#HomilyfromThePew

A Reflection on Death, Memory, and Eternal Impact

This morning, Facebook brought me a memory, a quiet reminder with no words, just a face.
Ademola Adesina Ogunlana.

I didn’t understand it at first. The post was from nine years ago.
Then I realized, today is his birthday.

And the memory wasn’t mine. It was a tribute from Kanmi Ajibola, who wrote:

“Sina Ogunlana, one of the world’s foremost courageous, dogged and pertinacious fighters, militant but reasonable students’ leader, a very brilliant lawyer who defended my colleagues and I when we sacked the authority of our university for mis-governance… I, Kanmi Ajibola, your Aluta Director of Operations, wish you a happy new age and step in life.”

He tagged mem because I was one of the lives Ademola Adesina Ogunlana touched.
And suddenly, it all came rushing back:

Death didn’t silence him. Even Facebook couldn’t.

It reminded me, again, of a question I never stop wrestling with:

Do we really die?

Wrestling with Remembrance

I’ve often found myself wrestling with the concept of remembering the dead.

Not because I lack reverence or empathy, but because I believe, deeply, that no one truly dies. Influential or unknown, celebrated or hidden, we all live forever, through our works, our impact, and our presence in the hearts and lives of others.

“He being dead yet speaks…” (Hebrews 11:4)

How then do we remember what is still with us?
How do we recall something that has never truly left?

When we say we are remembering the dead, I believe what we are truly doing is acknowledging the enduring power of their life’s work, not as a sentimental ritual, but as an honest confrontation with the force their existence continues to exert on us.

Their actions, whether virtuous or vicious, create a pattern of generative or degenerative impact that lives on. Some build hope; others leave trauma. But either way, their work continues.

 

The Dead Still Give Birth

The idea that we live forever is not reserved for saints, celebrities, or scholars. It permeates the entire human condition, through biology, memory, labor, and love.

Every effort counts. Whether through the children we raise, the works we build, or the values we model, we multiply beyond the grave.

There are countless unnamed women, others who died in childbirth, yet the children they bore went on to shape families, communities, and nations. These silent heroines remind us that death may end a heartbeat, but it does not end a legacy. Life continues. Purpose persists.

Similarly, consider Bill Clinton, the 42nd President of the United States. He never met his father, William Jefferson Blythe Jr., who died in a car accident three months before he was born. And yet, the father’s biological effort, unseen, unfinished, produced a life that would shape the world. The father died, but the seed remained. And the seed spoke.

But let us be clear: legacy is not confined to the biological.

There are those who bore no children, yet who continue to live on through generations by the power of their work and sacrifice.

Think of Mother Teresa. She bore no child, but her name is known across continents. Her compassion, service, and conviction speak louder than the lineage of thousands. We remember her, not because she reproduced, but because she poured herself out like a drink offering for the sake of others. She lives forever, not in bloodlines, but in broken homes healed, in the poor dignified, and in the conscience of the world.

The truth is, more people are remembered today for their works than for the biological children they raised.
Biology may be the starting point, but impact is the legacy.

So whether we build nations or nurture one soul in silence…
Whether we give birth or give hope…
Whether we speak from podiums or live lives that whisper through time…
We are all planting seeds.
And those seeds, once sown, never die.

 “Do This in Remembrance of Me.”

Take Jesus’ words, for example:

“Do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19)

He wasn’t inviting a sentimental recollection.
He was commanding that we sustain the principles He lived by, even in His physical absence.

That remembrance is not emotional, it is purposeful.
It is the practice of His presence through obedience and conviction.

So How Do the Dead Speak?

• They speak through the joy they brought or the harm they caused.
• They speak through systems they built or dismantled.
• They speak through children, disciples, friends, or victims.
• They speak through laws, institutions, businesses, movements, even unresolved trauma.

Positive Legacy: Voices That Still Build

Think of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Though assassinated over 50 years ago, his voice still shapes policy, ignites hope, and galvanizes justice movements. His words are carved into marble, but more importantly, they’re inscribed on human conscience. He is gone, but never absent.

Or take Ademola Adesina Ogunlana, a man whose life of service created waves far beyond his own circle.

I once stood with a friend and brother, Taiwo Adedeji, at his burial. He pointed to people in attendance, one after the other, saying:

“This is what he meant to her. This is who he touched. That’s how he changed his life.”

His body lay still, but his presence filled the atmosphere.
He did not die.
He multiplied, into minds, memories, and momentum.

 

The Dark Echo: Voices That Still Harm

And then, there are others.

Jeffrey Epstein.
Dead? Yes. But the wreckage of his life, the abuse he perpetuated, the secrets he held, the fear he instilled, still shakes nations, courtrooms, and families. His case continues to expose the rot behind political and financial power.

Even death could not silence the file trails, the testimonies, or the trauma.

Like a modern social holocaust, his legacy lives, not in honor, but in warning.
He is gone in body, but the tremors of his works still quake through broken souls.
He still speaks, terribly so.

What Are We Really Remembering?

When we talk about memorial services, legacy programs, or remembrance events, I believe they must not be driven by sentimentality alone, “He was my friend,” “I knew her family,” “He was kind to me.”

With or without such programs, the departed lives on, for good or for evil.

Those truly touched by a life remember it daily, sometimes in the quiet joy of inspiration, other times in the lingering ache of pain. The person lives on, in memory, in comfort, and yes, even in trauma.

Have you ever heard of a memorial service or legacy program held for Adolf Hitler, Idi Amin, Sani Abacha, Batista of Cuba, Ted Bundy, Babatunde “Baba Oni Lace” Folorunsho, Dr. Ishola Oyenusi or Papa Doc Duvalier of Haiti?

No.
Yet, their impact persists, deeply and destructively.
Their names are etched into history, not by celebration, but by warning. The world is still fighting to prevent the repeat of their despicable legacies. Their remembrance is not ceremonial, it is consequential.

So when we remember the dead, we are not merely performing rituals.
We are acknowledging the ongoing ripple effect of a life, and accepting our responsibility to preserve what still instructs, heals, or warns us.

A grieving mother once responded to the words, “I’m sorry for your loss,” by saying:

“I didn’t lose my daughter. The space she occupied in people’s lives can never be erased.”

That space is memory.
That space is influence.
And influence does not need oxygen to breathe.

So Again I Ask:

Do you remember what is with you?

We don’t remember the dead because they’re gone.
We remember them because their impact refuses to leave.

🌍 Living Is a Sacred Responsibility

What we do today is eternal.
Not only in a theological sense, though I believe that too, but in a sociological and generational sense.

Every life is a seed.
Every word is a spark.
Every action is a legacy.

So let us live carefully, love intentionally, and walk humbly,
for once you’ve lived, you cannot be erased.
You can only be multiplied, for good or for evil.

Even in death, you will still speak.

The question is:

What will your voice be saying?

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.