“A Bitter Death”

         My friend died on Friday. His cause of death was end stage alcohol cirrhosis of the liver; but that wasn’t what finally stole his breath. That was bitterness; that was what ultimately took his life. He believed he had been cheated out of his due, that he was harmed irrevocably and he could not accept the way his life turned out.

         Of course I saw the downward spiral. Even though we lived states away from each other, a great land mass between us, I knew what was happening. I could hear the effects of his drinking when we talked. I could see the grip his addiction had on him; but I also saw the root of bitterness taking hold in his spirit. I watched it grow.

         He was angry for years. And any tone I took or words I used or advice I tried to offer was considered insensitive to him, offensive. And when his rants became louder and more hurtful, I cut him off. I refused to talk to him when the conversation became so poisoned.

         Still, I feel deeply saddened about his death and about how our relationship ended. He was my friend and I miss him and I regret I had nothing helpful to give him. I wanted so much more for him in this life, envisioned such joy.

         I confess that I am not a stranger to this spiritual malady of bitterness. I know all too well that sour taste of resentment, of feeling as if I didn’t get my fair share, that somehow I have been treated unfairly. I’ve had a good plenty of pity parties and existential crises. And I know how much work it takes to yank out the root of bitterness, of discovering how quickly the plant has taken over every other spiritual fruit that has been tended in my garden. How it starts so simply, with nothing more than a tiny seed of discontent and can suddenly invade everything.

         I know the temptation of letting bitterness grow, the work it takes to pull it out, keep it out, the prayer, the acts of forgiveness, the practice of gratitude and mindfulness, of remaining focused on the things of God’s realm, not on the things of this world. And I also know the longer I let it grow, the harder it is to rid myself of it, how an unnoticed taproot can still be there, threatening to take over once again.

         My friend’s ex-wife says he found peace before he died, that he sought to make amends, reconciled with estranged family members, returned to his natural state of gentleness. And I am grateful for that and hope he is now forever released from the sickness of both body and soul, that he finally free in a way he hasn’t been for a long time, the root of bitterness once and for all, delivered from his spirit and cast away.

         And I hope for us all that we are able to stop the spread of the bitter poison within our own spirits, pull out the root of resentment and keep fertile the soil of our souls, that we are able to grow the fruits we are told are ours, the fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. May it be so.

You are the light of the world!

Yours,

Lynne