My brother-in-law died unexpectedly last Wednesday. He was my sister’s husband, only 63 years old. I was present for it. An entirely ordinary and entirely devastating event. Death is our birthright, whether we wish it or not, and yet it is a horrible shock. And we say—he was too young. And we say—he had so much yet to give and to do. And we say—he will be so missed. And we say—he leaves behind a legacy.

All that is true and also beside the point of death and what we can do about it. There is nothing we can do about it, except cling to what keeps us alive. What doesn’t keep us alive, at least not in ways life-affirming—isolation, drugs and alcohol, self-violence. What does keep us alive is love—loving people, loving community, loving action. Death cannot be changed into life. But the pain of suffering and lost can be born when buffered by people who care and are willing to bear witness. It is all we can do and one of the most humanly significant acts we can take.

I feel love from the communities that care for me, in my life and especially at this time. I also take comfort from these words from Ethel Waters (1896 – 1977), Black American singer and actress:

Life is not intended to be safe. A safe life has too small a name for a creature of eternity. Life at its noblest and highest has a hazard about it; it ponders tomorrow but does not know it; it sounds the depths of the ocean, but knows not the hazards of the bottom. Life at its best takes a chance on righteousness no matter the hazard, no matter the cost. Life, when answering to its true name, lifts on wings, feeling no invisible hands supporting it.

May you feel free and called to take a chance on love in the face of death, as you remember that you are loved, you are worthy, you are welcome, and you are needed. May you feel it so, and may it be so.

Blessings, Rev. Rita