On Death (part 3): After you, my dear…

My wife and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary in the next few months. Assuming she doesn’t come to her senses between now and then, we plan a weekend getaway with our children and grandchildren. Next Spring, we hope to travel to somewhere fun to play, celebrate, and wrap our heads around how four decades managed to fly by in the blink of an eye.

Janine does not always appreciate my self-deprecating humor. Ok, she rarely appreciates it. When I joke that I “married up”—she is several inches taller than me—she just rolls her eyes. I get the look if I ever kid around with my friends about how I compare negatively to her. Maybe if we manage to celebrate 80 years together, I will learn to control myself. Yeah, probably not…

The truth is that I never imagined marrying someone as intelligent, kind, compassionate, creative, caring, and lovely as Janine. Her gentle influence and example have brought out a better part of me. Her curiosity and desire to try new things opened worlds I may never have noticed. To say that Janine sacrificed a great deal for me and the well-being of our family is a ridiculous understatement. She put aside a career as a zoologist to (as she says) “raise primates at home” and care for all of us. She willingly uprooted herself and our family whenever it appeared God was moving us to a new place and ministry, leaving behind beloved friends, her own meaningful ministry, and the home she worked hard to create. Janine has endured many years of me traveling in ministry and for work—sometimes as much as half the year—even though it has not always been her preference.

Like all couples, we had stretches that were harder than others. Our greatest shared joy and most difficult task was raising four beautiful children together. There were a few years in there when we were both working, and I was back in graduate school that were particularly challenging. Too many other things sidelined our energy for one another, and we wound up living parallel lives rather than walking hand in hand. Our house was a bit chaotic. Often, we had other people living with us. Sometimes, I worked two or more jobs (despite the exorbitant salary of a Quaker minister!) to keep everyone clothed, fed, and warm.  And though we worked at tending our relationship with one another, we allowed ourselves to be stretched thin by the demands of a too-busy life. Neither of us felt like we were ever about to lose one another, but I think we both regret those moments when we lost sight of each other along the way.  

Though we desperately miss the days of having our children home, I think we both agree that this season of being “empty nesters” (and having returned to our home in Oregon) has brought a new depth and renewed intimacy to our relationship. We are comfortable together. We feel at home with one another. We are at peace puttering in the garden, going for walks, sharing thoughts, and talking about the future. Though the first 40 years were not at all like wandering in the wilderness, we have settled in a land of a promise we imagined and made to one another many years ago.

And one day, in the not-too-distant future, our little love affair will come to a close.

And I really hope she goes first.

That sounds bad—doesn’t it? “I hope my wife dies before me” has the ring of a confession that might be used against me in a court of law.  I did not say, “I hope Janine dies soon” or “I wish she were dead.” All I am saying is—if my long-standing prayers come to pass—she will precede me in death.

As someone who has preached thousands of times, I confess that very few single sermons are memorable. This is certainly true of my messages, but I have a sneaking suspicion the same is true for most pastors/speakers. Whatever value there is in sermons—and I think there is some—it comes over the long haul. Consistent and faithful teaching helps shape and speak to the condition of a congregation as it journeys with God in the context of its time and place. I believe the most significant influence is cumulative, more than immediate. Rare is the sermon that leads to a striking transformation in the life of a community, and very few are even remembered by individuals.

However, one rare and memorable sermon shaped me very early in my life of faith. Janine and I were married less than a year when I heard a preacher tell the story of a man who lost his wife to an unexpected heart attack. Their loving home and beautiful life were snatched away when a muscle in her heart quit working. One moment, she stood in the kitchen talking and laughing with her life-long partner. The next moment, her body lay on the floor—and she was gone.

When the grown children gathered around their grieving father, he told them, “I am so grateful to God for your mother, our life together, and today. It all happened just as I have prayed our whole marriage—that she would die first.”

“You see, when you love someone,” the father said to his puzzled children, “as much as I loved your mother, you would do anything to spare them unnecessary pain. I never wanted her to feel the grief I feel today or deal with the loss, change, and loneliness that one of us would have to face at the end of our life together. I am so grateful—it all happened just the way I always hoped.”

That story made so much sense to me 40 years ago and makes even greater sense today. Having watched so many spouses who have lost their beloved, I would prefer mine not to have to endure that pain and those challenges for my sake. And so, my prayer has been and will remain that she passes first, hopefully, many years from now. This seems like a minimal sacrifice on my part, given all she has done for me.

Janine and I have discussed this, and not unexpectedly, she has had similar conversations with God. In her mind, it makes more sense for me to die first—although, come to think of it…she did not say “many years from now!?!”  She imagines herself as a more able caretaker—which is probably true. More than that, she worries I will become a recluse if she passes first. Janine is an extrovert, has a very tight circle of wonderful friends, and has lots of activities and interests to occupy her time and attention. Me—I am more introverted and would be apt to sell everything and become a bit of a vagabond—and she can’t imagine anything much worse than being lonely. She may, however, underestimate my resilience and the sustaining strength I would find in the privilege of carrying our grief and loss—even if it were on my own.   

As if our preferences mattered, we are content to leave it up to God’s good design. I will note, however, that James 5:16 says, “The prayers of a righteous person are powerful and effective.” Since Janine and I are, in effect, offering competing prayers, this doesn’t bode well for me. If God listens and responds based on the degree of “righteousness,”—I may be dead by dinner this evening!

If not, and I do wind up being the one who remains, I will give thanks each day for this life we were blessed to share and look forward to whatever comes next when we meet again.

After you, my dear…