What I Learned Writing My Own Eulogy

Reflections on character, legacy, and the slow work of becoming who God calls us to be.

Dear Reader,

This past winter I enrolled in a course called “Christian Formation: Practicing the Ways of Jesus.”

Instead of a large paper at the end of the course like many of my classes in Seminary, the primary written work in this class was a weekly integration journal. The goal of this journal was honest personal reflection and wrestling, listening for what the Spirit may be inviting me to attend to in my own character, practice, and leadership. Ideally these journal entries would provide me with a kind of “roadmap to growth” in the years ahead. I’ve already revisited this journal multiple times since the class ended, and it has proved useful.

Here is what my teacher wrote in the syllabus about the integration journal assignment as a whole and how it relates to spiritual formation:

Deep Christian formation is a slow-cooker exercise that cannot be rushed. Although the journals themselves will not be submitted until the end of the course, students should plan to write each entry within a few days following the relevant class discussion. It may be a good idea to set aside a regular day and time each week for personal reflection and prayer (I recommend 2 hours).

As I read over the syllabus, I knew that this class was not going to be easy. Faking spiritual formation is nearly impossible, akin to putting a slow cooker meal in the microwave and expecting the same results. And taking two hours to sit and reflect? Yuck.

When I read the first journal prompt, my suspicions were confirmed. THIS CLASS WAS NOT GOING TO BE EASY.

Here’s what it said:

Start by writing your own (brief) eulogy, focusing not on accomplishments but on character. What do you hope that people say about you at the end of your life? What do you most hope your legacy is? Then reflect (in writing) on it. Where are you on track for this vision? Where are you not?

Yikes.

Deep breath.

Here we go.

This is what I wrote:

Graeme lived a courageous, conviction-filled life and taught others to do the same. He was a husband, a pastor, and a friend. He is survived by his loving and dear wife, Faith. Graeme and Faith’s marriage was a testament to the gospel and God’s covenant faithfulness. Graeme viewed his marriage as a sacrament and a vocation, one that was intended for mutual life-long transformation and growth in Christ-likeness. He considered his marriage to be the most joyous pursuit of his life.

Graeme often embodied an irrepressible and contagious hope for life, not a pollyanna-type hope that ignored injustice, grief, or lament, but a true and living hope that was fueled by his steady trust in Jesus and the coming reconciliation of all things. If you knew Graeme, you were likely shaped by his tenacious hope.

People knew Graeme as a stable and loyal friend. He was there for the people in his life and made it a priority to show up and be present to those he knew. He was the first to admit his flaws and imperfections but embodied a resiliency in his desire to grow and be better.

Above all, the trajectory of Graeme’s life moved toward humility and gentleness. Being in Graeme’s presence was fun and joyous, but also safe and comforting.

I’m only posting the eulogy part here, not my personal reflections which was the second part of this journal process. Sorry.

But I will share some lessons learned in the process and how that might help us think differently about spiritual formation.

Here are three lessons I learned from writing my own eulogy

1. Death doesn’t have to be morbid

I love this clip from the Mr. Rogers Movie “Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.” It’s better watched than explained. In the scene, Mr. Rogers (played by Tom Hanks), breaks the awkward silence of a family gathered around a death bed and says,

Death is something many of us are uncomfortable speaking about. But to die is to be human. And anything human is mentionable. And anything mentionable is manageable.

Death is the inevitable destination of human creatures. We’re not getting out of this world alive. Sorry to break the news to you if you haven’t heard. And so a part of “living life to the full” might be learning to accept that truth sooner rather than later. Or, put another way, spiritual formation is the process of learning to die before we die. As Galatians 2:20 says,

I’ve been crucified with Christ, it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life that I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

Followers of King Jesus, above all people, have license to talk freely about death, because we know that death has been swallowed up in life (1 Corinthians 15:54). This does not mean that we do not grieve, that we do not mourn, or that we do not shake our fists to the wind when death comes too soon, or when a loved one is taken from us tragically, or when the weight of loss feels too great to carry alone. Lament is an acceptable Christian response to death. But our lament is shrouded in hope. At least, it ought to be.

As I wrote my own eulogy, and imagined the end of my life and the legacy that I hope to leave, I became just a little more comfortable speaking about death. Perhaps this is because I merely mentioned it. And as Mr. Rogers says, anything mentionable is manageable.

2. Character outlasts accomplishments

I recently attended my friend’s grandmother’s funeral. I didn’t know her personally, I was only there to support my pal. But I remembered in college hearing some keynote speaker whose name I can’t remember tell a room full of 18-21 year olds to attend as many funerals in life as possible. He said, “over time, it will change you.” I never could shake that piece of advice, and so now, whenever I have the opportunity to attend a funeral of an acquaintance, or a person I know, or a friend’s beloved, I do my best to be there.

As I sat there in the pew of that old country funeral parlor and listened to my friend eulogize his grandmother, I was driven to tears by his recounting of her life. It was simple and ordinary. By the world’s standards, it was pretty unremarkable. And yet as I listened to my friend, through tears and heaps of emotion, share stories and memories of her, the emphasis was consistently placed upon her character, not her accomplishments: who she was, how she loved, and how she made you feel. Very little was said about what she achieved in life, even though some of those things were mentioned, it never was the spotlight.

Several years ago, columnist David Brooks wrote an opinion piece in the New York Times titled “The Moral Bucket List,” where he explores becoming people with deep character. He writes about two different sets of virtues that he calls “résumé virtues” and “eulogy virtues.” While everyone knows that “eulogy virtues” are really what matter most, Brooks argues that our culture, educational institutions, and media teach us more about how to achieve career success and accomplishments than about how to shape a moral life.

I think Brooks is on to something and reveals what is woefully lacking in our day: A moral vocabulary and a roadmap to get there. As I wrote my own eulogy, I was forced to sift through what really matters in my own life. In a sense, I was forced to develop my own moral vocabulary, or at least begin the process. And the result? The freeing realization that what you do is not as important as who you are.

3. Every change begins with a clear vision

The Graeme that is eulogized above is not the Graeme that sits here and writes this post. Most days the real me is fearful—drifting through life without direction or impact. My marriage is often self-centered and transactional, and lacking in the transformation I long for. I can easily fall into cynicism, sometimes spreading discouragement rather than authentic hope. My friendships are not stable or strong; too often I am unreliable, inconsistent, or simply absent. I resist change, hold tightly to my flaws, and at times give up more quickly than I should. Pride and harshness creep in, making me less gentle than I want to be. I know there are times when my presence leaves others uneasy or unsafe instead of comforted and at peace.

The point is, I am not where I want to be, but the practice of writing my own eulogy has clarified the end goal. It’s given me a roadmap for the journey ahead. It’s showed me the gap between my present reality and my desired legacy. It’s clarified the areas where God is calling me to grow.

Dallas Willard coined the acronym VIM as a framework for personal change, but particularly spiritual formation. It stands for Vision, Intention, and Means. Vision is a clear, inspiring picture of the desired outcome. Its purpose is to motivate and provide direction for the entire transformation process. A lack of vision leads to weak intentions and ineffective means, resulting in pipe dreams rather than actual change.¹ The eulogy writing practice falls within the vision category. It motivates. It sets us on a trajectory for the life we long to lead.

Is our eulogy set in stone? Of course not. Mine mentions nothing about children, ministry, or countless other possibilities that may very well shape my life in significant ways. But that’s not really the point. A eulogy is less about predicting the future and more about clarifying direction.

Writing my own eulogy didn’t magically change me. I didn’t walk away instantly transformed into the person I hope to become. But it did something perhaps more important: it gave me a vision, a target to aim for, a prayer to carry with me. It shaped my moral world. It was a reminder that God’s grace is both patient and persistent, shaping me slowly, like that slow-cooker spiritual formation my professor described.

If spiritual formation is “learning to die before we die,” then maybe writing a eulogy is a small rehearsal in that process. It strips away illusions, surfaces the gaps, and calls us back to what matters most. And perhaps, by God’s mercy, if I keep walking this road of vision, intention, and means, my future eulogy might one day sound a little more like the one I dared to write.

1. Willard, Dallas. Renovation of the Heart: Putting on the Character of Christ. Colorado Springs, Colo.: NavPress, 2012.