Make my soul to glow and melt
In his Good Friday remarks, for many years, Fr. Leo would refer to the “dying side” of Easter. It is not surprising that the focus of today’s service is death and dying, but it certainly is something to consider. He always mentioned the sealed Tomb at the end of the Friday, and the sorrow, fear and hopelessness of the apostles after the crucifixion. By Easter Sunday, of course, we are celebrating the resurrection and the renewal of life, but in between there is the tomb, and all it signifies — the end of this life, the absence of the one we love, a permanent separation, and an inevitable, universal end.
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. It’s not being morbid, at least, I don’t think that it is. I am, though, wondering about death, and what happens to us after. One view, to which I am not subscribed, is that death is final and is followed by nothingness. It’s probably the easiest answer to deal with something we don’t know, but I find it hard to accept this. It is therefore unsurprising that I believe in an afterlife. Why? Well, because life endures and it’s cyclical. And I don’t think that we are exempted from the cycle. Besides, energy is always transformed, not created or destroyed, and humans are energy.
Yes, I’m rationalizing. I really can’t internalize the idea that one day I will no longer exist, and I won’t be able to interact with my loved ones. In talking to myself about this, I tell myself that while I’m home in Ottawa, I don’t exist in Trinidad. I have no idea what’s happening, I don’t interact on a daily basis with people, so it’s like being dead there. All that does is return me to the point of afterlife, because when I go to Trinidad I’m alive there again. Maybe that’s a reflection of what waits after death — we return somewhere we were and are alive there again; perhaps in a new body and definitely with a different perspective.
I’m not sure what a next life would be like. It may be a copy of this one, with all the unpleasant things removed. No sickness, war, poverty, pollution, famine... All the beauty of the world, magnified, with peace, laughter and joy. I don’t see it as joyless or dull, because we would all have known pain and suffering, and therefore would be able to fully rejoice and love. C. S. Lewis, one of my favourite authors, describes this life as being in the Shadowlands, and when we experience joy or beauty it’s because we glimpse the Real Place and we are trying to return there. On the other hand, it may be like the fields of Asphodel— a shadowy, foggy place where the spirits exist, with no power to move or speak. Or it may be a series of rebirths, where one returns to learn new things, and to move ever closer to God.
I don’t know — no one does. I’ve read various descriptions of what heaven (or an afterlife) is like, and some appeal more than others. Frankly, the idea of sitting on clouds playing harps is probably why so many people want to head to hell. Then the idea that perfection means removing challenge and struggle is also not in my idea of heaven. In my view, heaven would be filled with all the immense variety and diversity of life, where we would be able to enjoy all good things surrounded by the people we love. I think of it as a place where we have all our “mountaintop moments” without having to go through the lows. That we would still have things to learn, things to develop but with an infinite capacity for growth and love.
Meanwhile, there is this life. Whether or not there is a next one is not something we can answer here. We also know that we can take nothing to the next life when we go there; and our best legacy remains the impact we’ve had on others’ lives. I never knew my grandfather, as he died when my mother was a baby. But the stories that I’ve heard about him talk of someone who had a positive effect on other people, and whose friendship was prized. In my heart, I hope that is something that could be said of me.
Recently, in talking with an old friend, she said to me, “I don’t want any of you to cry for me at my funeral. There’s no reason to be sad when I die.” Another one commented, “At my funeral, I want the church to be standing room only and a lot of eulogies.” I heard all of them, and I have to respectfully disagree... we don’t cry for the deceased, but for ourselves, because we now face life with a hole in it that used to be filled with laughs and shared experiences. And funerals are for the living, to have a time to share the impact of the deceased. For myself, I would very much prefer to spend time with people who can tell me directly what effect I have on their lives. To make our souls glow brightly, the best thing is to laugh with those who make you happy; to share meals with loved ones and to be of service to others.
I’ve determined, a while ago, that one of the sayings that I would take to heart is this proverb, “On the day of judgement, we will be taken to account for every permissible pleasure that we denied ourselves.” With that in mind, I’m giving serious consideration to planning my own “celebration of life,” where we can all get together to toast life, love, friends and family. Who’s interested?
I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. It’s not being morbid, at least, I don’t think that it is. I am, though, wondering about death, and what happens to us after. One view, to which I am not subscribed, is that death is final and is followed by nothingness. It’s probably the easiest answer to deal with something we don’t know, but I find it hard to accept this. It is therefore unsurprising that I believe in an afterlife. Why? Well, because life endures and it’s cyclical. And I don’t think that we are exempted from the cycle. Besides, energy is always transformed, not created or destroyed, and humans are energy.
Yes, I’m rationalizing. I really can’t internalize the idea that one day I will no longer exist, and I won’t be able to interact with my loved ones. In talking to myself about this, I tell myself that while I’m home in Ottawa, I don’t exist in Trinidad. I have no idea what’s happening, I don’t interact on a daily basis with people, so it’s like being dead there. All that does is return me to the point of afterlife, because when I go to Trinidad I’m alive there again. Maybe that’s a reflection of what waits after death — we return somewhere we were and are alive there again; perhaps in a new body and definitely with a different perspective.
I’m not sure what a next life would be like. It may be a copy of this one, with all the unpleasant things removed. No sickness, war, poverty, pollution, famine... All the beauty of the world, magnified, with peace, laughter and joy. I don’t see it as joyless or dull, because we would all have known pain and suffering, and therefore would be able to fully rejoice and love. C. S. Lewis, one of my favourite authors, describes this life as being in the Shadowlands, and when we experience joy or beauty it’s because we glimpse the Real Place and we are trying to return there. On the other hand, it may be like the fields of Asphodel— a shadowy, foggy place where the spirits exist, with no power to move or speak. Or it may be a series of rebirths, where one returns to learn new things, and to move ever closer to God.
I don’t know — no one does. I’ve read various descriptions of what heaven (or an afterlife) is like, and some appeal more than others. Frankly, the idea of sitting on clouds playing harps is probably why so many people want to head to hell. Then the idea that perfection means removing challenge and struggle is also not in my idea of heaven. In my view, heaven would be filled with all the immense variety and diversity of life, where we would be able to enjoy all good things surrounded by the people we love. I think of it as a place where we have all our “mountaintop moments” without having to go through the lows. That we would still have things to learn, things to develop but with an infinite capacity for growth and love.
Meanwhile, there is this life. Whether or not there is a next one is not something we can answer here. We also know that we can take nothing to the next life when we go there; and our best legacy remains the impact we’ve had on others’ lives. I never knew my grandfather, as he died when my mother was a baby. But the stories that I’ve heard about him talk of someone who had a positive effect on other people, and whose friendship was prized. In my heart, I hope that is something that could be said of me.
Recently, in talking with an old friend, she said to me, “I don’t want any of you to cry for me at my funeral. There’s no reason to be sad when I die.” Another one commented, “At my funeral, I want the church to be standing room only and a lot of eulogies.” I heard all of them, and I have to respectfully disagree... we don’t cry for the deceased, but for ourselves, because we now face life with a hole in it that used to be filled with laughs and shared experiences. And funerals are for the living, to have a time to share the impact of the deceased. For myself, I would very much prefer to spend time with people who can tell me directly what effect I have on their lives. To make our souls glow brightly, the best thing is to laugh with those who make you happy; to share meals with loved ones and to be of service to others.
I’ve determined, a while ago, that one of the sayings that I would take to heart is this proverb, “On the day of judgement, we will be taken to account for every permissible pleasure that we denied ourselves.” With that in mind, I’m giving serious consideration to planning my own “celebration of life,” where we can all get together to toast life, love, friends and family. Who’s interested?
Now...that's an idea....have our own celebration of life where we can participate. Some would say we do this when we celebrate birthdays, but why wait until our day of birth to celebrate our life?
ReplyDeleteI too think of heaven not as a place in the clouds, but a place where the "bad" things of our earthly life no longer exist. A place where we are still challenged but not to overcome obstacles; challenged to keep growing and thinking.