The House of Mourning

(I decided to share this particular post
with the IAHE blog, too, this week.)


"It is better to go to a house of mourning

Than to go to a house of feasting,

 Because that [death] is the end of every man,

And the living takes it to heart."

Ecclesiastes 7:2

This week my husband went literally to a house of mourning, and though our schedule did not permit me to be there with him physically, I, too, was there in my heart.  He watched them bury his forty-nine-year-old cousin--a husband and father of three.  The new year had begun with a new job, but after only a week at the new job, the man entered the hospital, and by the end of ten weeks, after two liver transplants, he departed this earth.  That was it.  His life is finished.

The living takes it to heart.

What if that were I?  What if that were you?  What would be left unfinished?  When we breathe our last breaths, would there be something we'd regret not doing?

The living takes it to heart.

I'm sure he never intended to die at forty-nine.  We all tend to think we've got plenty of time.  The day before the house of mourning, we had 'feasted' with my father-in-law, who was celebrating his eightieth birthday, and who had just come victoriously through heart surgery.  When the future stretches out before us like a road we can't see the end of, we can be lulled into a false sense of eternal life on this earth.  With the end not clearly visible on our horizon, we are tempted to let go of the urgency of living intentionally.  

Living as if we've got all the time in the world, our theoretical priorities of ideals don't translate into actual priorities of time.  The pressing, yet often not so significant, becomes our master instead.  Unintentionally, we give up living intentionally. 

. . .But the living takes it to heart. . .

Our children will not be young forever.

Neither will any of us live forever, on this earth.

What must change, so that we live intentionally, and with no regrets?