7 Bury the Dead

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.