Scriptorium Daily
Americans are foolish about death.
It comes and we always act surprised. It is as if some product on late night television should have “solved” death by now for $19.99. We look around for someone to blame or to sue for death.
Hedonism makes us unable to learn much from it. We too often have turned funerals into parties, vowing that the deceased wouldn’t have wanted us to “be sad.”
And perhaps, in this hedonistic age, he or she would not have. But the deeper truth is that we are sad. . . and our mourning and loss do not just go away after we have “done” the funeral.
(How wonderful by contrast to attend the memorial services for Dr. Cook, so rich in tradition and appropriate Christian grief mixed with joyful hope!)
The loss of any human being diminishes us all. . . even if it is only in the loss of any hope for repentance and redemption in an evil man. His legacy is fixed for harm.
What then is our loss when a great man passes?
It is very great indeed.
Great and good men are not so common that we can be sanguine about their loss.
What good is it?
I was led to reflect on this by meditating on the death of Dr. Cook. Intentionally, I have chosen to finish this (started the day of his death) weeks later. . . after the “official” grief has ended. For those of us who were not family, but colleagues, there is no way to comprehend the mourning (a mix of joy and sorrow) of his kin, but we must reflect on our own loss.
Dr. Cook was not a perfect man, but when the University history is written his chapter will be the longest not merely for the length of his tenure, but for the good times over which he presided. He made the name “Biola University” real by maintaining the “Biola” while taking the first steps toward genuine university status.
This was a hard, almost impossible, job, but Clyde Cook did it.
What then happens when the great man dies?
The best reflection I know on this comes from Tennyson in his long poem on King Arthur. Arthur, of course, is the paradigm great ruler and any direct comparison to him with anyone not the Christ is a bit foolish. . . but as the paradigm we can learn from him and from his passing in our lesser sorrows.
The great write in large letters the lessons the rest of us must learn.
The passing of the greatest Christian ruler, as told by one of the greatest Christian poets, teaches us something of how we (lesser citizens of a society much less important than Arthur’s kingdom of Logres) should deal with the death of our great man.
As he was leaving England, Arthur said to his last remaining follower:
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”
There is great wisdom in this. Old goods held for too long can become modern evils.
Dr. Cook had a time to lead Biola and it has passed.
It was a good time, but it could not continue. Why?
Human vanity and corruption exist in even the best of men, even in good King Arthur. His human followers weary the good man by their petty evils and always threaten to make him an idol or, in the opposite error, take his golden age for granted.
This vanity always threatens to undo the good that has been done. Death is God’s severe mercy to fallen men. It allows us to live and do some good, prepare our souls for Paradise, and then move to the next life before weariness and decay overwhelm the good.
There is a time when the great man’s work is done and it would be cruel to demand he stay.
Saint Paul says it best (II Timothy 4:6-8):
For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing.
Saint Paul was done. He had to go for his own sake and for that of the church.
This is all true, but the passing of a great man is no less heavy on those of us who remain at the end of the Age of Gold. As his brother noted on C.S. Lewis’ grave: men must endure their going hence. (This was taken from King Lear V.ii.)
And that can seem unbearable, if it did not have to be borne.
No man can substitute for the writer of Romans. Who can replace Arthur? Doesn’t Jack have one more Narnia to write? Shouldn’t Dr. Cook preside genially over every faculty conference?
In our lesser way, at little Biola, the end of the Cook era is fearful and full of peril. The times are changing and we would, if we could, commit the great sin of Tolkien’s elves and keep time as it has been. We would keep change from coming, but in doing so corrupt the old good into the new evil.
When Arthur died, the men of the next generation did not rise to the challenge. Some looked to the past and longed for his return. Others used the death of the great man to enrich themselves. Even more dangerous was the revolutionary impulse that used natural change to argue for wrenching and violent revolutionary disorder. No leader emerged to take Logres forward. . . conserving the good of the past and delighting in the new season.
Logres was lost and became merely Britain.
Arthur had to die, but Logres did not have to be lost.
Sometimes the next generation does come through. . . Joshua followed Moses, Clement came after Paul, Elizabeth II followed good King George, Talbot follows Torrey. If we cannot be as great as our fathers (who were gifted to be first), we can at least do our duty in our time.
In his first year, Dr. Barry Corey has already shown promise to be the Joshua kind of leader. We must pray for him that he resists both the reactionary and revolutionary impulses in us. He understands the need for a progressive conservatism. . . or a conservative progress! There is great hope and anticipation for this to be (yet another) Biola springtime.
There is hope in change. . . and peril. For a Christian lady or gentleman, we acknowledge both and go to our knees for mercy. May God save our new president and Biola University!
