Is this life all there is?
What we can learn in death that helps us really live now!
Everyone you have ever known and know right now will experience death. What we all have in common is our breath and our final breath. We are all going to die.There are no exceptions.
Our culture, has shaped us into believing the myth that the body is all important. We give so much attention to our bodies. Stroll down the cosmetic and health aisles at a grocery store and take a look at all the “beauty products” to make ourselves look better than we actually are. Notice the words on the products that entice us to believe consuming lies about ourselves. “Eternally Young” and “Forever Beautiful” are two I spotted recently. Go the gym and notice—really notice what you’re seeing. Being fit; being young and being happy is what matters in so much of our culture these days. But none of that matters, when someone you know dies.
When someone you know and love dies, you are jolted into the sobering realization that it is not the body that matters at death. It is the soul.
My dear friend, Jeanie will be buried today. Her body held her soul for 91 years. She lived a long life and we became dear friends over the past years. Her body will return to the Earth today. Her body will return to the dust. Her body will be placed in the dirt and her family will all gather round to be a witness to this final act of love.
When we escort a body—not just any body—but a particular body that held a soul to their final resting place, it’s a journey that simply says: “We’ve taken you as far as we can take you here on Earth. Here—this grave, this mountainside—the ocean is your final place to return to—a grave which will hold you body but will never hold your soul.” It’s a sacred act. It is important and needed and necessary for those who are still alive to witness this solemn act of love. There in the ground, we place the body or ashes. It’s where we came from—the dust and it’s where our bodies shall all return—to dust.
It was Jeanie’s soul that was so beautiful. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she was a beautiful and regal woman, but it was her soul that was so endearing; so easy to love; so exquisite to share. The human soul is what is so glorious of us all, for we all have one—a soul. We have one soul and we have been given one body to be the address of our soul. It is our soul that makes us alive. It is our soul that is alive as long as we have breath to breathe. Our soul is our true self—not our bodies. Our soul is our true essence—the personality, gifts and capacity to love is all in our souls—not our bodies.
For Jeanie, it was her soul, that I and others, were the fortunate ones to be but a witness of in her life. When her ashes are put into the ground today, Jeanie will not be there. Her soul has literally “passed on” into a place where souls go—a place that is with God. It’s where we all came from and to this place, we will all go one day.
I was drawn to Jeanie’s soul as many others were also. Her soul—Jeanie, was loving, welcoming, available,giving, attentive, present and always interesting to talk with in our vists. It was her soul that was beautiful and it is her soul, that all who knew her shall miss. Her life was, as every life is, a gift. She will be deeply missed. I’m not sure I’ve ever, in my entire life, experienced the kind of love she offered me. So, it is a deep loss and both Gwen and I are mourning her loss. But my loss is not what matters here and now. I want to tell you something important—something we all need to think about and remember.
It’s a spiritual, sobering and otherworldly few moments, as you stand by an open grave. It is there, by the freshly dug open hole in the ground that you are faced with the sheer truth about the body and the amazing truth about the soul. Everyone should go to funerals often because it is in funerals that we are reminded of what we should never forget while we are still alive. Our culture insulates us from this truth and reality. We are sheltered and naive when we ignore the realities offered to us at a time when death comes. The Benedictines, a monastic order, teach that we should all practice our death and remember our death every, single and ordinary day or our lives—while we are alive. Why? Because death is going to happen. It happened to Jeanie. It will happen to me. It will happen to you.
What the cosmetic counters offers us; what the pictures on the Peleton’s ads promise us, is simply not true. An open grave offers us the clearest picture of truth we need in our present culture today. Life is fragile—handle all life with great care.
I envision our souls being like a hand fitting into a glove. The glove is our body but our soul is THE life that is in the glove—the body. The glove holds the hand. The glove is not the hand. The hand is what matters—the glove protects what is within itself. When the glove wears out in some way, that “life” inside, does not give out. Our life lives on. The soul does not die or end. Our souls move on to a place Jesus simply called, “Paradise.” I like that word, “paradise.” It is place promised the thief on the cross. The thief, along with Jesus were both dying at the same time and Jesus tells the thief that he will join him in this place where souls go after their bodies die. The writers of the Scriptures used all sorts of metaphorical language to help us transcend and “see” a life that we simply cannot see or experience on this side of the grave.
It’s a fitting word for Jeanie knowing that her soul is in Paradise—a place where prophets, poets and priests describe as a beautiful and restful place.
It is not death to die.
There’s a great Christian hymn which simply says these words: “It is not death to die.”
At the grave or in a place where ashes are left there is a sheer and pure comfort in being reminded that it is not death to die. The soul lives on. The soul—that “essence” of that person, we have loved lives on.
This week, while Jeanie “passed away” and her body died, our own family was reminded that our grandson, Tommy, “passed away” nine years ago. I held his body in my arms after he died. His soul was gone too quickly for us. He was wanted. He was loved. He mattered. Shortly after Tommy died, I had a dream about him—about paradise and about me and Tommy together in Paradise. It’s a dream I often think about even now. In my dream, Tommy is 21 and is there waiting on me—waiting on me to show up. Tommy is the one person who meets me and takes me to see Jesus. You might say, “Steve dreamt that up.” Maybe I did. But maybe it is true. We will all find out one day. But the dream is not what is important here. Life after death is what is important in a culture that constantly tells us to live loud now because “this is it.”
This is not it. This life is not all there is.
All of us have or will lose someone we love while we are living here—breathing this same air—and moving through and on with our own lives. But, in the south, there is a tradition and a cultural phenomenon which I absolutely love that happens when someone dies and a motorcade of cars proceeds to the graveside. Cars stop. Heads are bowed. Often people will place a hand over the hearts when the black hearse passes them. It’s all a sign of respect for those who are grieving. It is a human act of kindness and solidarity which symbolically says, “I know. I understand. I get it.” It’s a way of joining into the human family—admitting that we are all human and share the same condition.
It is a way to say to everyone who is grieving so deeply, it is not death to die.
Farewell my dear, dearest friend! Fly away home!
I’ll see you soon.
Steve
Well spoken. I will pray for you and Gwen