I forget the context exactly but we somehow got on the topic of the image of ourselves that we leave behind when we die. Michael told a story that has stuck with me ever since.
Our church is in Alabama. Nearly everyone who enters this state is forced, in all seriousness, to pick a side in our intrastate college football civil war: Alabama or Auburn? Those two teams have won the last four national championships. It's life or death to many of our citizens.
As with all ministers, Michael was frequently asked to officiate at funerals for people whom he'd never even met. Also like other pastors, he explained, he would briefly interview the bereaved family about the deceased so he could memorialize them with a few words that summed up their character and personality.
He related a particular incident that still affected him deeply. In this instance, he approached the family and asked his usual questions about their husband and father.
"So, what was he like?" Michael asked.
"Oh, he loved Alabama football," came the response.
"Oh, he did? That's great. I know a lot of folks like that," Michael chuckled. "What was he like to be around?"
"He loved to talk about Alabama football. He just loved it so much."
Michael tried a different tack. "Well, what kind of person was he? What did he do that other people respected about him?"
One last time came the reply, "Oh, he just loved Alabama football."
Michael made it clear he was saddened and just a little angry about this incident.
How, he wondered, could a human being be so entirely absorbed in any form of entertainment? So much that it was all the people who knew him best could produce to show for his life?
What really stuck with me about this? Right before Michael told this story, he glanced at me and said, "No offense but …"
He knew I was a huge fan. In winter, I wore my Alabama jacket to church. (In my defense, it's the only presentable heavy coat I had at the time.) On Facebook, I have plenty of photos of me in full Alabama regalia. I attend one game per year and usually post tons of photos when I do. I always make comments on game day and often post self-made graphics about the game or season.
I'm not saying Michael was slamming me. He knew me pretty well. We had lunch several times and he even counseled me on occasion about my life. He knew I invested my life in many things and thought deeply about many weighty issues of faith, theology, philosophy, and society. The Crimson Tide rarely came up except as small talk at the beginning or end of our conversations. He knew I didn't have the same problem as the man he'd described.
But his story made me think about how I presented myself to the rest of the world. Did THEY know I was about more than this?
So, in the interest of my own legacy, I am putting it on record right now:
I enjoy the game. I love the rich history of it all. The thrill of watching a long touchdown run scored right in front of you with 100,000 people screaming right along is indescribable. Being an Alabama fan is an extremely fun social identity. Having random people say a matter-of-fact Roll Tide as they pass by you in the supermarket is very cool. It is also a great lesson in perspective to have Auburn friends I love deeply and yet enjoy our rivalry with.
But Alabama football is not anywhere near being an important part of the legacy I want to leave behind. When I die, I do not want "Alabama fan" to be one of the first things you recall when you think of me. I want it to be a fun fact, not a defining characteristic.
I do not want an Alabama-themed funeral. I do not want crimson and white floral arrangements flooding the parlor. I do not want to be buried in an Alabama shirt, no matter how nice it is. I do not want "Roll Tide!" to be said with any seriousness in my eulogy nor anywhere near the ending. I'm not knocking those who will or have done these things and have maintained a healthy balance. I just don't want it for myself.
I do not want the substance of my life buried under a wave of crimson.
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