Meet Francis.
Francis is a synthetic skull I ordered on Etsy. I am not sure where you get your skulls from, but I like to support independent artisans. I already had a name picked out, so when my skull arrived, Francis found a prominent place in my office at Mercer University.
Every other spring semester, Francis and I teach a course entitled “Death and Dying” at the School of Theology, and if I am honest with you, we find great enjoyment talking about death. Alongside wide-eyed students, we engage in topics concerned with practical preparations for death.
Did you know, for example, there are many ways a body can be treated? Embalmed, cremated, composted, donated for research and natural burial are just a few methods. We explore the inequities of death because of race, environment and wealth. We discuss issues surrounding grief and how to walk with others in their times of sorrow. We look at how death is depicted in popular culture, and we debate some of the ethical issues surrounding life support and medical aid in dying.
On the first day of class, every student is handed a black envelope, and in it is a note that reads in part:
Only God knows the time and the season, but for this class, the abstract season of your death will arrive on __.
Each student is assigned a randomized — and fictionalized, I hasten to add — death date. But wait! There is more. For their final project, they must create a “death book.” Mine is called “Don’t Fear the Reaper — More Cowbell.”
Their death book is to include the cause of death and describe the final four weeks of their life, leading up to the final moments. Do they imagine they will die in a hospital, nursing home, ambulance, at home or someplace else? Students are to write an obituary and describe how they want it to be published or shared. They are to define the disposition of remains and plan in detail the funeral and/or memorial, including the sermon/eulogy/remarks. And finally, the students will finish their project by describing how they think they will be remembered one year and 25 years following their death.
It is at this point that students are wondering if they should have enrolled in some other course, any other course, but it is too late because they need an elective in practical theology, and I am the dean, and they worry if I bear grudges, because I do bear grudges, but not really, just long, run-on sentences.
One thing heard in every class is the Latin phrase memento mori, “remember you will die.”
Morbid? Well, of course. It is a class on death, for goodness sake. But ultimately, it is life-affirming. When you deny death (see the writings of Ernest Becker), all sorts of fears and anxieties can take over. Fear of death and fear of life are two sides of the same coin.
Here at Mercer University, preparing leaders means helping students thoughtfully reflect and confront some of life’s hardest questions, and to do so with courage, compassion and faith. I have had the privilege of working with several other schools and colleges here at Mercer to help better prepare our students to flourish in their chosen careers.
When we look Francis in the eye (technically a socket), we are invited to consider that this one life, this one, significant, precious life, is a gift. Every moment. What will you do because of this gift?
Memento mori is not just a cool tattoo; it is a summons to seize the day, be grateful for the simple things, love your neighbor, and don’t forget to love yourself. Yes, for all there is a birthdate and a death date, but it is in the dash that we get to leave our mark. Make it count.
