Sometimes when
at our cry
God stretches out his hand
it is not to pull us up
but to push us down
like a gardener’s finger
pressing firmly
seed into soil
“And let us consider how to provoke one another to love
and good deeds …” Hebrews 10:24
At funerals and memorial services, there’s kind of an
unspoken rule that you only talk about the deceased in positive terms (which is
one reason I suspect that when it comes time for my father to bury his Dad, he
will not want to have a service at all). My husband’s best friend—who was also
a friend to me—died of cancer a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been considering this.
I think at least one reason for it is that we can honor the dead, not just by
remembering their highest virtues, but also by emulating them.
I guess that needs a little more “unpacking”:
A friend is normally someone whose company you enjoy,
with whom you have shared interests. But a Christian brother or sister will
build you up. That’s one of the most important things about regularly gathering
for worship and fellowship: the Christian life is not easy, and you need other
people who are on the same path to “provoke” you to love and good deeds. (And
what was Joshua, if not “provocative”?) Not all friends are a positive
influence, but Joshua certainly was for us. He was not just a friend, but a
brother in Christ. And in this world, we need as many such friends-and-more-than-friends
as we can find, which makes it all the sadder that he’s not here any longer. So,
anyway, we can honor Joshua’s friendship now by continuing to spur (spurring?) each
other on to continue growing in faith and in love, even in Joshua’s absence.
I think most people found Joshua to be very odd. I also
think most people don’t realize that homeschoolers are members of a subculture
significantly different from the mainstream American middle-class. It’s a common
worry of parents that homeschooled kids will not be socialized properly, and it’s
somewhat valid. But it’s not that homeschoolers end up lacking social skills—it’s
more that we end up with somewhat different social values and intuitions. Surprisingly
enough, though, there seems to be a kind of uniformity in the strangeness of
homeschoolers—and so, case in point, I found Joshua to be very “normal” and “familiar”
as a fellow homeschooler. And in a way, to me, it makes his death all the more
poignant. If that doesn’t make sense to you, try to imagine what it would be
like living in a foreign country. The death of a friend who was a fellow expatriate
would probably be particularly affecting to you, since there’d be one less of
your own “kind” in your social circle. Anyway, I feel that way about Joshua—there
is a wistful sense, “Alas; he was one of us.”
I think being a member of the homeschooling subculture encouraged
one of Joshua’s virtues which we who've survived him would do well to imitate:
he was extremely rational. To the best of his ability, he did not evaluate suggestions
based on the usual emotional considerations of how they might cause offense to
someone (especially oneself), usually by injuring pride. Instead, he considered
as objectively as possible whether something seemed to be in line with biblical
principles (according to the interpretive tradition in which his faith was
formed).
That may not seem like a huge compliment, but it is
nothing to sneeze at. Very few people are that consistent or sincere at
striving toward objectivity, and the result is all manner of self-deception and
fruitless posturing. When it comes to cutting through frivolous niceties and
irrational social expectations, Joshua should be an inspiration to us all.
But, as my father always said, your greatest strengths
are also your greatest weaknesses. As I mentioned above, there is a “rule” that
(at least in public) you only say nice things about the dead. And in some ways,
that makes sense, because the deceased are not able to defend or explain
themselves in response to criticism. But at the same time, it can get to be a
bit dishonest. We’re all human—and when we acknowledge that someone was flawed
and messed up, it stirs up that sense, “Alas; he was one of us.”
I hope that when I die people will not pretend that I
didn't make mistakes or have character flaws. I would much rather that they
acknowledge the things I did wrong, and forgive me. And in the same way that I
think we can best honor the dead by living as if they were still here to
inspire us with the virtues they embodied, we can also honor them by avoiding
and correcting the kind of mistakes that they made in life. They are not here
to work on those problems any longer—so we can do it on their behalf.
When Joshua was in a bad mood, he often felt free to
share it with others. But I forgive him for being irritable—not least of all,
because I am often the same way. And I can honor Joshua’s memory by making an
effort to notice and stop myself when I’m peevishly trying to bring others down
(well, it’s usually just Brandon—and I am sure he will approve of this method
of honoring Joshua’s memory!).
Anyway, I thank God for Joshua’s life, for the friend he
was to Brandon, for the chance to get to know him, for the example that he was,
and for the praise and glory I trust he is offering to God even now. We miss
you, Joshua. But “love never ends” and we hope to see you again, someday.
