The year 2026 has been rather momentous for my family. My youngest daughter turned 21 years of age, my oldest daughter turned 25, my wife and I celebrated 35 years of marriage, my aunt (the last of the siblings on my father’s side) celebrated her centennial birthday, and on Aug. 11, I survived 61 of earth’s revolutions around the sun.
It has been a whirlwind of celebrations and congratulations as each of these magnificent milestones marked another leg of life’s journey completed. However, for me at least, 2026 also has propelled me to ponder life’s ending and the meaning of it all.
Of course, as a minister, “meaning making” is part and parcel of the job description as we encounter individuals in the midst of life’s ups and downs and accompany them as they attempt to make sense of those experiences. We rely on rituals to help with this process, living into the liminal space of weddings and anniversaries and birthdays and retirements. Episodes when the transition is, more often than not, welcomed.
John Norman
The meaning of our existence is easily understood then. Life is “drunk to the dregs,” and the journey’s joy is palpable. During these times, the minister’s yoke is easy, and the burden light.
Walking through hard times
Yet oft are the times when ministers are tasked with the hard jobs — to make sense of death, to speak amid natural disaster, to exemplify peace when faced with wars and rumors of wars, to be with those who are trying to put the pieces of their lives back together after being scattered upon the floor. Such are the times that try minister’s souls
Yet we commit our hands to the plow and continue the slog. It is our “job” after all, but more than that it is God’s calling. With practice, and a little help from the Spirit, we find contentment in explaining the ways of God to humanity.
But what happens when it is the minister who is experiencing these life-altering transitions? Those liminal moments when the way things were are no more, and the way they shall be is yet to be revealed? The existential experiences that are pondered, thought on deeply and felt viscerally?
I have walked this way before, at various times in my life — the death of my father when I was 16, a mid-life crisis in my 20s (my father was 51 when he died), marriage, anniversaries, parenthood, Y2K, the deaths of good friends and relatives who were like friends, COVID, my mother’s death, graduations and on and on it could go.
“It feels different — for now, it seems, living into my 61st year, I sense I have arrived at the beginning of the end.”
But this time is different. It feels different — for now, it seems, living into my 61st year, I sense I have arrived at the beginning of the end.
For context, according to the latest data from the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the life expectancy of a child born now for both sexes is 79 years (when broken down by sex and race the data vary considerably). For the sake of argument, let’s fudge a little and say 80.
Now, with that in mind, if life were a football game, I would have begun the last quarter. If life were the Appalachian Trail, I would be trekking the last 550 miles. If life were a rodeo, I would have two ticks remaining on my 8-second rough stock ride. And, if life followed the pattern of Psalm 90, I would be well on my way to fourscore years.
Get your affairs in order
The reality of this fact “setting in” on my life has elicited a couple of responses.
First, I am taking seriously the advice I have given to parishioners for many years, “Get your affairs in order!”
This, of course, can take many forms (please do not take anything said hereafter as legal or financial advice): last will and testament, advance directives and legal power of attorney, to name a few.
This also can be a time to express your desires for your funeral or memorial service (which can be a huge gift to family and officiating ministers). Guidance for the service itself is beneficial as the individual’s desires for readings (Scripture and pieces of literature), music, and speakers can be very helpful. And many funeral homes offer pre-need agreements, allowing an individual to determine final wishes (such as burial or cremation) and pay for those services in advance.
However, in the same way theologian James McClendon reminds us, “Eschatology isn’t just about last things, it’s about things that last,” so too the plans for our end should not only be about what we want when we die (or what tangible items we leave to those important to us). These plans should also be about what we desire to pass on.
Legacy
Thus, in addition to making end-of-life plans “in case of my demise,” the second thing I have begun to think about is my legacy.
As I have met with families on many occasions to plan a loved one’s funeral, I have found myself asking two questions; “If you could only use one word to describe (your loved one), what would that word be?” and “What did you learn from (your loved one)?”
“The second thing I have begun to think about is my legacy.”
This is not only a wonderful way to illicit stories experienced with the deceased in life but also an opportunity to think about what the person has passed along to those they care about, which, I believe, draws us closer to painting a portrait of life’s meaning.
For many, this is the first time they have thought about the person’s life legacy and how their own life has been shaped by what has been passed on. Our Jewish neighbors, however, are more familiar with this custom of being intentional about what one passes on regarding a legacy of life.
Ethical wills (Tzava’ah) have traditionally “contained a number of items, including burial instructions, debts and obligations to be paid, requests that family members carry on specific religious traditions, and blessings over the family. But modern ethical wills are less about accounting and instruction and more about imparting wisdom or wishes or simply reviewing one’s life,” says the site My Jewish Learning.
As Barry Baines states in his book Ethical Wills: Putting Your Values on Paper, they are a wonderful medium for “clarifying and communicating the meaning in our lives to our families and communities.”
There are various resources for thinking about, planning and producing ethical wills (just type the phrase into an internet search engine). But a more interesting template could be found in the Gospel of John, where chapters 14 through 17 (probably beginning at 13:31) often are referred to as Jesus’ “farewell discourse.” There, he convenes a senior seminar for his graduating students, whom he will ceremoniously send into the world to teach what he has taught. But viewed through a different lens, these chapters can be understood as Jesus’ life legacy wishes for his “friends” — Jesus’ ethical will (Tzava’ah).
Sounding very much like Jacob in Genesis 49:29 where the patriarch informs his kids, “I am about to be gathered to my people,” Jesus tells the 11, “My children, I will be with you only a little longer.” Then, he begins by promising them a “place” (wherever he is going) and abiding “presence” (the Advocate), all the while leaving them with his peace, his love and his joy. Finally, Jesus “blesses” them (and those who come after them) with a prayer for sanctification and solidarity. It seems, as depicted in these verses in John, Jesus knew (for him) the end was near.
So, what legacy would I like to pass along? What will I include in my ethical will? The answer to that question is still vague in my mind and requires further consideration (although peace and love and joy sound like a good start).
In the end, it may be my family and friends (and the minister who preaches my funeral) who determine my life’s meaning as they interpret my existence following my demise. Until then, I’ll try to be more intentional with my words and my deeds, living and loving and laughing like it’s the beginning of the end.
John I. Norman Jr. serves as director of partnership development for the Campbell University Divinity School and remains a nomad Baptist minister of the gospel. The views expressed are the author’s alone and do not represent the views of Campbell University.