Why Must the Beautiful Die? (Published in Ottawa News Network)

  

ONN #1 2025.8.30

 

Why Must the Beautiful Die?

 

I’m a student of the Bible. But the older I get, the more I find in it with which to disagree. Take, for example, the most ancient book of the Bible, Job. This book struggles honestly with the problem of pain for 42 chapters. But then the author blows it in the last six verses. It’s similar to attending an inspiring orchestra concert concluded by a rapturous piece and thundering ovation.  Then the director diminishes the memory of the powerful concert by playing some little ditty as an encore. 

 

Similarly, without the last half-dozen verses, the book of Job makes a powerful point: Pain is part of life. Moreover, it’s capricious – it makes no sense. What is there to do except to accept it stoically and be willing, as did Job, to die naked as he had been born naked. That’s what life is. That’s what life is. That’s what life is. But the author couldn’t stomach the honesty. Hence, he tags on a “they lived happily ever after” ending as Job gets back everything double over. 

 

The Psalmist tries. He honestly admits that “the rain falls on the just and the unjust”. But that really misses the point. What has justice to do with it?  Bible students especially should be fully aware that life isn’t fair. Jesus’s parables (Matthew 20: all workers get the same compensation) and the Apostle Paul (Romans 9) explicitly argue that life isn’t fair. Most eight-year-olds have learned the lesson. 

 

Instead, the most honest lament of tragedy I’ve encountered is from Stephen Foster. In a less-well-known song, he asks, “Ah! may the red rose live alway, To smile upon earth and sky! Why should the beautiful ever weep? Why should the beautiful die?” Find the entire poem online – it’s powerful. 

 

Why indeed? 

 

I just now returned from kayaking the Au Train River. I passed through my favorite place where my good friend Ryan Weaver and I used to have breath holding contests underwater. He and his wife, Leanna, have been joining me at my cabin for a week each summer for the last eleven years. I watched the family grow from two, to pregnant, to now an eight-year-old. During that time I watched Ryan spend endless hours playing Legos and building sand castles with Beckett. 

To watch him, you’d think it was Ryan’s favorite activity. Their pics decorate my fridge. 

 

Simply stated, Ryan is the most beautiful person I have ever known. He was my Hope College research student and a cross-country runner. The afternoon of June 9, 2012, I celebrated their joy-filled wedding, in stark contrast to the funeral of Hope colleague brain-cancer victim David Klooster that morning. 

 

Since that time we stayed close. Indeed, I chose Ryan as my medical power of attorney and he came to my aid five years ago following a heart attack and anticipating quad-bypass surgery. My nurse, when she discovered I had taught at Hope, told me she had good friends from there. Of course. 

 

So it was an ironic twist when, sixteen months ago, Ryan called and asked if I could meet him at Spectrum because while running his leg was dragging and his arm swinging  involuntarily. 

 

Ryan handled brain cancer with the same positive drive as he handled living. Through his network of friends, his surgery was done by the Duke University surgeon who operated on John McCain and Ted Kennedy. He volunteered for experimental studies and kept to a strict diet without a bit of sugar – all to live as long as possible for his wife and son. Learning that it might be beneficial, he trained his body via holding his breath - - up to 5 minutes. That’s commitment. 

 

Why must the beautiful die? Why indeed.  Irony of ironies, his whole life as a father, Ryan wore long sleeves at the beach to avoid the sun, ate a scrupulously healthy diet, no plastic bottles . . . Like Abraham, Ryan was blessed to be a blessing, and he took his commitment seriously. Yet now cancer has had its say. 

 

C.S. Lewis argued in his essay “Learning in Wartime” that since death comes for us all, it doesn’t really matter whether it comes at age 20 or 90. Bullshit! My 41-year-old friend expressed it powerfully: “I WANT TO LIVE!” Of course. 

 

I have kayaked the Au Train for fifteen years. Today, for the first time, I returned home soaked from a drenching downpour of rain. Each drop was a tear. 

 

Making Choices

  

HS #121 2025.8.14

 

Making Choices

 

Kayaking recently down the Au Train River towards the sandy beach of Lake Superior, I approached a young lad who was singing to himself – a catchy tune with words I didn’t recognize. Passing him, I asked, “That’s a neat song, what language?” He replied with the straight authority of Walter Cronkite, “I just made them up – it’s gibberish.” 

 

I continued on, but would have enjoyed engaging him in a quick conversation. Not only was it impressive for him to reach within himself to find his own words and tune, it was even more impressive that he represented himself to the outside world with unvarnished truth. His actions were true, excellent, and praiseworthy. More on that later. 

 

I’m in my sixties. Folks at my age are making choices about when to retire, when to start Social Security, what sort of Medicare package to get, and perhaps where to move for their retirement years. Subtract twenty-five years, and folks are choosing whether to change careers, whether to move, perhaps whether to change spouse, how to deal with children and relatives. Subtract another twenty-five and folks are deciding whether to go to college or military or work, and if so, which one, whether to start/continue a romantic relationship . . . 

 

As you read this, you are likely thinking of some pressing choices you are wrestling with presently. 

 

And humans aren’t alone in such things. As I ponder this column, I am kayaking up the Au Train River. I just passed a log with five turtles on it. As I passed, a couple of the turtles scurried off, while the others decided to take the risk and stay basking in the sun. I imagine them laughing at their friends as they claw their way back onto the log.  On the other hand, if the jumpers poked their heads out of the water and saw their companions being whisked away by an otter, they’d likely feel rather satisfied with their decision. 

 

Yes, we are confronted with many weighty decisions, but when counseling high school students about which college to attend, I point out that while they are rightfully spending serious effort on this “big” decision, success in college and in life may well depend more on the small decisions: Who are your new friends?  Do you go to class consistently?   Do you manage your time well, balancing study with recreation and fun?  Are you deliberate with spending money? 

 

The right answers are not the same for everyone. Years ago, a conscientious first-year advisee at Hope College told me he was planning to pledge a fraternity in the spring semester. I cautioned him that the time commitment might affect his studying and grades. His eyes teared up a bit and he said, “I’m getting a 4.00 GPA this semester. I wouldn’t mind having a 3.7 GPA in exchange for more friends.” I gave him my hearty blessing. 

 

But another such student asked my counsel of how to do better because his goal was medical school.  I told him what I had learned, “Matt, decide when you want to go to bed each night and commit yourself to it. You’ll find that that will force you to make better time-management decisions throughout the day.” Years later, he thanked me as he graduated, bound for medical school, and many years later he thanked me again when I saw him at DeVos Fieldhouse, telling me that he’s now a surgeon and researcher at Corewell. 

 

C.S. Lewis counsels in “Mere Christianity”, “Every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different than it was before.” 

My father saged a similar theme, “Sow a thought, reap a deed. Sow a deed, reap a habit. Sow a habit, reap a character. Sow a character, reap a destiny.” 

But perhaps the most measured advice about “small” choices comes from the Apostle Paul. In most of his letters to churches, he had to address pressing problems. But when he wrote the trouble-free church at Philippi, he had opportunity to discuss his own priorities:  Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy – think on these things - - and the peace of God will be with you.   

Good advice. And choosing to habitually think on such things, even though it takes discipline, leads to a life such as the young man with inner song and outward truth. God knows we need more of that.