Currents of Faith: Open and Unfolding Reflections

Death was very much with me as a boy and youth. Already overwhelmed by the shock of my father’s death, it felt as though dying was occurring all around me. My father died in 1942, my maternal grandfather and my great uncle Louis Robert, my name sake, died in 1943, the president of our high school fraternity drove off the edge of the Snake River Canyon in 1946 and my good friend Don fell to his death in that same canyon in 1949. Perhaps such deaths are not unusual for anyone growing up, especially knowing that my father was aged fifty when I was born, however, since they followed my own family crisis and were surrounded by the daily report of casualties in World War II and the utter tragedy of the holocaust, it seemed death was everywhere. I could not avoid it but neither could I explain it. No one talked about death.

During my teens and early twenties I thought that I would live fast and die young. Where that belief came from, I do not know. My work in the funeral home during my final two years of college gave me a more detailed look at death. I would help with the embalming, watching the incisions made and the blood flowing onto the white marble preparation table then into a drain. I saw the cosmetic preparations, helped dress the body and assisted lifting it into a casket. Following each funeral I vacuumed the entire area, including the floors around the caskets in the viewing room. I knew the entire process from picking up a body at a home or hospital to driving the hearse away from the cemetery.

It would be much later that I formed an understanding of death that was comforting. My adventure in understanding began with the Christian declarations which I heard at funerals, in worship and in hymns. “In my father’s house are many mansions….Death where is thy sting?…Nothing can separate us from the love of God…Those who believe in me, though they die, will live…and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” I must say that I heard few sermons on the subject of death.

I continued to search in the tradition and learned that there are two prominent questions   about death. What happens to the individual who dies? What happens to all humanity, both living and dead, on the Day of Resurrection? While individual death appears to be the concern of our generation, in the first century the followers focused upon the destiny of the dead at the end of time. They thought the end would occur soon. The trumpet would sound, Jesus Christ, the first fruit of the general resurrection, would descend from heaven upon the clouds, human history would end, Christ would judge all, and the New Age would begin.

Just as the early followers had to explain the unexpected execution of the Messiah, they also had to show why Christ, the first fruit of the resurrection, had not yet returned in their lifetime to bring the expected general resurrection. The crisis of faith they experienced was the “delay of the parousia,” Greek for “coming.” They had thought that Christ’s return would happen so soon that they need not make plans for their future or for a continuing church. They had their suitcases packed and were waiting. Their disappointment meant that they had to provide answers to the questions: What about  those who have died before Christ returns? Where are they and what is their future?

Today we are well beyond this crisis. While most of our liturgy proclaims that Christ will return, few in my tradition expect it to happen soon. We are not Adventists. Cartoonist make light of those who expect the imminent return by picturing the bearded man carrying the sign “The End is Near.” People take with utmost seriousness their plans for their future and the church has become a formidable institution.

Since I am a follower of Jesus, I turned to his words to seek guidance about the meaning of death. I found little. Dr. Albert Schweitzer, the creator of the first quest of the historical Jesus, concluded that Jesus was totally focused upon the end of time. In theological terms Jesus was an eschatological, apocalyptic preacher. With all my deep respect for this theological scholar, musician, and physician, I radically depart from his conclusions.

A primary reason for my departure is that his quest did not distinguish between the authentic words of Jesus and the words which the early church placed on his lips. When I survey the ninety-one statements of Jesus accepted by the Jesus Seminar, I find none focused upon death. One reference mentions death, but more as a critical statement,  “…let the dead bury their own dead.” [Mt8.22]   I have come to the conclusion that most quotations from the Bible heard at a funeral are the creation of the followers in the early church. Jesus speaks of life, the world, and the present.

I sought an understanding of death in my theology. In this vision, death proceeds along two avenues, in the world it is the end of the center of creativity of a person, while this center continues as an experiencing, feeling, knowing subject in the life of God. At death the center of creativity becomes an object in history and continues as subject in God. So that when a minister or family member offers a eulogy saying that this beloved person will live forever in our hearts or will be remembered always, it speaks of the deceased as object. We remember, we recall, we feel. We do not expect to continue conversations or activities with that person as a subject.

The body enters into the earth, beginning a process of disintegration and becoming a part of the nitrogen cycle. Without the center—psyche, I, soul, person—to coordinate all the systems they do not continue to function as a unit. As an historical aside, I need to note that the original creator of process thought, Dr. Alfred North Whitehead, called the center of creativity the “dominant occasion.” The parts of all systems of tissues and organs  transform to the molecular or atomic level, centers of creativity in which God continues to participate. God graces them just as God loves a coordinated and integrated person. The traditional funeral liturgy states, “Dust to dust and ashes to ashes” signifying this transformation.

The subject of the deceased person enters into the riches of God’s life, there to be embraced, cherished and transformed. Awareness is expanded. Empathy is deepened. The invitation to be whole and beautiful is intensified. No longer are there sensory organs to provide information to the subject. I will elaborate on the process of judgment and transformation in the chapter to follow.

In my theology there is only one destination for all surviving subjects, rather than the traditional two: heaven and hell. There is, therefore, no doctrine which states that how we live during a lifetime will determine into which realm we will arrive. No hell for punishment; no heaven for reward. It is rather that transformation may be exceedingly difficult and painful or delightfully easy and gratifying. The transition of a subject from death to life in God is instantaneous, not a process of slumbering in a grave until the trumpet sounds to usher in the day of resurrection. In an instant the person as subject in the world stops and becomes object. The transformation of the body from system to minute parts likewise begins immediately.

As I listen to literary and scientific experiences outside the Christian tradition, I hear a number of helpful ideas. In the literary realm I hear “Go not as a quarry slave scourged to the dungeon, but as a….” In the scientific realm I read of “out of body’ experiences and “near-death” experiences. Research which I read in the newspaper just this week was hypothesizing that the out of body events are caused by biological, chemical and electrical processes in the brain. I am cautious about these results in that our era is driven to reductionism, seeking answers to complex events in minute happenings. In both these phenomena there are several consistent themes: a bright light encompasses them, they sense a guide with them, they feel an unusual sense of peace, and they are given an opportunity to proceed or to return to their body. These common occurrences are striking and offer clues to the subject of a person experiencing without being embedded in a body. I consider these mysterious clues.

I always read the obituaries in our local newspaper. Sometimes I am searching to see if I knew the person, sometimes to read a fascinating story of a life lived. I am struck by the way that death is described: “Mom went to rest in the arms of God: Ralph is now with his Lord and Savior, Ruby returned home; Richard is now re-united with Sandra.”

In spiritualilty classes designed for our local church we included a module on “How, then, shall I die?” This module naturally followed “How, then, shall I live?” We asked participants to create and write their last will and testament, care of their body, memorial service, and obituary. As a pastor I had seen so many situations where the grieving family was frustrated and divided over how to deal with these issues. We thought it caring to let surviving family members know what was desired. I recall planning a funeral with the surviving spouse and daughter. Their ideas were so radically different that I and the other pastor, Rev. Kel Groseclose, each represented one of them. It may have seemed cobbled together, but two important parties had their needs met. It would have been so much better if the deceased person had let his wishes be known.

While I will not share my entire memorial service, I do know that I want “Pomp and Circumstance” as an organ meditation. This request fits with my conviction that death is a commencement.

 I find often that my creativity arises from a blend of frustration and excitement. I have officiated at many funerals and attended many more. Frequently they irritate me. I summarize my feelings by saying that we sing a few songs, say a prayer, give a eulogy, and say a few words about the deceased. Often it is called a celebration and truly sometimes it is so, but in many occasions that simply does not capture the feelings of those gathered. I sense that often there is no thought given to the purpose of a memorial service. So, from both my frustration of many hours squirming in the pew and from my excitement of the proposals from my theology, I created an order for a memorial service
This order was published in the Spring issue of Creative Transformation under the title: “In Memoriam: Process Style—A process of healing in six movements.”

Prelude. On behalf of the [name] family I thank you for sharing in this memorial service for [first name]. As we begin, I invite you to focus upon two images. The first is that as we share these moments together we are encircled by God’s grace. God is as close to us as our own breath and the words that form on our lips. We are cherished. The second is that in some other dimension in some form [first name] is entering God’s heavenly community and is well.

1. We Acknowledge the Reality of Death in Order to Express Our Pain, Grief and Loss.

The first step we need to take is to acknowledge death and our feelings in response to death. Death is harsh and unkind to the human body. Energy is stilled. Warm hands turn cold. Creativity is ended. A voice is silenced.

In the web of relationships in which we live, death grabs and rips out an important thread. There is one less strand—wife, mother, mother-in-law, sister, friend, neighbor, colleague. We may join with John Donne is stating, “Do not send to ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.” Death destroys our plans, dashes our future dreams, and erases our calendar. In this moment it is appropriate to acknowledge and express pain, loss and grief.

2. We Stand in Silent Awe of this Moment.

In this moment we are brought face to face with mystery. No words are adequate: “Let all mortal flesh keep silence…” Nothing can be done. Though we may stand in shock, shed tears, or shake our fists at the sky, we are rendered truly helpless to change the event.

The question emerges with great power: What does all this mean? And like Moses before the “burning bush” we hear, “Take off your shoes for the ground upon which you stand is holy ground.”

Hymn

3.  We Confess our Incompleteness to Remove Our Regret and Remorse.

Often death catches us off guard, it comes unexpectedly as a thief in the night, allowing us no opportunity to voice our regrets, guilt, or remorse. So let us speak now that which we did not speak earlier. We make confession for:

Compliments we could have given and did not, gratitude felt but unexpressed, notes thought about but not written, invitations considered but not extended, issues raised yet left unsettled, anger harbored but not expressed, harsh words hastily spoken, closeness and intimacy which were not developed, opportunities presented which were missed, caring experienced within but not shared outwardly, all intentions which were not transformed into actions.

Let us identify with another who confessed. The Prodigal rehearsed well before meeting the Waiting Parent, “I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.” He not only planned his confession but also defined how his parent would receive him. And yet he never did speak his well rehearsed confession, for he was accepted home just as he was.

In like manner, let us be free, fully restored and unburdened! Just as we are!

4. We Celebrate the Life of [first name] to Share Our Gratitude.

Now we have opportunity to share our experiences with [first name].

5. We Hear Words of Hope for [first name] and for Us.

A number of artists working in their own media—oil, water color, wood, and clay—share with us symbols and images of hope. A number of voices in chorus are singing of hope. Let us look, let us listen, to find those images and sounds of hope which speak to us.

“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” Psalm 23

“Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend to heaven, Thou art there! If I make my bed in Sheol, Thou art there!” Psalm 139: 7-10.

“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Luke 23.43

“In my Father’s house are many rooms…” John 14.2.

“I am the resurrection and the life, those who believe in me, though they die, will live.” John 11:25.

“For I am sure that neither death, nor life, no angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heights, nor depth nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8:37.

“I saw a new heaven and a new earth…and God will be with them. God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more.” Revelation 21.1.

And Jesus called God, “Abba,” Dadda!

The early church sang, “Jesus stand among us in Thy risen power.” And the medieval Mass proclaimed, “Requiem aeternam, dona eis Domine.”

So, likewise I proclaim this hope to you: “God feels with us, whispers to us, saves each of our moments, and cherishes everlastingly our entire lives in God’s own life.”

A Hymn, Vocal or Instrumental Solo

Pastoral Prayer.

Gracious One, we acknowledge Your presence among us gathered here. We are grateful for all who today surround [first name’s] family. We are thankful for the rich variety of gifts which [first name] has shared with us. We are comforted to know that [first name] is warmly held in Your arms, just as You comfort us who are present here. May we depart in peace and wholeness, living in the assurance of Your grace. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

6. We Re-Affirm our Lives Answering, “How, then, Shall We Live?”

Each of us will make affirmations which are meaningful at this awesome moment. Allow me to offer three: First, that we not attempt to predict or control life, but rather be open and responsive to the ways life may unfold for us; that we know that each present moment is precious, living fully now and hopefully for the future; and that we know that there is no certainty in our lives other than that grace encircles us in each tiny moment and in each tiny step.

A Closing Hymn

Benediction: May the peace of God which passes all understanding be with us and abide with us always. Amen.

Postlude.

In this order I have incorporated the idea that a memorial service has a movement like a symphony or acts in a stage play. It begins, goes somewhere, and concludes. I have included both my theology and classical theology in this service. Most of the words of hope from scripture were created by the early and later church. Many who are present gain comfort from the words regardless of their source. My effort is to include Jesus and his message whenever possible. I have avoided a number of elements which are often included in such services: an altar call, a fully composed ritual with the occasional  insertion of the deceased’s name, celebration without expression of grief and confession, and an unrealistic sentimentality. Theology becomes relevant when it is expressed in the critical moments of a human life, a service of healing following a death..

I got my dander up about a year ago over the frequent use by political leaders of “dying in vain.” From the perspective of my theology this is an impossibility. To God, no one ever dies in vain. Did the Marine lance corporal who died in Iraq on patrol when a roadside explosive destroyed the armored vehicle in which he was a gunner die in vain? No, I say! This idea is based on flawed assumptions and an inadequate vision of reality. First, this phrase is spoken from only one side of the military conflict, a limited perspective, whether it be coalition troops or Iraqi insurgents, Union or Confederate soldiers. God does not have a limited view.

Second, the phrase implies that whether one dies in vain or in glory depends upon future actions and not the actions of this particular soldier. If his squad had later destroyed enemy personnel or protected innocent civilians, would he have died in glory? God does not judge the value of a life on the actions of others, either contemporaries or future generations, but on this one life.

Third, one’s death is valued by a total life rather than the final actions in recent hours, days or months. Dying in vain assesses by a tiny fragment the total life of the person. God knows the person in totality. I concluded that “in vain” is inadequate in many ways and that it is employed more to support a particular political viewpoint than to describe reality. These words belittle and defame a life, one in which God has been a constant companion, inviting and gracing that person. How we spend our final moments and for which cause we were devoting ourselves in those moments are not cause for calling that life “in vain.” A more complete statement of how I worked out my dander is noted in Creative Transformation, Fall 2006, 18.

Thus have I developed a vision of the next adventure. I began in my youth with an obsession with death resulting from the many deaths surrounding me. At my present age of seventy-four I have become more curious about my process of dying. I do not feel obsessed or fearful. I know that my time is limited and accept the declining number of years ahead. I have never agreed with much of our conventional wisdom about death in which it is often viewed as a negative process accentuated by pain and loss of function, a time to be postponed and avoided as long as possible and not to be talked about in the meantime. I do not agree with the old adage: “There are two things we cannot look at, the sun and death.” Nor do I accept hospital language about the patient in room 102, that “he is failing.” In contrast, I see death as a process of transformation which can be talked about, faced with confidence and seen as positive.

I feel sadness about the loss of relationships at my death, especially the loss of Adrienne. Yet I see that loss as only temporary, for I believe that we will be reunited within God’s life as we are surrounded by the richness of God and others. I feel sadness about losing my body, for I have come increasingly to respect and like my physical being. It seems ironic that I spend a number of hours a week exercising and choosing healthy food, then one day I will simply give up my body totally. I feel pleased that this part of me will continue to be a part of the creation as my body remains in the world helping to nurture future generations. The part of me which is object will be in good hands.

I am convinced that I will die in the midst of many unfinished tasks. I think that most persons die in this ambiguity of the unfinished and in the midst of goals not achieved.
This is simply because I choose to live fully until I die and participate actively in the passion of God. I do not plan to be sitting in boredom waiting for the release of death. I hope to graciously let go of my work in progress, leaving it to others around me or a future generation to complete. Even in its incompleteness it will be my gift to God and the creation.

I wonder about what might be interesting, mysterious, wondrous, surprising and awesome in this next adventure of death. I am curious about whether I will see the light and be led by the guide described in many in near-death experiences. As I wonder about the nature of the transformation from my present being to some other form within God, I think that birth may come closest to describing this dramatic change. Yet, I am content to leave the contours of the journey of entering a new realm a mystery. I sense that my transformation into a beautiful person will involve some pain as I experience an expanded awareness and empathy within the life of God.

I accept that my beliefs regarding death may be totally wrong or utterly limited. Like the Apostle Paul, I may be looking through a glass darkly. It may be that I simply die and disintegrate. I would simply lose consciousness and my life would be over. I can accept that possibility. Or it may be that death brings with it a process which is totally awesome and entirely beyond the heights of my imagination. If so, I would have been thinking too small. I live between those two possibilities and many other possibilities which I cannot even comprehend as I affirm a next adventure with God. It is my desire to enter my hour of dying with grace and peace. I hope that I die with the same words on my lips as John Wesley, the one with whom I share a birthday: “Best of all, God is with us.” It is my hope that in the last moment, I will be asking, “Gracious One, who would You have me become?”