How will you end?

Here we were at the end of another semester, so I’m thinking about endings. We’ve come out of a holiday and will soon enter another one, but before that, we will have to navigate a series of endings. Maybe there’s a class that has been challenging or invigorating, but either way, how you finish that class will say something about your character. 

So often, the headline news spotlights start-up companies where the excitement is in the beginning of a new venture. Tons of money are poured into new innovations and new collaborations. Start-ups, beginnings, seem to win the day. What doesn’t get much attention at all is the end. Doesn’t it matter how we end, too? The last act, the last word, the last thought, the final exit off the stage, not just how we enter but how we end?

For some, when you talk about "the end," it can be scary. The end can bring fear because it’s unknown. Throughout history, whenever there have been international and national political, religious, environmental and institutional crises, some have thought the end was near. When the world seems to be coming apart, it disrupts a certain type of comfortable experience for some in which everything works for them. The prospect of dramatic change can cause existential burdens to bubble up. It’s not surprising that we don’t want to think about how we will end — this semester, this calendar year, a relationship, a bad behavior or anything else.

I have admired individuals who, before the end of their earthly lives, took great care to prepare for the end as best as they could. They made peace with themselves and family members. They ensured their estate plans were in place. They tried doing the activities they enjoyed with the people whom they enjoyed. They made plans for how and where they wanted to be in the end. 

Writers of fiction take great care with how they end their stories. The end may never leave the reader’s imagination. Take these for example: In her novel Beloved Toni Morrison’s last written word is "Beloved." In Mary Shelley’s "Frankenstein," the last words are: "He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance." Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead closes with, “I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.” Ralph Ellison’s "Invisible Man" ends with, "Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you?" Zora Neale Hurston’s "Their Eyes Were Watching God" ends with "She called in her soul to come and see."

Another genre of literature that emphasizes endings is apocalyptic writing. It has been called "crisis literature" by scholar Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza in her work on the Bible’s Book of Revelation. What’s typical in this genre of literature are images of war, earthquakes, and famines. The sun can be darkened, the moon turned to blood, and the stars begin to fall, while the entire cosmos collapses. The spiritual “My Lord What a Morning” captures this in its lyrics:

"My Lord, what a morning 

My Lord what a morning 

Looking to my God’s right hand 

When the stars begin to fall"

As a divinity professor and ordained minister, you won’t be surprised that I am compelled by the opening lines of the Bible — "In the beginning God created …" But today, as I reflect on an aunt who recently died, the ending line of the Bible draws me in even closer — "The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen."

We can’t stop endings from happening. They’re coming. Ending a semester is only one end, though an important one. As a young person, one may not ponder too often the end of life, but there are "little ends" every day — how do you end each day before going to bed? What tasks did you complete today? What will be your parting words to your friends or colleagues before the holiday break? What kind of lasting impression do you want to leave in a class or dormitory or with friends? 

Don’t neglect the end. It may be the beginning we all need.

The Rev. Dr. Luke A. Powery is Dean of Duke University Chapel. His column runs on alternate Mondays.