I first penned this article in 2001. Since then a different texture has been added to the recipe.
Just three years later from the writing of the article, death would pay me a more stark and memorable visit. It would paint in more vivid colors this time, because, although my grandfather was an emblem and symbol in my life, a father is more so.
Those moments in 2004 still hang on my wall like ugly paintings which are hard to give meaning to. My explanatory and interpretive tools have a problem with their hue. Those painting's mix of color give a sickening portrait of the scene and the artist. But the artist's talent for making the viewer's interpretation to be obtuse and confusing is enough to make any abstractionist to wonder.
The same devil came to visit again.
Even more ironic, for death seems to like to swim in those waters, was that the same devil came back to the same place intending on a different conclusion.
Melvin Kegley first got cancer when he was twenty two and a new husband and father.
My father survived that little dance. But the next time, 36 years later, he would not.
Death settled over his body on a Thursday morning around 5:30 am October 21, 2004.
And that event still hangs in the air I breathe.
Eat, Drink, and be Merry
So we tread gingerly on that thread extended from the womb to the tomb,
while our conscience is obliged to shove the prospect of death to the dark corners. Death, as a proposition, shares the cobwebs with the darkest of our secrets. And we care not to sweep there, lest we wake some old monsters.
The vow that the bride and groom takes, "until death do us part," is not a
cognizant reality for them, as they await for the honeymoon and the consummate celebration.
But some lives become a never-ending search for honeymoons and celebrations. It's not that the desire for joy is an evil intention of humanity, it's just that the joy is fleeting. Searching, and seeking for fulfillment in tangible things, or desiring the fruits of materialism, while the reaper waits, becomes the quintessential act of futility. We seek to please the heart, which has a fatal disease, by materials that, themselves, fade, gather dust, or that exist in tomorrow's memory that in itself is enveloped in cobwebs, broken chandoliers, and floors that need sweeping.
Our habitation, in these "steel-toed shoes," bear the ocean depths of vanity and
insignificance. Our labors become the miniscule trappings of paupers.
Even kings and queens go down into the grave, while their crowns, thrones and
jewels are abdicated to another. Rich men allocate, liquidate, buy and
sell, but beyond the pomp of their own funeral procession, lies a decaying remnant of one whose breath has been stolen.
We all share in the community of life, and we all share in the community of death. We will all participate in the consummation of this vanity, for the Lord of heaven has declared it and we shall not escape it;
"It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment."
And herein lies our greatest fear. But for the believer, our greatest victory.
The heart whispers, "Eternity."
The heart can be said to be the seat of the emotions. It is the garden of our desires out of which bloom those precious dreams. At times the sunshine of joy shines ubiquitously over it's meadows. At other times it rains.
But the Bible gives another picture of the heart. It speaks of it as being a heart of stone. Unable to act. Unable to feel. Unable to acclimate itself. Dead.
But even on stones, the wind blows.
Sometimes ferociously. Sometimes softly. Yet it still blows, giving respite from the heat or announcing the coming stonn.
So it is with the heart. Sometimes it nudges our conscience softly, "You're going to die."
Other times it shouts it. (As it did with my grandfather and father's death)
In spite of the little buds that seem to creep through the cracks, the heart remains stoney. Hard. Bitter.
But death, and the prospect of death, softens the rocky exterior.
Yet the heart speaks of something else. And somewhere, an echo from the
cavernous depths of our soul, we hear it's message. Although quiet, we are unable to dismiss it.
Above the clatter of the busy day.
Beyond the sound of much chaos.
Even when death calls, we can still hear the heart, for it warns of a truth we know too well. It reminds us loudly of our impending
demise, yes, but more than that...
The heart whispers "Eternity."
The Search for Meaning
There are certain proclivities of humanity that, I think, are understandable.
The desire for wine, and our propensity for cursing.
Delving into the psychology of both I think we find a searching for the transcendent while the fruit of the lips condemn the search as futile. Something akin to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. This transcendence is elusive and shadowy. To escape and touch the "wings of
angels," or a transportation into the realm of "the gods," we know, instinctively, is an ability that cannot be adduced from this frame. And
escaping this frame through abdicating, or inebriating, it's pain through the exercising of innate driving passions, becomes a base way of
exorcising that constant "whisper" from our hearing.
Psssssst. Death awaits.
In ancient pagan cultures, Roman and Greek, wine was a religious tool for the
participant to enter into an "altered state of consciousness" so he could touch the fingertips of "the gods." Maybe the underlying motive is the same today, for our hearts know the truth of our existence, but it is a rude companion.
So we long for transcendence.
Purity.
Something other than our own reality.
Something not touched by our hands or by the decay of this clay.
And we curse when we find that those moments of "purity" are fleeting, as if they were only illusory to begin with.
Our cursing comes from the vacuum of our souls.
This increasing desire for ''purity'' is evident in our culture, and it's artists.
Musicians strive for ''purity'' in the surreal. Their songs are ensconced in the search for "otherness." They dwell, and make their living, in the realm of imagination and the quest for ''perfection.''
Somehow this human experience leaves something lacking, for our hearts reach for something which exists beyond our capacity to grasp.
But, consequently, since the shadows are elusive, it adds pain upon pain, and despair upon despair.
We never seem to be at rest. We pour every smile, every cheer, into a brief speck of time. But in the end, when death comes, our lives, our passions, our celebrations, or even our tears have no meaning. In fact, when that which
we have feared our whole lives, comes to collect the debt due him, we are faced with the meaninglessness of deaths duty. We are left just being an exercise in existential absurdity and futility. Why would death be meaningful if life is meaningless?
Except...
"Sarxe egenetos en ho Logos"
The Word became flesh.
This life is rescued from the pits of absurdity by three words.
God became man.
He who was with the Father from eternity past, became man.
In Philippians 2 Paul writes:
"Have this attitude in yourselveswhich was also in
Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of
God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be
grasped but emptied Himself, taking the form of a
bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men.
Being found in appearance as a man He humbled
Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross." (philippians 2:5-8 NASB)
*(this is considered to be a very early Christian
hymn)
He was in the form or ''morphe'' of God, being God Himself.
But He did not grasp at His equality with God. He, in a matter of speaking, let go.
Alas, the "transcendent," the "purity," the "otherness," became a man. He whom we seek in wine, women, and song stepped on this soil in feet of clay.
In John 1:1 His eternality and His intimate relationship with the Father is carefully delineated. Using the Greek verb "en, " which means "continuous action in the past," John defines His existence as being before anything that exists.
En arche (en) ho Logos.
In the Beginning was the Word.
As far back as you can push "the beginning" the Word already was. (James R.
White "The Forgotten Trinity")
But the shock to the Jew and the Greek is "sarxe egenetos en ho Logos. "Our labors to acquire "purity" or to catch the tail of what "transcends" this dullness, and this experiential "sameness" is quieted. Our hopes and dreams, which before swam in the depths of inconsequence and insignificance, are
buoyed by the incarnation. The transcendent becomes imminent.
Now sense can be made of our existence. Because of Christ, our lives are placed in a definitional context, and are no longer left to forces of condescension, which have no meaning.
Christ, His death, burial, and resurrection, gives rhyme and reason for us.
Without Him coming in the flesh, we have "beings" who exist for no reason "to be." All is futile and vain.
"Then I said, "Behold, I have come
(In the scroll ofthe book it is written of Me)
To do Your will, 0 God." (Hebrews 10:7 NASB)
So on a night in Bethlehem about 2000 yrs ago, our past, present, and our future took on a new meaning. For the hearts desire, became Immanuel. God with us.
Christ put on "steel-toed shoes."
(next week Part III)
Just three years later from the writing of the article, death would pay me a more stark and memorable visit. It would paint in more vivid colors this time, because, although my grandfather was an emblem and symbol in my life, a father is more so.
Those moments in 2004 still hang on my wall like ugly paintings which are hard to give meaning to. My explanatory and interpretive tools have a problem with their hue. Those painting's mix of color give a sickening portrait of the scene and the artist. But the artist's talent for making the viewer's interpretation to be obtuse and confusing is enough to make any abstractionist to wonder.
The same devil came to visit again.
Even more ironic, for death seems to like to swim in those waters, was that the same devil came back to the same place intending on a different conclusion.
Melvin Kegley first got cancer when he was twenty two and a new husband and father.
My father survived that little dance. But the next time, 36 years later, he would not.
Death settled over his body on a Thursday morning around 5:30 am October 21, 2004.
And that event still hangs in the air I breathe.
Eat, Drink, and be Merry
So we tread gingerly on that thread extended from the womb to the tomb,
while our conscience is obliged to shove the prospect of death to the dark corners. Death, as a proposition, shares the cobwebs with the darkest of our secrets. And we care not to sweep there, lest we wake some old monsters.
The vow that the bride and groom takes, "until death do us part," is not a
cognizant reality for them, as they await for the honeymoon and the consummate celebration.
But some lives become a never-ending search for honeymoons and celebrations. It's not that the desire for joy is an evil intention of humanity, it's just that the joy is fleeting. Searching, and seeking for fulfillment in tangible things, or desiring the fruits of materialism, while the reaper waits, becomes the quintessential act of futility. We seek to please the heart, which has a fatal disease, by materials that, themselves, fade, gather dust, or that exist in tomorrow's memory that in itself is enveloped in cobwebs, broken chandoliers, and floors that need sweeping.
Our habitation, in these "steel-toed shoes," bear the ocean depths of vanity and
insignificance. Our labors become the miniscule trappings of paupers.
Even kings and queens go down into the grave, while their crowns, thrones and
jewels are abdicated to another. Rich men allocate, liquidate, buy and
sell, but beyond the pomp of their own funeral procession, lies a decaying remnant of one whose breath has been stolen.
We all share in the community of life, and we all share in the community of death. We will all participate in the consummation of this vanity, for the Lord of heaven has declared it and we shall not escape it;
"It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment."
And herein lies our greatest fear. But for the believer, our greatest victory.
The heart whispers, "Eternity."
The heart can be said to be the seat of the emotions. It is the garden of our desires out of which bloom those precious dreams. At times the sunshine of joy shines ubiquitously over it's meadows. At other times it rains.
But the Bible gives another picture of the heart. It speaks of it as being a heart of stone. Unable to act. Unable to feel. Unable to acclimate itself. Dead.
But even on stones, the wind blows.
Sometimes ferociously. Sometimes softly. Yet it still blows, giving respite from the heat or announcing the coming stonn.
So it is with the heart. Sometimes it nudges our conscience softly, "You're going to die."
Other times it shouts it. (As it did with my grandfather and father's death)
In spite of the little buds that seem to creep through the cracks, the heart remains stoney. Hard. Bitter.
But death, and the prospect of death, softens the rocky exterior.
Yet the heart speaks of something else. And somewhere, an echo from the
cavernous depths of our soul, we hear it's message. Although quiet, we are unable to dismiss it.
Above the clatter of the busy day.
Beyond the sound of much chaos.
Even when death calls, we can still hear the heart, for it warns of a truth we know too well. It reminds us loudly of our impending
demise, yes, but more than that...
The heart whispers "Eternity."
The Search for Meaning
There are certain proclivities of humanity that, I think, are understandable.
The desire for wine, and our propensity for cursing.
Delving into the psychology of both I think we find a searching for the transcendent while the fruit of the lips condemn the search as futile. Something akin to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. This transcendence is elusive and shadowy. To escape and touch the "wings of
angels," or a transportation into the realm of "the gods," we know, instinctively, is an ability that cannot be adduced from this frame. And
escaping this frame through abdicating, or inebriating, it's pain through the exercising of innate driving passions, becomes a base way of
exorcising that constant "whisper" from our hearing.
Psssssst. Death awaits.
In ancient pagan cultures, Roman and Greek, wine was a religious tool for the
participant to enter into an "altered state of consciousness" so he could touch the fingertips of "the gods." Maybe the underlying motive is the same today, for our hearts know the truth of our existence, but it is a rude companion.
So we long for transcendence.
Purity.
Something other than our own reality.
Something not touched by our hands or by the decay of this clay.
And we curse when we find that those moments of "purity" are fleeting, as if they were only illusory to begin with.
Our cursing comes from the vacuum of our souls.
This increasing desire for ''purity'' is evident in our culture, and it's artists.
Musicians strive for ''purity'' in the surreal. Their songs are ensconced in the search for "otherness." They dwell, and make their living, in the realm of imagination and the quest for ''perfection.''
Somehow this human experience leaves something lacking, for our hearts reach for something which exists beyond our capacity to grasp.
But, consequently, since the shadows are elusive, it adds pain upon pain, and despair upon despair.
We never seem to be at rest. We pour every smile, every cheer, into a brief speck of time. But in the end, when death comes, our lives, our passions, our celebrations, or even our tears have no meaning. In fact, when that which
we have feared our whole lives, comes to collect the debt due him, we are faced with the meaninglessness of deaths duty. We are left just being an exercise in existential absurdity and futility. Why would death be meaningful if life is meaningless?
Except...
"Sarxe egenetos en ho Logos"
The Word became flesh.
This life is rescued from the pits of absurdity by three words.
God became man.
He who was with the Father from eternity past, became man.
In Philippians 2 Paul writes:
"Have this attitude in yourselveswhich was also in
Christ Jesus, who, although He existed in the form of
God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be
grasped but emptied Himself, taking the form of a
bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men.
Being found in appearance as a man He humbled
Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross." (philippians 2:5-8 NASB)
*(this is considered to be a very early Christian
hymn)
He was in the form or ''morphe'' of God, being God Himself.
But He did not grasp at His equality with God. He, in a matter of speaking, let go.
Alas, the "transcendent," the "purity," the "otherness," became a man. He whom we seek in wine, women, and song stepped on this soil in feet of clay.
In John 1:1 His eternality and His intimate relationship with the Father is carefully delineated. Using the Greek verb "en, " which means "continuous action in the past," John defines His existence as being before anything that exists.
En arche (en) ho Logos.
In the Beginning was the Word.
As far back as you can push "the beginning" the Word already was. (James R.
White "The Forgotten Trinity")
But the shock to the Jew and the Greek is "sarxe egenetos en ho Logos. "Our labors to acquire "purity" or to catch the tail of what "transcends" this dullness, and this experiential "sameness" is quieted. Our hopes and dreams, which before swam in the depths of inconsequence and insignificance, are
buoyed by the incarnation. The transcendent becomes imminent.
Now sense can be made of our existence. Because of Christ, our lives are placed in a definitional context, and are no longer left to forces of condescension, which have no meaning.
Christ, His death, burial, and resurrection, gives rhyme and reason for us.
Without Him coming in the flesh, we have "beings" who exist for no reason "to be." All is futile and vain.
"Then I said, "Behold, I have come
(In the scroll ofthe book it is written of Me)
To do Your will, 0 God." (Hebrews 10:7 NASB)
So on a night in Bethlehem about 2000 yrs ago, our past, present, and our future took on a new meaning. For the hearts desire, became Immanuel. God with us.
Christ put on "steel-toed shoes."
(next week Part III)
great article. I've watched a similar painting lend it's chiaroscuro to my life, except for the final part. although my father didn't die he came with days of it and it is something I have no wish to repeat. Love the steel toed shoes idea.
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