“We’re all adrift in the same boat: too few days, too many troubles. We spring up like wildflowers in the desert and then wilt, transient as the shadow of a cloud. Do you occupy your time with such fragile wisps? Why even bother hauling me into court? There’s nothing much to us to start with; how do you expect us to amount to anything? Mortals have a limited life span. You’ve already decided how long we’ll live – you set the boundary and no one can cross it. So why not give us a break? Ease up!”
This deeply sad and angry passage is a variation of the first few lines of Job 14. He is pleading for answers from God. Asking why life is so hard, with no rest or reward, ending only with death. “Like a flower, he comes forth and withers. He also flees like a shadow and does not remain.” That’s all humans are according to this rant: flowers with the only purpose of blooming until they wither away. Not a super optimistic viewpoint, I know. But haven’t we all felt this way at times? Haven’t we all been frustrated, confused, or just straight up angry at the world? Haven’t we all felt like we were just a wildflower, happy to bloom but wondering what else is there?
No? Just me and my man Job?
Maybe you haven’t felt that way – in which case good for you. But maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Frustrated about the way your life is leading. Confused about what you are supposed to do or where you are supposed to go. Angry at our flower slowly wilting with no way to stop it.
For me, I felt this exact frustration, confusion, and anger that Job so passionately proclaimed a little over two years ago at the sudden and unexpected death of my friend, Pat. Pat was a really good kid. It’s as simple as that. He was funny, smart, caring, and was always seen with a smile on his face. And not just any smile – a contagious and ever-growing smile. It seemed like he would go about his day with the specific goal of making others share that smile with him. If we are all just flowers, like Job so poetically phrased it, then Pat was the largest and most colorful flower you could imagine. But just like all flowers at the end of their life cycle, Pat lost his color.
I was a junior in college when it happened. Pat was a senior. It was exactly one month before his 22nd birthday. We were in our church choir together at school. I played guitar, he sang with the tenors. Neither of us really knew what we were doing when it came to some of the music. But we enjoyed and loved it nonetheless. Pat would always ask questions. They would range from “so how long have you been playing guitar?” to “what do you think happens when you die?” His inquisitive nature is what made him so unique, so special. Someone that special and caring should not have been gone that young. He had so many more questions to ask, answers to find, and smiles to cause. It was because of this, amongst a vast amount of other painful emotions, that made me feel almost the same as Job. I found myself losing my faith, isolating with only a small group of people who understood what I was going through, and becoming angrier and angrier at the world.
I’m not going to try and lie and say that I understand God’s plan for us (see my last blog post), and especially for Pat. Parts of me still understand Job’s anger – many days it feels like we were put here just to die. But when I look back at it, and I reflect on Pat’s death and the deaths of so many others that were too young and deserved to live much longer and fuller lives, I wonder what’s so wrong with being a wildflower?
Flowers are beautiful. They smell nice.
They make people smile.
Death has to happen. Philosophers of all shapes and sizes agree on that fact, let alone theologians. And I’m one of those clichéd believers that think that you’re not really gone when you’re dead. And despite the fact that this is a Catholic blog, I’m not even talking about eternal life, or any of that fun stuff. But do flowers really just sprout, bloom, and wither away? I get what you’re saying, Job. Just like flowers, people come and go. But flowers also bring a lot of happiness to people when they’re here. And before they wilt away they’ll share their seeds with the world. Maybe the wind will take it somewhere for a new batch of flowers to pop up, or maybe a bee will carry it to a new destination. But no matter the case, one flower makes a pretty big impact on the world, and leaves an even bigger legacy.
Pat’s life on this Earth may have been cut short, but the impact that he will have on it is still being seen, and will be seen in the future. His questions will be pondered by those that heard him ask it in the first place. I’ll do my best to keep singing like he would have wanted. And like a flower, he will continue to make people smile.
Happy birthday, Pat. Here’s to 24.
Pat (Top Center) and I (directly to the left of Pat) and the rest of our chapel’s choir.
