He departed unloved. He departed without being desired, with no one's sorrow, without being wanted. No one was sorry, no one was sad he died. He left without joy. He died and no one even felt sad. He died unmourned. There were no tears shed when he died—it was good riddance!
He died to no one's regret.
Those words come from different translations of 2 Chronicles 21:20. They were written about King Jehoram of Judah. (Ironically, his name means, "Jehovah is exalted" - unfortunately, he did everything BUT exalt Jehovah.) Jehoram was a horrible, ungodly man who married Ahab's daughter, Athaliah - interestingly, her name is the female version of "Jehovah is exalted." What a pair. Jehoram led God's people into idolatry. He took the throne when he was 32 years old, murdering his six brothers along the way to secure that position.
In 2 Chronicles 21, Elijah sent a letter to Jehoram in which God condemned the king, promising to strike everyone in Jehoram's family with a "heavy blow." He then went on to say that Jehoram would become ill with a disease in his bowels "until the disease causes your bowels to come out." God always keeps His promises, and after a two-year-long painful disease, that's exactly what happened. Jehoram died in great pain. He had no funeral. And in the words of inspired Scripture, "He died to no one's regret."
As I read 2 Chronicles in my daily Bible reading program that I follow with 40 of my brothers and sisters earlier this week, those words jumped out at me. I found out in our group "talk it over" section of the reading program that others were impacted in the same way. There is something very disturbing about that. Even the worst people of our society who commit heinous acts generally have someone who regrets their death. Marina Oswald reportedly visited her husband Lee's grave several times a week in the years following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. And Timothy McVeigh's father expressed in several interviews how he grieved - not only about what his son did but over the loss of his child.
Last week I attended a graveside service for a lady that I would consider an acquaintance - I had spent limited time with her, but I mostly knew her through my friendship with her family. She was nothing like Jehoram, and she died to the regret of many. I often find that by attending such services, I leave wishing I had known the deceased person better. They are eulogized (which literally means "to speak well of") by people who knew them well. Last week was no different. She touched many lives, and she left behind family and friends who are greatly grieved by her departure.
We've all experienced that. The writer of Ecclesiastes tells us it is better to go to the house of mourning than the house of feasting, "for death is the destiny of everyone, and the living should take this to heart." With a graveside experience fresh on my mind as I read Jehoram's obituary, the contrast was striking. I've certainly taken it to heart.
Revelation 14:13 says that my deeds will follow me. What will they say? Craig D. Lounsbrough wrote, “Lives are transformed in the solitude of those entirely unassuming moments where one life turns sufficiently away from itself in order to brush by another, and in the brushing it leaves that life forever better. And if I am privileged to have any legacy at all, let it be a million of these moments.” I love that imagery - turning away from myself to focus on someone else, leaving them better simply because I "brushed" by them. I can think of a lot of people who leave me forever better. I can also remember a few who haven't.
Ultimately, all that matters is how the Lord feels about me. I know from Ezekiel 33:11 that God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, and from Psalm 116:15 He actually considers the death of His saints "precious." Thankfully, He is "patient ... not wishing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9) And the most beautiful part of all of that is if I serve Him first, loving Him with all my being, my legacy - that "brushing by others" in this life that Lounsbrough wrote about - will take care of itself. Every interaction matters - the way I treat the clerk at CVS, the nurse who gives me a monthly injection, the young man who loads my groceries at the Walmart grocery pick-up, even those who treat me rudely. Especially them. And for those who are closest to me - my family - I hope the only thing they feel when they surround my gravesite one day is joy in knowing that God chose me for them.
(S)he died to no one's regret. May it never be said of me.
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