Editorial: The sweet joy of not being dead. Yet.

What did National Football Football League Commissioner Roger Goodell think when he woke up Wednesday morning, June 8?

Marv KnoxThe previous day, a hacker commandeered the NFL’s twitter account and announced pro football’s controversial chief had died.

“We regret to inform our fans that our commissioner, Roger Goodell, has passed away. He was 57. #RIP,” the tweet reported.

The NFL quickly removed the hacked tweet, which prompted a response from the hacker: “Oi, I said Roger Goodell has died. Don’t delete that tweet.”

Screenshot of hacked NFL tweet. That was news to the still-living Goodell. He tweeted a response, under a picture showing him walking onto an elevator in the NFL’s Manhattan offices: “Man, you leave the office for 1 day of golf w/@JimKelly1212 & your own network kills you off. #harsh.”

Brian McCarthy, the NFL’s vice president for communications, took to an older medium—email—to combat the hacker. “The N.F.L. Twitter account was hacked,” he wrote. “We have engaged law enforcement to look into the matter. We are reviewing and strengthening our cybersecurity measures.”

I can’t help but wonder if Goodell—that night or early the next morning—reviewed and strengthened his perspective on life. Did Goodell think about his death, about all he hopes to accomplish first and about what will happen to him when he takes his last breath? Maybe he’ll tweet about it.

It happened before …

The duplicitous declaration of Goodell’s demise brings to mind a similar situation that occurred to the great American humorist Mark Twain 109 years before Twitter turned out the first tweet in 2006.

Twain—aka Samuel Clemens—was traveling in England in May of 1897, when a rumor of his grave illness circulated in the United States. In fact, a major American newspaper published his obituary.

The New York Journal asked its English correspondent, Frank Marshall White, to determine the truth. White contacted Twain, who sent him a signed note saying, “ … the report of my death was an exaggeration.”

Death vs. life

Twain’s near-brush with death, exaggerated or otherwise, apparently prompted soul-searching. Anthologies of his quotes contain numerous later comparisons between living and dying. Darkly—for they contain no hint of eternal life—death often comes out on top. For example:

• “All say, ‘How hard it is that we have to die’—a strange complaint to come from the mouths of people who have had to live.”

• “Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is, knows how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race. He brought death into the world.”

• “The Impartial Friend: Death, the only immortal who treats us all alike, whose pity and whose peace and whose refuge are for all—the soiled and the pure, the rich and the poor, the loved and the unloved.”

• “Death, the refuge, the solace, the best and kindliest and most prized friend and benefactor of the erring, the forsaken, the old and weary and broken of heart.”

• “Pity is for the living; envy is for the dead.”

Here and hereafter

You get the point. You don’t have to experience an exaggerated report of your own death to consider its meaning and evaluate your here and hereafter.

For a Christian, hereafter is the easy part. Once a person has placed faith in Jesus, eternity takes care of itself. A Christian can live assured of salvation and eternal life in heaven.

But here—in-between this moment and your death—that’s the tricky/risky/variable part. What we do while we live here on earth, that’s our responsibility. And privilege.

Our Bible study class is studying the epistle of James this summer. James is the New Testament writer who said, “Faith without works is dead.” What you do matters. If you wonder about yourself, think about what you’ve done.

But that isn’t so simple. Deciding what to do among an infinite array of choices is the challenge.

Resumé vs. obituary

We live in a resumé vs. obituary world. The gravitational pull of our Western capitalistic culture values your resumé over your obituary.

Your resumé chronicles your tangible accomplishments. The schools you attended. The jobs you held. The houses you lived in and the cars you drove. The accolades you accumulated. Maybe the places you visited and the sights you saw.

Your obituary records the intangible-yet-enduring elements of your life. The family and friends you loved. The Christian acts of grace and kindness and redemption you bestowed. The books that made you weep or hoot or caused your mind to explode. The music that made you dance. The food that caused you to moan. The laughter and tears. The quirks of personality, character and biology that made you you. The mental snapshots of hugs and kisses, splendid sunsets, scenic vistas, and moments of serendipity and splendor.

Don’t wait until your demise is tweeted or your death is exaggerated to evaluate your one beautiful, painful, joyous, confusing, surprising, outlandish, never-to-be-duplicated life.