If you’re looking for an inspirational blog post to start off your day, this one might not be for you. It’s dark and rainy as I write this, so don’t expect a lot of literary sunshine.
You see, I went to a funeral, yesterday, which is nothing new… I go to them all the time as a preacher and chaplain. Heck, it’s a common thing to go to more funerals as one gets older, and I’m certainly getting older. After a while everybody you know starts dying off.
But a common worry – yes, a worry – struck me as I sat in the funeral home chapel. It’s a low rumble of a fear that is noticeable only to me, but one that seems to be growing in intensity with every funeral I attend.
It’s the fear that no one will come to my funeral.
Take it however you want, but every time I go to a funeral and see empty seats in the chapel or church sanctuary, I wonder what it will be like when I die. Will I have affected the lives of enough people to warrant my life being memorialized or celebrated?
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a King Herod who wishes people to mourn when I die. No, all I’m afraid of is that I will not have made a big enough difference to be missed.
A good name [is] better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one’s birth. – Ecclesiastes 7:1
I’m not afraid of dying, per se; I’m afraid of dying having not done enough to be missed when I’m gone.
Do any of you ever feel this way?