How
fitting that we come to our final Corporal Work of Mercy, Bury the Dead, on
Good Friday.
We could
take this less literally and let die those weaknesses inside us that we keep alive:
our anger, jealousy, bitterness, unwillingness to forgiven, bad habits,
addictions, etc. However, even taken literally, the exhortation to Bury the
Dead encompasses more people than our respected morticians.
We all ponder
the big questions when the unexpectedness of death suddenly strikes an ordinary
day. Even if we weren’t close to the one who died, we re-experience our own loss
of loved ones. It’s as if grief, for a while, is cumulative. A death makes us
reconsider our life. Why am I here? What purpose should I be pursuing while I still
have time? What happens after death? Will I see my loved one again?
We bury
the dead when we:
- Attend
memorial services, where we honor the memory of the one who has passed and
support the families in their recovery. It means so much to a grieving family
to see the number of people who attend as a living memorial to their loved one,
or as a sign of promised support to themselves.
- Send
a sympathy card with a note, perhaps including a happy memory of the deceased.
- Provide
a simple service to the grieving family. I’ve heard of one person delivering a
case of toilet paper to a home in preparation for visiting family. Another gave
a book of stamps, anticipating the thank you notes that would be written and
mailed. One woman offered to babysit the youngest children during the funeral.
Another offered to sit in the empty home during the service to ward off
burglars who see the announcement in the paper.
- Call
when travelling visitors have returned home and the grief stricken is suddenly
very alone.
- Or,
sit with the newly aggrieved and listen to their reminiscence about their loved
one…
Night
Shift
A middle-aged man sat on a
boulder near a hiking trail gazing at a panorama of night sky. As the moon
began to rise, he spoke aloud.
Thank you,
heavenly Father, for all your gifts to us.
For the stars
above us, the galaxies, and our solar system with its sun, moon, and planets.
For this earth
and its beautiful oceans, mountains, forests, rivers, and waterfalls.
For our
country and its dedication to freedom and justice.
For our
ancestors, especially those who chose to uphold their faith and those who left
their homes to make new homes here.
For our
grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the people we loved who have left this
life. May we see them again in heaven.
For our
parents who sacrificed to give us the life we have now.
Thank you for
our siblings and our friends who helped make us the people we are today.
Thank you for
our children, who make us proud as they grow into good people. Please draw them
ever closer to you.
Thank you for
my spouse, my beautiful wife, one of your greatest gifts to me, who loved me as
deeply as I loved her…
“What a beautiful prayer!”
The man startled at the
woman’s voice.
“May I sit down with you?”
He scooted to one side of
the rock.
“You’ve chosen a lovely
place to pray.”
He stared straight ahead,
hoping if he didn’t answer she would leave him to his solitude. She didn’t move
or speak then, but simply regarded the starry heavens as he had been doing.
Finally, he gave up. “It was my father’s prayer. I used to only hear it when we
were camping together. It was how he ended our conversation when we were lying
in our sleeping bags under the stars.”
“You were close.”
“On camping trips, yes. At
home we were both busy with our lives—his work, my studies—but out here was
something else.”
“Your mother had passed
on?”
“When I was in high
school. He never remarried, or even dated that I know. They were devoted to
each other, and I doubt anyone else could have filled her void.”
“And your father? You said
it was his prayer.”
He looked at her then, and
saw a serene woman, middle-aged, with amazing compassion in her eyes. “He died
today.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
She rested her hand on
his. “I’m sorry for your loss and sadness. He must have been quite a man.”
“He was.” He nodded
slowly. “He hasn’t said a word for over a year. Last night, I visited him in
his care center, and he was talking to Mom. She wasn’t there, of course, but
she was real to him. He was the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. Then
this morning he was gone. It was as if…”
“As if she’d come for
him?”
He drew in a quick breath,
for she had known just what he was thinking. He looked at her. “Do you think
it’s possible?”
“I know it is,” she said.
“And now they are both watching over you. They are together in the next life,
and together in loving you, so proud of the man you’ve become and so grateful
for how you took care of your father in his final years.”
“I wish I could have kept
him at home with me.”
“He knows. And he knows
you did what was best for him. Be at peace, Jonathon. All is well.”
She stood and continued
down the trail before he wondered about her walking without a light, and before
he realized he hadn’t told her his name.
(Excerpt from my Miriam’s
Joy!, but the prayer was first spoken by my husband, George.)
May
God bless your Easter and protect your health.