Final Account

I came across an interview with Leonard Cohen recently. It was towards the end of his life, and he spoke about preparing for death—and it was strangely pragmatic for such an enigmatic poet!

I was struck by a couple of things he said:

“I am a tidy kind of guy. I like to tie up the strings if I can… At a certain point, if you still have your marbles and are not faced with serious financial challenges, you have a chance to put your house in order. Putting your house in order, if you can do it, is one of the most comforting activities, and the benefits of it are incalculable.”

There is truth to what he says—it is both wise and kind to put things in order. It is certainly of immense kindness to your family to do so. Get a will made. Get your finances sorted, and notes left.

We’ve been finding this out—my father passed away at the end of May. There is much that needs sorted, but some years ago he told me he had left a file of instructions. He was ready. And for that we were deeply thankful. When the time came, sure enough there it was, tucked away in plain sight amidst other files, appropriately (or inappropriately!) labelled “Final Account”.

Instructions, lists of what was where, details of solicitors—he had attempted to put his affairs in order.

He was ready to go. But there is more to death than going. There is arriving. It would be a strange tragedy—everything in order for the going, and nothing prepared for the arriving. To have taken care of many physical and financial matters, but to have made no preparations for spiritual matters.

Thankfully, my father was also a man who had made preparation for arriving, many years ago. As a young man, he had been in Cork with a group of young men helping with a church down there. He was deeply impressed by the reality of their relationship with God. There was something real about it. He knew all the right answers, but these young men had something beyond answers.

On the way back up from Cork to Belfast he found himself stopping at the Curragh racecourse to stretch his legs. And there he asked Jesus Christ to be his Saviour, to forgive him for his sins, and he committed himself to following Jesus.

So 60 plus years later, when a stroke hit him out of nowhere, he had already put his house in order, spiritually as well as the other ways. That was of even greater comfort to us. All was well—not because he was a great man, but because he had entrusted himself to a great Saviour. The Final Account had been settled much longer ago by Christ, and so he could face death with confidence.

There was another note on the kitchen table. It read “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9).

Not only was he ready, but he was looking forward to what would come next.