Death. A daily event that assaults our peace, induces anxiety and sadness, and frightens us deeply. It frightens us so much that we do not like to talk about it. When we do, we prefer euphemisms that soften the blow. People “pass away”, they “pass on”, they “rest”, they “breathe their last”, they are “deceased”. Our people do not die. We lose them.
Ugandans have adopted the abbreviations “RIP” (rest in peace) and “MHSRIP” (may her soul rest in peace) to infer the unspeakable enemy. Others use the vague report that so-and-so is “no longer with us”, or “she is gone”, or “we have lost him”, for the more definite “they are dead.”
I understand the background to that language. While we know that death is the inevitable destiny of all that are born, we deny that reality to stay sane and hopeful about our future. The illusion of invulnerability sustains us even as we go through the darkness engendered by the death of a loved one. It is just as well, for the ferocious greed that death has unleashed lately would have paralyzed us into motionless dysfunctional zombies.
This year alone, death has robbed me of some of my friends, and enough generational peers to feel the approach of my own death. But there is nothing unique about this year, except that my generation is now approaching the end of the roll call that was ordained soon after the creation of humanity. We were destined to live for seventy years, and those among us who have passed that landmark, our boast is only labour and sorrow. Our lives will soon be cut off, and we shall fly away. Not my words, but the words of Moses in Psalm 90, his Prayer about the eternity of God and humanity’s frailty.
Happily, God has endowed us with scientific knowledge that continues to ease the labour and sorrow of old age, and to prolong our lives on Earth. Many individuals reach their nineties or even one hundred years with sharp minds. However, their time comes and they fly away – my favoured phrase to soften death, for it carries a message of life after our physical end. Of course, we know that although Christians who have placed their personal faith and trust in Jesus Christ will die, yet they shall live. That is promise by the Lord that is clearly recorded in John 11:25.
My acknowledgement of death, and my faith that eternal life awaits me after my physical death, do not imply acceptance of that enemy. I cannot get used to death. I hate it and I refuse to accept it. To do so devalues the sanctity of life. It weakens our resolve to live life to the full, and to do all we can to defer the arrival of that moment.
Yet my rejection of death does not negate its inevitability. It does not imply a paralyzing fear of it. Indeed, my awareness of my mortality compels me to live my life with a zestful attitude, seeking to do what is right, by the Grace of God, and never taking myself too seriously to acknowledge that I am a mist that has appeared for a little time and will soon vanish.
Again, not my words, but the words of James, the brother of Jesus, in his magnificent letter in the New Testament. Not my words but the words of David in Psalm 39 in which he acknowledges the brevity of life. “O, Lord, make me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting I am! Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath!”
What does it mean to live life to the full? To each their own, for there is no single prescription for how we should live our daily lives. However, there is an abiding general prescription that should govern how we live. That prescription is the Word of God, beautifully articulated throughout the Bible. One of my favourite anchors is Psalm 37, written by King David in his old age, to teach us how to live in a crooked generation.
David teaches us to delight ourselves in the Lord and to trust Him, to always do good, to refrain from anger, and to be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him. When we delight ourselves in the Lord, He will give us the healthy desires of our hearts, not the silly material things we crave, but the meaningful, joyful blessings that add value to our lives.
The Psalmist instructs us not to fear or envy those who do evil, for they will soon be gone. Yes, the wicked are with us – all over the world. Their violence is with us. It is intensifying in these days of accelerating greed for power and control. Thus it was in the beginning and ever shall be until the Lord Jesus Christ returns. However, we have a powerful anchor upon whom to lean and live to the full despite the darkness and wickedness that surrounds us.
Awareness of our mortality should liberate us from the foolishness in which many are captive. It should humble us and temper our tendency to mistreat others. It should enable us to ignore the minor irritants that constitute life, and to distance ourselves from those who pose danger to us. We are without the power to change their ways. Only the Holy Spirit of God can change wicked hearts.
Raila Amolo Odinga, the former prime minister of Kenya who died last week, rejected bitterness and embraced peace and reconciliation with those who had cheated him, tormented him, and undermined so much that he had stood for. While he had flirted with radical political resistance in his youth, his willingness to sue for peace with political opponents whose legitimacy as presidents of Kenya he disputed, is probably his greatest legacy. This very fallible man, whose life and deeds await thorough and objective analysis, challenged us to turn the other cheek, so to speak, and find common ground with those whose politics and ways we disagreed with.
Raila demonstrated that Kenya was bigger than him. His death shocked his countrymen. Their public display of grief was straight from their hearts. Yet Raila’s instructions that he should be buried within 72 hours of his death was an acknowledgement of his transient importance to Kenya. We mourn him today, and many Kenyans genuinely feel that he is irreplaceable. However, history teachers us that Kenya will continue without Raila. After the sunset, his name and memory will retreat into the mist, just like those indispensable people who are hardly talked about by the people of Kenya. Even Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, the towering figure whose death in 1978 Kenyans had been legally prohibited from "encompassing, imagining, devising, or intending” is not a daily subject of conversation.
We are but a mist that shall soon vanish. We should live in peace with all, for our fight for power, space and material possessions, and everything else, is foolishness that that will become meaningless when we die. Which will be sooner than we care to acknowledge. Peace.
© Muniini K. Mulera