I remember the first funeral I ever attended. I must have been in the second grade or so. I was nervous beforehand, and I recall sitting in the church pew waiting for the coffin to arrive at the door of the church. When it did, it was covered with a white pall by the priest and led into the church, just as the body of the person being buried was brought into the church in a white garment to be baptized many years before. In hindsight, I am thankful that my mother took me to that funeral. I’m grateful that she did not try to shield me from the reality of death. The funeral was not a traumatic experience for me; it was a helpful life lesson that we can’t avoid death.
Since that funeral well over thirty year ago, I have attended many more funerals. I have been the celebrant as a priest at numerous funerals. I have sat at the bedsides of those who are dying. I have given Last Rites. I have gone to be with families when their loved ones have died. “In the midst of life, we are in death,” the Book of Common Prayer reminds us, in the beautiful but sobering words from the committal service, when the body or ashes of a person are laid to rest.
And yet, in the modern West, we live in a culture and age in which many seek to deny the reality of death. It’s a strange and tragic irony that in a nation where senseless violence is a daily reality, many people seem to believe they’ll live forever. Some are looking for a cure for death. People don’t want to talk about death. Modern medicine has made it possible for people to live much longer, but sometimes at great expense of quality of life. The vast majority of obituaries in the newspaper don’t say someone died but, instead, use other euphemisms to refer to death. But it’s undeniably true that each of us will die one day. No semantic gymnastics or quests for human-devised immortality will change that.
On Sunday, after Sung Mass, I will be leading a conversation entitled “Ars Moriendi: Prayerfully and Practically Preparing for Death and Dying.” It may seem strange to discuss death in Eastertide, but the Easter season is exactly when we are confronted with the fact that death and life are inextricably bound together. When we are baptized, we die to sin and rise to newness of life. The resurrection of Jesus Christ tells us that death is a reality but is not the end of the story. The mark of Christian maturity is to live each day as if it might be our last, in holy preparation for the time when we can commend our own souls to God’s eternal care beyond the grave.
Preparing for death is difficult, if not impossible, when one is in ill health, actively dying, or not in compos mentis. This is why the art (and I use that word deliberately) of preparing for death is a lifelong Christian practice. By the time you are reading these words, you have moved closer to death than when you began reading them. This is not supposed to be depressing or scary. It is meant to be a joyful hope that we are that much nearer to the closer presence of God.
And beyond efforts to prepare one’s own soul for dying and death, it is crucial (as the Book of Common Prayer reminds us) to have one’s own earthly affairs in order out of consideration for one’s family. Mourning the death of a loved one can be excruciating for family and friends. The more each of us can prepare for our own death in practical terms, the more gracious we are being to those we love.
I hope you will join me in conversation on Sunday after Sung Mass. Coffee and light refreshments will be available as always. I will talk about a spiritual and theological preparation for death and dying, and I will discuss practical concerns to consider, including the planning of one’s own funeral. The Church expects that I, as your parish priest, will not neglect this important responsibility. Our conversation is not intended to be a depressing one but a realistic, honest, mature, and hopeful one. I will look forward to seeing you on Sunday, as we continue to celebrate the Great Fifty Days of Easter and its abiding hope in the resurrection from the dead.
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle