Lit class, but I wrote diary entries from the perspective of Fanny Brawne in response to letters Keats wrote -- and reflecting on his death.

My ethics professor has suggested that we cannot help others walk toward death until we have thought about our own. I'd also suggest that life doesn't make a lot of sense without pondering the end -- when we have "shuffled off this mortal coil," as Shakespeare would say.

Sunday evening I received the news that a pastor (Fred Winters) in Illinois was shot and killed during the Sunday morning service. My editor, who knew the man for 20 years, had only good things to say about his character. But I have found the church's response to be even more telling. In report after report, I have seen urgings from the church to pray for the young shooter. Their first response -- along with deep grief -- has been grace.

I never had the pleasure of meeting Fred, but I can't help but think the response of his church must be a result (in part) of the life he lived. He didn't know that Sunday would be his last day in the pulpit, his last opportunity (here, anyway) to kiss his wife and hug his kids. But I think his death showed that he knew something about the art of living.

As David Bazan sang in the Pedro the Lion song "Priests and Paramedics," "We're all gonna die / could be twenty years, could be tonight." I find myself wondering what my death will say about me.

In a recent issue of the Baptist Standard, editor Marv Knox asked if the community would notice if your church were to disappear. Would the community -- or the church -- notice if *I* disappeared? Am I living my life in a way that brings good news? In a way that brings "up there" a little closer to the "down here?"

I wrestle often with how I am to live, and I am thankful for the Fred Winters among us who inspire us to live with more love and more grace.

May God comfort those who are mourning, and may God teach us all how to love more deeply.