Ecclesiastes 7:1-4

1 A good name is better than precious ointment,
and the day of death, than the day of birth.
2 It is better to go to the house of mourning
than to go to the house of feasting,
for this is the end of everyone,
and the living will lay it to heart.
3 Sorrow is better than laughter,
for by sadness of countenance the heart is made glad.
4 The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.

Reading through this scripture, and the rest of this part of Ecclesiastes 7, both challenges me and makes sense. Still, I imagine I would be hard-pressed to consider much of the meaning I have gained from reading it if I were trying to process this text while steeped in the emotional throes of grief and loss.

Grief often comes with loss through the death of a loved one. I am sure you know this well, especially those of us who choose to know and deeply love others, whether family, friends, or even people who do not know us yet, but who we invest in with appreciation and care. When such emotions come, the waves can be overwhelming and can block logic and reason. Yet deeply rooted love is its own kind of teacher. As I have heard it said, we do not always know what we have until we lose it.

I imagine what makes for living “the good life” when the things of value are akin to precious oils, birthdays, places where food and intake of all kinds are the focal point, and where laughter keeps people lifted above their sadness.

Precious oils, perfumes, soaps, body sprays, and the like can be costly. In any circumstance they are temporary. They offer a glimpse into good-life living. They provide the ability to be noticed by smell, or to mask reality. These applications need reapplication to keep up the aroma’s appearance and to endure some sense of pleasure, joy, calm, or other perception that all is well and good.

A good name has lasting, and potentially generational, impact. It is something that anyone can carry in mind and offer in knowing and remembrance. Names come with stories. Names bring up the person in a way that a smell cannot.

Even if someone is known for wearing a certain perfume, it is not the floral agent that matters, but the person it reminds them of. The name can even inspire to the point that others want to wear that substance at times, simply to help them connect with and remember the person and their good name.

Such well-lived lives, good and loving, are testimonies. When we lose them to death, it is a far greater loss than an aroma. Much is left behind, an account of that living which begins at the final exhale. This beginning could not have happened without a birthday, but birth can only happen once. It is like a high moment of celebration, achievement, and welcome. That energy will fade.

Even as we take on annual traditions of birthday celebrations, the first one, witnessed by few, is where the name comes in many cultures. For some, the name comes as the person develops. Yet it is the time between naming and death that fills in what that name can hold. At death, the name pours out from the many lives touched, whether for moments or decades of lived experience.

I miss a lot of birthdays and parties. Yet the parts of life that I want most to experience are those that help me know people day to day. Times when names can be learned and spoken repeatedly as stories are lived and told together.

Food without fellowship, music without dialogue, dancing without connecting, and entertainment without the purpose of connection and community is like a “loud gong or a clanging symbol” (1 Corinthians 13:1). It is the kind of living that appears and then is gone without a trace.

It is like when hundreds may show up for the party, but few or none know the birthday person’s name. Possibly even equally disheartening is when the people come and the birthday person knows few or none of their names. What good is living without our names?

With such awareness, I hope that when the sadness of grief comes, I embrace the moment. It is here that I will know love’s ever-growing presence in a fresh way.

If I have been living a good life, then I will not look back with longing for what was or could have been. I will look back with thanksgiving, and look forward to living more of that. I want to live in such a way that one day someone will speak my name as their mourning turns to dancing (Psalm 30:11), rejoicing as they live their good-name life too.