Honor. The dictionary blandly defines honor as "a good name or public esteem - reputation; or a showing of merited respect - recognition; or even a keen sense of ethical conduct - integrity. But does that really capture the sense in which we think of honor? Because, at least for me, "honor" is a word that immediately reaches into my heart, and into the depths of my soul. Honor makes my spirit rise and sing with gladness. When I think of "honor", I think of people who take stands even when it would be so much easier to stand down. I think of the heroes, both famous and unknown by most, of The American Civil Rights Movement. I think of my former neighbor and his long career in The US Marine Corps, where honor is essential and prided above all else. And I think especially of all the martyrs of the Christian faith who could have avoided terrible deaths by simply saying "Caesar is lord." It was not required that they believe it. All they had to do was to just say those three words and their lives would have been spared. Such honor amazes me. Such honor inspires me. Such honor strengthens my little faith. In fact, it is because of the honor of these men, women and children that we today can stand and say "Jesus is Lord!" Their lives and their deaths were honorable, and we give honor to whom honor is due [Romans 13:7].

I'm sure we would all desire to live in such a way as to be considered worthy of honor. But what does it mean to live with honor? What does it mean to die with honor? A lifetime lived with honor would seem to be a wonderful and lasting monument, a memorial that will outlive us and shine on throughout the passing years.

Yeah, you'd think so. But, as that wise observer of the human condition, William Shakespeare, showed us in his play, "Julius Caesar", it only takes a moment, and a few words, to utterly destroy any such monument to an honorable life. As Mark Antony comes "to bury Caesar, not to praise him", he continually refers to Brutus and the other conspirators who killed Caesar as being "honorable men". But in a matter of moments, and with a deft change in Antony's tone of voice as he continually repeats the phrase "honorable men", the crowd utterly rejects the very idea that Brutus and the others are, or ever were, "honorable men". So much for a lifetime of honor.

My friend and neighbor died last week. His death was not sudden and unexpected. They knew for several months it was coming. Actually, by the time it came, it was a welcome relief from the terrible physical pain he had endured for the last couple of months.

My friend died as he had lived - unable and unwilling to believe, or even to accept the possibility that there is anything beyond death. His wife respected his wishes and would not allow me to visit - not as a pastor, not even as a friend. I guess that is one way to think about "dying with honor". No one could accuse him of having a "death-bed conversion", as though that were some kind of a bad thing. No, he bravely faced his on-coming death with, I guess, "honor".

I wonder though - what kind of monument is that to leave behind? I suppose that, had they known, the company of those around the world who deny the possibility of a spiritual world, who deny the possibility of a life after death, would have been proud of him for standing strong on his disbeliefs, for not wavering in the face of impending and unstoppable death, for refusing to give an inch of his long-held position, for refusing to even consider the possibility that he might be wrong as Death stood at the door. Honor, indeed.

I suppose my friend might have thought that by standing firm to the literal "bitter end" in his disbelief, he was showing respect to his Grandfather, the one who had set his little feet on the path to a life without faith so many years ago. But, if so, how very strange of an idea that would have been. If, indeed, his Grandfather was right, if indeed, there is no life after death ["How could there be", said the old man to his grandson so many years ago, "if I've never seen it?" BTW - do you think your words have no influence on the coming generations? Think again. My friend's Grandfather's ill-considered words rang out as loud as thunder through the years, becoming the only words my friend could hear whenever I spoke to him of faith, changing, perhaps, his eternal destiny, and setting the stage for his son to follow in his footsteps.], then his Grandfather was not "out there" watching him, "waiting with bated breath" [to quote Shakespeare again - from "The Merchant of Venice"] to see if he would, despite the pain, despite the knowledge of impending death, hold to his disbelief. There was no one "out there" to see if he would "die with honor". There was no one "out there" to meet and congratulate and "honor" him for his courageous stand. There was just death - terrible, painful death. And then...

And so, ultimately, what was the point of his stand? Who derived any benefit from the fact that he held firm to his disbelief to the very end? Who was amazed, who was inspired, whose non-faith was strengthened by his stand? What good was it? Was such a passing worthy of honor?

Or is it all just immensely sad? Is it just enormously tragic? Is it just heart and gut-wrenching to know he passed his firm disbelief on to his son, who now has children of his own?

A heritage of disbelief. God have mercy on us.

Ambrose Ramsey | Pastor and Shepherd