Reflection on ‘Maxim 5’ (Each of Us Dies)

“Each of us dies with our work incomplete.”
–Maxim 5

Some people have told me that they find this very short ministry depressing. I guess I can see that. On the other hand, it’s a bit like “things are always in the last place you look”, or “a letter always reaches its destination”. Not as much of an absolute tautology as those, in that one doesn’t generally look anywhere else for something once they’ve found it (and no-one says it can’t also be in the first place you look), and wherever a letter arrives is, by definition, its destination (even if it isn’t the intended destination).

No, this one is, to me, extremely simple in essence and very complex in implication. The essence is simply this: there is always more we might have done. Every life that ends is a loss of someone who could contribute, albeit some of that loss may have occurred earlier than the point of death in the case of senescence or degenerative and/or progressive illnesses. Whatever you do, whatever amazing work you have done, you could always have done more.

Maxim 5

Goodbye, Grandma

Next week, I will be at my grandmother's funeral.

She is the last of my grandparents to die, and the one that I was closest to in my youth. This was not a result of any particular compatibility of personality or interests; rather, she lived nearby and looked after me a lot when I was little and my parents both worked. My other grandparents lived further afield; her ex-husband not too far away, in a neighbouring borough, though he was frail and largely housebound, while the other set of grandparents lived in Spain when I was born, then County Durham a few years later – both a long way from London.

My London grandfather I barely knew, which became a regret once he died. His long illness made it no surprise that he was the first to go, when I was about 14. My other grandparents I spent time with intensively, when I saw them, and I suppose I had most in common with my other grandfather – curiosity, an interest in technology, that sort of thing. I didn't see them that often, though.

Memento Mori

If Pascal were a (liberal) Quaker?

Remember you must die, life cries;
Your days shall end and then,
What shall you say you've done with life?
What account shall you keep?

What then shall come beyond this life?
It's clear that none can say.
Rewards may come for good deeds done,
Chastisement for your wrongs.

Maybe reward shall just depend,
On where you've placed your faith.
How then to choose among the range,
Of paths you see arrayed?

If there shall be a judge anon,
Selecting the elect,
There is little that can be done,
But hope that they are fair.

Poppies, Patriotism and Power

And so it is November. The annual pomp and ceremony of Remembrance bears down upon us, and the Royal British Legion's annual Poppy Appeal takes centre stage. Public figures – especially those who don't look properly “British” or who have ever expressed political views deemed not sufficiently patriotic – face the poppy test, as self-appointed arbiters of appropriate remembrance-related behaviour take aim over social media, letters pages, forums, and even broadcast media.

I don't know if I was just shielded from this as a child, or whether it has changed. When I was growing up, in the 80s and 90s, in the south-east of England, poppies were ubiquitous, certainly. There was a clear expectation that they be worn. What there wasn't, that I could see, was the vitriolic attacks on those who weren't wearing one, even without knowing the reason. There wasn't the association of the poppy, whatever the stated significance from the RBL, with support for current troops, and generic patriotism. It didn't have the connection, apparently despite the intentions of the RBL, with positive attitudes towards war now. To the best of my recollection, the meaning they seemed to signify was simply the honourable remembrance of the fallen, or at least the military fallen, in all wars, while being agnostic as to whether the wars were good or not.

A Quaker Halloween

It's a strange idea, isn't it? After all, the traditional Quaker testimony against keeping of times and seasons holds that there is no spiritual significance to any day. Quakers do not, traditionally, take liturgical notice of Christian seasons and festivals, be it Lent or Advent, Easter or Christmas. How then can we have a Quaker Halloween, a festival that is now of limited liturgical significance even to mainstream Christian churches.

There's more to Halloween than the lack of liturgical significance, however, and more to Quaker approaches to Christmas and Easter than their lack of liturgical significance for us. The important aspect of many of these festivals is now, in the global economic north, cultural. Practising members of many faiths will celebrate elements of such holidays, giving presents and attending parties.