John Carmody was a dying theologian – literally dying. In March of 1994, at the University of Tulsa, Carmody gave a lecture entitled “A Theology of Illness.” I tucked it away in my files but also filed it somewhere in my brain. I dug it out this morning.

When you deal with people seriously ill, either yourself or others, try to honor the eloquence of God’s silence. Babble if you must, as I have babbled here, but accept every invitation to desist. If the illness is your own, go for a walk, sit in a chapel, or just hold the loved ones you most cherish. If the illness is another’s listen for the time to stay silent, as well as the time to speak. There is a time to speak, but also a time to hold silence – to take it to your bosom like a love. There is a time to assault God, accuse God, but also a time to wait and leave God free.

Then he ended with this:

So, let nothing disturb you. Let nothing surprise you. The splendor in your death, as in your life, has yet to be revealed. In the morning thank God for it. In your evening, say, ‘So be it. Laus Deo semper.’ (Praise God always).

In the same file folder was something I’d saved about a man I greatly admired – Arie Brouwer. Arie was a Reformed theologian, General Secretary of the Reformed Church in America (1977-1983), deputy general of the World Council of Churches (1983-1984), and general secretary of the National Council of Churches (1985-1989) – the consummate church bureaucrat. 

Brouwer died on October 7, 1993. He wrote:

These days, I hold out very little hope for my cancer to be cured. I haven’t given up, but the statistics steadily weigh in ever heavier against it. In spite of all that, I find my feelings of hope undiminished! How do I explain that even within the household of faith, to say nothing of a skeptical world? How do I keep people from feeling as I speak of this, or as they read this, that I am clutching at a straw? That I am deceiving myself, using hope as a form of escapism from the harsh reality of terminal illness and death? How do I communicate that in truth we do not sorrow as those who have no hope? I believe that death is not the end, not the last word.

Contrary to what we may think and even experience in ourselves or others, Brouwer did not find faith fading, but growing. He felt as if death, like so much of life, is a kind of test.

Having believed all of this for many years, my feelings of hope are strong. I am not filled with dismay, or anger, or bitterness. This is true in spite of the aching disappointment I feel related to the people I want to be with and the things I would like to do in this life – the years of retirement with Harriet, more time with my family and friends, and even an ecumenical experiment I’ve had in mind – all of which now seems extremely unlikely.

Was this hope expressed by Arie realistic? 

“This experience of hope in spite of everything is to me even more important than the experience of faith in spite of everything.” That might be worth memorizing if memorizing is your thing. “However mysterious,” this matter of faith and hope, he knew them to be real and could say, “I am profoundly grateful for both.”

Arie’s final words:

I confess that among my first images of my own death, growing in faith, hope, and love – in grace – did not occupy very much of my thoughts. For that matter death did not. So, I am grateful to know that even this last earthly act cannot only be overcome by grace but can itself be a means of grace. (Perspectives, December 1993).

As I walk alongside my bother Tony in his state of serious illness and the prospect of dying too soon, I am challenged to be silent and let God and Tony do their last dancing on life’s stage. Tony, like Arie, someone Tony knew and admired, does not seem to think much about dying, which is a mystery to me and a source of wonder. But it’s real, and we, his family, are blessed to be in the audience watching and cheering — and weeping! It’s a package deal, this dying. 

I leave you with a video of Tony talking about “the long goodbye,” as well as a quote from John Donne which fits me more than my brother, but here it is anyway — 

Though so disobedient a servant as I may be afraid to die, yet to so merciful a master as thou I cannot be afraid to come.