OBITUARY
I wrote my own obituary.
First, I was intrigued by the idea above all else. I not only decided to write my own, but I invited a few others to do the same. About a month ago, I was companioned by my friends to probe deeper into what really matters most to me.
A few months ago, I read an article in the New York Times titled, Why I Write My Own Obituary Every Year (https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/29/opinion/write-your-own-obituary.html). Intrigued and curious, I decided to follow through. I found a few helpful instructions online and followed these simple steps.
1. Write your name and what you would like on your tombstone.
2. How did you make the world a better place?
3. Write down how people will remember you.
4. Write down what was real me, my essence.
5. Who will miss you the most?
6. Write down what I would love someone to say when I depart.
This exercise briefly crossed my mind as a morbid idea. But once I overcame the initial obstacle, I realized it was neither morbid nor maudlin. Instead, it proved to be incredibly helpful in identifying what matters most to me at this point in my life. In hindsight, this exercise was somewhere between wishful projection into the future and honest, vulnerable self-assessment of the present. Not out of a desire to withhold my obituary, but because sharing what was most important and helpful to me mattered more, I would like to share what I learned from writing my own obituary. The real value for me was the reflection that followed, more than the exercise itself.
Post Reflection
First, I became fully aware that this exercise reflected this time in my life, serving as a window to my soul this season. What I may write a few years from now may be nuanced differently or perhaps even radically different. For a document that is barely over 200 words, I became highly cognizant and intentional of every word and phrase I chose. Just perhaps, the words not only agreed but defined what I embraced as a reflection of who I think I am in my true essence. Conversely, I did feel restrictive and came face to face with the limitations and brevity of my mortality—that my life can be summed up in so few words.
On the first day of our sabbatical back in 2019, my wife and I visited Serra Retreat Center in Malibu, California. As we were about to walk the labyrinth, I saw the plaque that read, “Walk this labyrinth not just for yourself but for all those who cannot find their way.” That invitation remained prophetic and alive in me as I embarked on the second half of my life ever since then. That act of walking my own way so that I may be of help to others, surmises the timeless invitation—that walking my way is not just for my benefit and calling, but also others.
No wonder both my wife and I took on Jesus’ “mission” of “to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’ (Luke 4:18-19, NRSV). This mission of Jesus, in my mind, served as the cornerstone for all the teachings and actions of Jesus. Jesus’ prophetic mission was to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”
In my obituary, there is also an undeniable shift from primarily serving organizations and programs to simply serving and being with people. God, as a generous and big God, has resonated with me over the years and changed how I see everything. In contrast, there is a clear sense of defiance and a voice against empire-building systems. Additionally, nature has become an important teacher for me.
Ultimately, this exercise sifted through and separated life’s trivialities and non-essentials from what I believe to be God’s invitation, based on how God designed me. It was like I had written an invitation to myself about how and what to live for, separating grains from chaff.