Those of us in the Reformed and/or Anglican side of the family have never embraced the Roman doctrine of purgatory. So All Souls Day has become a time to recall our loved ones who have left this realm for eternal life with God. In fact, after the Protestant Reformation, All Souls Day was fused into All Saints Day as a time to recall ordinary and extraordinary "saints" who have gone home to the Lord. (Back in 1993 Springsteen reinterpreted his song, "Souls of the Departed" to reflect the death and loss of many who had come to their death before their natural time.)
Today I've been thinking a lot about those in my own family and small circle of friends who have died - and how much I miss them in various ways. In my own personal family there are eight people who have gone home to the Lord too early:
Twenty plus years ago, my sister Linda - just 15 months younger than me - was taken by cervical cancer. Fifteen months before her untimely death, her youngest son, Michael, died on the operating table at Duke University. Mikey had been born with a hole in his heart; he had survived and thrived through a number of previous surgeries and this was to be a slam dunk. But fate would have it otherwise and he died before his 5th birthday. To my way of thinking, this was the last loss Linda could take so she very carefully and carelessly refused to attend to her own health until it became fatal.
I still recall sitting out on the curb outside the chapel at Ft. in North Carolina talking with my Aunt Donna (who was just a few years older than me and much more like a sister than an auntie.) I had buried Linda - just as I had buried her son - and I was exhausted. I said to Donna, "You know, as I've been thinking about all of this - Linda's life, her drug use, her broken heart, the way she acted out, the physical abuse we endured as children - I can't help but think that she was sexually abused somewhere along the way." To which Donna nodded and said, "I think so too and it probably happened at the hands of our "Uncle" M who used to abuse me." As my head spun - both in shock and confirmation - I managed to choke out, "Can you tell me more?" And she told me how when she was small he would use her sexually and then threaten her saying, "And if you tell anyone, I'll do it to Betty" (my mother.) In an act of true compassion, this uncle lived with us when I was 5 and Linda was 3 - and if my nightmares and memories ring true - that's when it came into our household.
Linda, Mickey and Donna are close to my heart as they have all gone to a life with God that is without pain. A year after Linda's funeral my Grandma Deanne died. I couldn't stand to bury her - too much loss - so I sat with my family as we remembered our matriarch. She was a severe woman who also introduced me to Norman Thomas socialism, people in the Civil Rights movement and even a 78 RPM recording of the Soviet Men's Choir singing "The Internationale." She was the spouse of a Unitarian Universalist minister and from the time I was in 4th grade I used to argue theology with her - I wanted a mystical intimacy with Jesus - while she preferred the abstract intellectual realm of philosophy and logic. I didn't weep when she died - but I did give thanks to God for her life and the wisdom she shared with me despite her distant demeanor.
Just about 8 years ago my mother Betty died at her home from lung cancer. To say that our relationship was "complicated" would be an understatement. Betty had a big heart, a wicked temper and an addictive personality that found respite and release in alcohol. Linda and I were often the young recipients of her rage after she'd been drinking. Her weapon of choice was a leather belt and/or a metal brush. By the time I was in high school the physical beatings had stopped but the verbal attacks and shame never quit. As another of my sister's once said, "At some point in time Mom decided she loved Jim Beam more than me..." and that was true in my experience, too. I didn't weep when she died either - most of my life I hated her - and only found release through therapy and the gift of God's grace. I sang Mary Chapin-Carpenter's "Jubilee" at her funeral because late in life I came to see that Betty was just another wounded traveler on the road of life like me.
Both of Dianne's parents, Don and Shirley, have gone home in the past ten years, too. I can't really comment on their journey except to say Don's death was liberating for Di and Shirley's early departure still grieves her deeply. Last year my sister, Beth, another tragic loved one died of a stroke and a variety of health complications.
Oh Lord, what to say about Beth? She once had been a ton of fun and then became an ugly and mean-spirited invalid who brought most of her disability on herself. I suspect that her ugly death is still too close for commentary - it still infuriates me how she put so many through such agony because of her stupid selfishness - but that will remain another mystery I can only surrender to God's greater love, yes? (I have my ups and downs with that one to this day... a work in progress.)
My sisters have all lost some of their spouse's parents, there have been 6 beloved church members whose deaths have marked me forever, my children have lost beloved members of their loved one's extended family, too. And then there are the musicians like Lou Reed who have come and gone and changed my heart in ways I am still discerning. I have had the privilege of being physically present with a number of church members who have truly died a good death.
I have come to believe that mostly death has taught me about acceptance. There is so much in life that I cannot change no matter how hard I try or pray or wish it were otherwise. In fact, most of life is about acceptance. My man, Fr. Richard Rohr, recently wrote about this in two posts:
We must learn how to
walk through the stages of dying. We have to grieve over lost friends,
relatives, and loves. Death cannot be dealt with through quick answers,
religious platitudes, or a stiff upper lip. Dying must be allowed to happen
over time, in predictable and necessary stages, both in those who die
graciously and in those who love them. Grief, believe it or not, is a liminal
space where God can fill the tragic gap with something new and totally
unexpected. Yet the process cannot be rushed. I would say thatbeing present at live
birth and conscious death are probably the supreme catechism classes and Sunday schools
that we have available to humanity. And yet we have turned them largely into
medical events instead of the inherently spiritual events that they are.
It is not only the
loss of persons that leads to grief, but also the loss of ideals, visions,
plans, places, relationships, and our youth itself. Elisabeth
Kübler-Ross helped us name the
necessary stages of grief as denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally
acceptance (They are the same as the stages of dying itself). Grief work might
be one of the most redemptive, and yet still unappreciated, ministries in the
church. Some call it bereavement ministry. Thank God, it is being discovered as
perhaps the paramount time of both spacious grace and painful gift.
We only become
enlightened as the ego dies to its pretenses, and we begin to be led more by
soul and by Spirit. That dying is something we are led through by the awesome
and quiet grace of God and by the hard work of confronting our own shadow. As
we learn to live in Divine Space, we will almost naturally weep over our former mistakes, as we recognize that
we ourselves are often the very thing that we hate and attack in other people.
Weeping, by the way, is much more helpful and true than ever attacking, hating,
or denying our sin—maybe not literally weeping, but sincere, non-self-hating compunction for our mistakes. (Compunction was the subtle
word that the mystics often used to describe a regretful ownership of our sins,
but without descending into abusive self-hatred.) Only grace can teach us how
to do that. But only then can we begin to become and to live the Great Mystery
of compassion, even toward ourselves. How you treat yourself is how you will
usually treat other people too. The person who was vindictive to you today has
been vindictive in his own mind since early this morning. She is punitive
toward you because she has been punitive toward herself for years—without even
knowing it.
God’s one-of-a-kind
job description is that God actually uses our problems to lead us to the full
solution. God is the perfect Recycler, and in the economy of grace, nothing is
wasted, not even our worst sins nor our most stupid mistakes. God does not
punish our sins, but uses them to soften our hearts toward everything.
Today - All Souls Day - I pause to remember and reflect on each of the lives and deaths of my loved ones - and give thanks for how they have touched me. A therapist once helped me own that as horrible as the abuse and shame was, the combination of God's grace and my commitment to healing helped me turn even these wounds into strengths and even gifts of insight. Like the prayer says:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment