Life in Death
A friend of a friend recently died. I never met this guy, but a lot of people knew him and liked him. We were able to watch the funeral through live streaming the Internet. His impact on his community was clear. Watching the funeral of a man I didn’t know was sad.
Death is sad. Even when it’s a relief, it’s sad. It’s final. The question I have after this week is how those left behind respond: how do we reconcile the sadness in our hearts with the gratitude that comes from relief and the hope of a brighter future? How do we find life in death?
I have this picture from my grandmother’s funeral that stands as one of my all time favorites: as family began to scatter following the graveside ceremony, my then three-year old daughter took a flower from a wreath and placed it on my grandmother’s casket. She’s wearing her Sunday best, dressed in all white contrasted against a beautiful oak casket, placing a bright red rose in the handle. In short order a wreath was dismembered as great-grandkids lined her casket with flowers. The innocence was real and the moment was reverent. My daughter knew that in death there is life. Unaware of what she was or was not supposed to do at a funeral, she mourned in the only way she knew how. That pop of color found its way into a gray vault. My grandmother would have loved it; children lined up to decorate her as she was lowered next to my grandfather.
Whether death is lined in carnations or adorned in pictures and trophies, there is life. Our funeral rites are for the living, not the dead. This is why we have them: to help us make sense of our life. What now? What next? What else?
In her death my grandmother showed us life and in her life she showed us love. In death, those that are left to grieve often find reserves of strength and a depth of love not previously known. Eulogies are born from such places. The hope, my hope, is that the strength of those around me is greater because of my life and is found before my death. The hope, my hope, is that those who stand to speak a high praise (“eulogy” comes from the Greek for 'high praise'), sustain their hope beyond that which was mustered for a moment. In that, we find life.