Mercy and Pardon For You and Me

I’m beginning to enjoy funerals. When I was young I thought they were painful. As I’ve grown, I’ve come to appreciate how often funerals cut through all the nonsense in life and get right to the heart of matters.

Last week I attended the funeral of a relative I’ll call Carl. I did not know him well. He died suddenly of a heart attack at 71. I learned a great deal about Carl at his funeral. His children were surprisingly candid about their father, and spoke frankly of both his failures and virtues.

Carl was a simple man who could not navigate the pragmatic aspects of life. For reasons not articulated (and I suspect, not fully understood), Carl could not support or care for his family financially – though it seems he certainly tried.

His children spoke of a house that was in shambles. When they were teenagers they’d have friends drop them off a few doors up the street, in hopes that no one would see where they lived. They put buckets out in the house when it rained, and piled on blankets when it was cold. They spoke of nearly never having enough, of almost always going without.

In the world’s terms – a view that overemphasizes wealth, status, and fame – I suppose Carl’s life would be considered an abject failure. But after his funeral, I considered Carl to be one of the most successful fathers I have known.

His children spoke truths that astonished me. They spoke of years of resentment toward Carl for not being the father they wanted. Their disappointment eventually turned to curiosity about him, then finally, understanding, forgiveness, and gratitude – gratitude for who he really was, and not for who they wanted him to be. They learned to have compassion for this man whose greatest gifts in life were honesty and pure intent.

Here are some quotes from his children:

“We were here to learn to love an imperfect man. The legacy of Carl was not what his children or even Carl wanted. But his legacy is a family that has learned how to love.”

“We were given a simple man to teach us to love.”

“We need to love one another, no matter what.”

“We can’t love each other in pieces. We love each other as whole individuals.”

“Maybe in your imperfection, you were perfect for all of us.”

Learning how to love; I can’t think of a more important lesson any of us could ever learn. To love others exactly as they are right now, with no desire to change them. To love others without conditions, without fault-finding, without fail.*

If we didn’t have weaknesses and faults (which we all have in abundance, if we’re honest with ourselves), we would never learn how to love. To love someone freely is not to love them in spite of their faults, but in the midst of them, and perhaps even because of them.

How easy is it to love someone who is exactly who we want them to be? I submit that that is not really love. That’s more like self-serving sentimentality. Learning to love someone completely is something much deeper and more difficult and real. We learn to love when we love the whole person, just as they are. To see the worst in someone and still love them completely is the only love worthy of its name.

After the funeral, I had the sense that Carl’s life was indeed a marvelous success, in a way that hit me powerfully. His legacy is a family who learned how to love, how to forgive, and how to have compassion and understanding. It was a funeral filled with mercy and pardon, with appreciation for the tough times, and with deep respect for a man who had an honest heart and pure motives. What greater goodness can any of us know?

Perhaps in our imperfections, we are all perfect for each other.

*Please note: When I say we should love without condition, I do not mean that we should condone wrongdoing or allow abuse to continue. If we really love someone who is doing those things, we may need to intervene or find it necessary to leave. However, I believe it is possible to leave a person and still have love for them in our hearts; we need never stoop to hate.