My grandad died a couple of weeks ago. At the funeral I was pretty serene. Grief always hits me unexpectedly some time later, on the day itself I barely shed a tear. My family noticed this trait on a number of occasions and while they are a bit surprised, they don't resent it, in fact they admire how strong and level-headed I can remain.
So I get stuck with accompanying my grandad's lifelong best friend as he walks, alone, to lay some flowers on the altar. Then I get stuck with welcoming everybody else while the rest of the family sits sheltered away. Then I get to read all the readings, because "I'm the only one that can keep my countenance".
I genuinely don't mind death. I'm hugely curious about what happens next, but I'm pretty sure it's great, fantastic news. As H. pointed out, there is one Anglican liturgy in which at the burial proper, you cite some passage along the lines of "we stand in front of the open grave laughing".
So I get stuck with accompanying my grandad's lifelong best friend as he walks, alone, to lay some flowers on the altar. Then I get stuck with welcoming everybody else while the rest of the family sits sheltered away. Then I get to read all the readings, because "I'm the only one that can keep my countenance".
I genuinely don't mind death. I'm hugely curious about what happens next, but I'm pretty sure it's great, fantastic news. As H. pointed out, there is one Anglican liturgy in which at the burial proper, you cite some passage along the lines of "we stand in front of the open grave laughing".
Laughing is the right word. It's not a defiant laugh, it's a giddy laugh, like a child in a candy shop, its face lit with an irrepressible smile. I always have a very strong sense of this when there's a death. There we stand, laughing.
My grandfather and I were not very close. No major problem, we just didn't see each other all that much. To my surprise I dreamt about him. He was swimming in the sea surrounded by his family, and he was very happy. His family and friends were his heaven back then, and they still are his heaven now. Getting involved in our messy lives, being part of it. That made him happy then and it does now.
I wondered, but does he not resent the mess? I mean sometimes when someone drags me into their messy problems, I resent it, it's hard work, how could this be heaven? Could someone, somewhere, really choose this muddled pile of intractable mess over and above singing hymns on some cloud.
ANYTIME! LOVING YOU IS HEAVEN!
I woke up, pretty blown away. You know that daily pile of shit? Well I want to go away from it. The socially incompetent lonely hearts down at the pub, I find them hard to cope with. But loving them could be my heaven. One day I browsed the cyberhymnal for fun. I found a hymn that said that the angels are jealous of our bodies, our eyes, our arms. If they had them they'd use them to love people so tangibly. It wasn't a preachy hymn. It conveyed real-deal envy.
Maybe even God is jealous of our bodies, our eyes, our arms, our tears. He'd use them as a channel to convey love tangibly, by holding hands and shedding tears. And in Jesus that's just what God did.
My grandfather and I were not very close. No major problem, we just didn't see each other all that much. To my surprise I dreamt about him. He was swimming in the sea surrounded by his family, and he was very happy. His family and friends were his heaven back then, and they still are his heaven now. Getting involved in our messy lives, being part of it. That made him happy then and it does now.
I wondered, but does he not resent the mess? I mean sometimes when someone drags me into their messy problems, I resent it, it's hard work, how could this be heaven? Could someone, somewhere, really choose this muddled pile of intractable mess over and above singing hymns on some cloud.
ANYTIME! LOVING YOU IS HEAVEN!
I woke up, pretty blown away. You know that daily pile of shit? Well I want to go away from it. The socially incompetent lonely hearts down at the pub, I find them hard to cope with. But loving them could be my heaven. One day I browsed the cyberhymnal for fun. I found a hymn that said that the angels are jealous of our bodies, our eyes, our arms. If they had them they'd use them to love people so tangibly. It wasn't a preachy hymn. It conveyed real-deal envy.
Maybe even God is jealous of our bodies, our eyes, our arms, our tears. He'd use them as a channel to convey love tangibly, by holding hands and shedding tears. And in Jesus that's just what God did.
1 comment:
Great post, and fantastic dream.
Like you, death has never bothered me. Murder, killing, depriving others of life, these things bother me. But the state of the dead, confronting my own death, or death-in-itself, well, I reckon there is nothing to fear there. Death is the enemy of the living, not of the dead. The dead know that all our fears were for naught -- the dead know the communion of the saints in the presence of God, where all wounds are healed and all things are made new.
I don't want to mourn at funerals. I want to celebrate that another person has run the race to the finish, that another person has been liberated from their pain, and from the struggle. For this person, things cannot get worse. For this person, things can only get better.
I try to save my mourning for the living.
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