by Joan Mitchell, CSJ
Inevitably in our lives we stand at the graves of those we love. Perhaps it is misting as it was when we stood at my mother’s grave and each shoveled dirt into the place of her resting. It was October. This final family act of love seemed like a fall planting for an as yet uncertain spring.
When we bury those we love, we lose all they learned in their lives—the quickness of their fingers on a violin, their mastery of physics, their wisdom in relationships, the way the holy showed through in their kindness. What lives on? Every death raises questions about its meaning and makes of our graves places where faith must begin.
Our graves call the question—what do I believe about God? Sometimes the veil between worlds seems thin. We experience our loved ones intensely present with us.
None of us knows what lies beyond death. We have only our experience of God in our world and in our holy history. Henry Nouwen compares dying to the trust between trapeze artists. One lets go, trusting the other will catch her or him.
Christians are companions in hope that the God who creates and sustains the world will raise us up. We are companions in hope that the new life Jesus promises will be our own.
We live in promise, not certainty. We walk with Jesus, who did not sidestep death but trusted the God he experienced beloving and inspiriting him; he gave himself in human unknowing.
Jesus grieves in Sunday’s gospel with three people he loves. His friends Martha and Mary believe Jesus could have saved their brother Lazarus, but he didn’t come in time. The gospel sets a scene familiar: two sisters stand at their brother’s grave with a friend.
- Who have you accompanied in sickness and death?
- What funerals do you remember especially? For what reasons?