“The Funeral”
The funeral Mass – the space between Heaven and earth.
God’s child lying in wait, draped in the pall, in silence.
The Word, the Eucharist –
Jesus made known to us that He is there.
The incense, the procession, the burial.
The finality of it, of earthly life,
it is finished.
Into Your Hands Lord, we commend their spirit.
But it’s not so much for the one who is passed on, the funeral, but for those left behind.
A time for finality, for closure, for healing, for grace.
A time for family to find one another again,
appearing the same, but different.
A time to remember what life is all about – that it is eternal.
A time to just be, with God.
I wrote the above poem this past Wednesday, following the funeral of my Aunt Rosie. She passed away last Saturday after a long bout with illness. She was 77 years old. Rosie was also my Godmother and she was always a fixture at family functions and events over the years. Graduations, weddings, funerals, baptisms. Easter and Christmas. She was there.
I didn’t see her as her health waned, the last few years of her life. Time and life and distance got into the way. I regret that. It’s not a feeling of guilt, but rather simply regret, of opportunity lost. It’s unfortunate.
But in talking with my Mom – I think her sister died a happy death. Sure, there was suffering, and she was simply not “here” due to her dementia and unresponsiveness in her last months, weeks, and days. But something tells me in her last days, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and a whole host of others were there with her, as she was anointed and prepared for the next life in eternity.
My Mom said, in a way, it was beautiful.
And so, as I was at her funeral Mass, and in the hours and days since, I’ve reflected on this. Death is not final. There is a finality to life on this earth, but it is not final. Actually, the only finality in death is that death itself is destroyed. It collapses upon itself.
Jesus destroyed death, and it is nowhere more apparent than in the readings today. We don’t want to suffer, and whether it’s a happy death of someone who lived a good life, or a violent, sudden death of someone young – both which I’ve experienced – there is a beauty in the suffering. There is a beauty in Christ’s Passion, His death and His Resurrection, and we undergo the same in our life.
When we question why we have to suffer, and why bad things have to happen, think about Jesus. He suffered a more violent death than anyone. He carried more burden and pain than anyone. So, if God had to sacrifice and suffer, for us, why shouldn’t we have to?
There is beauty in it, true beauty in suffering and death.
At first, I wasn’t sure about what to write today. But as I flipped back through my journal and came across this poem and rekindled my thoughts from the past week, it was clear. The parallels were there, where death brings new life, where Christ is made known to us that He is there. The words had already been written.
And as we were at another aunt’s house for the dinner following the funeral, one thing really stuck out. I come from a very large family on my Mom’s side, she is one of eleven. Eleven kids leads to many cousins, and so it had been several years since we all saw each other. So, we would see people that looked familiar, but different. Until they spoke and we were reminded of names, then it all came back. You knew who the person was.
As my Mom said, we were finding each other again. I love that statement. It just made me think about how when Jesus appeared to His disciples after the Resurrection how they did not know immediately who He was until He spoke. He was different, but then the same.
Death, funerals – it helps us to find each other again, to find ourselves again, and to find Christ again. We may not realize it, we may not know it at the time. And it’s in these times where Christ truly is in our midst, not in some far-off dimension, but here, present, with us, and for the one who has passed on – leading them to Heaven.
There is so much beauty in that.
