Good death talk

This Gospel passage we are invited to meditate upon this day (John 17:20-26) is Jesus’ prayer to his Father in heaven regarding his coming death. It signifies his physical death and the coming wave of grief that will knock his followers to their knees. Mary Magdalene will search for his bodily remains only to find an empty tomb.  His death will also signify a transitional event; life transformed – life to life. Furthermore, a gate of understanding about death will open wide for all those who follow in his way.

Today, we are given a teaching about death. And how sorely is the world in need of it. How sorely I am in need of it.

The Book of Common Prayer notes the following regarding the burial service of the Episcopal Church. Within the following words can be found a synthesis of the theology of death that is often described as the great Christian hope.

The liturgy for the dead is an Easter liturgy.  It finds all its meaning in the resurrection. Because Jesus was raised from the dead, we, too, shall be raised.     

     

The liturgy, therefore, is characterized by joy, in the certainty that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus or Lord.”

This joy, however, does not make human grief unchristian. The very love we have for each other in Christ brings deep sorrow when we are parted by death.  Jesus himself wept at the grave of his friend. So, while we rejoice that one we love has entered into the nearer presence of our Lord, we sorrow in sympathy with those who mourn.

Every year I devote the altar flowers to my sister who died on May 9, 1993. It has been a long time now, 23 years, and in truth if I did not intentionally mark the date of her passing with flowers it is likely this week would come and go without a thought.  But such a ritual helps me remember her and honor her life. It also helps me to remember that her life, like all those who have passed before us, has not ended but has changed. One of my trusted friends in the esoteric world has assured me that Catherine is a strong and abiding presence in my life; a protective influence, as she describes it. Though it is hard for me to realize Catherine in any form other than the one I knew up until she took her last breath. At the time of her passing, when I looked upon her breathless body I knew she was not there. One minute she as there and the next she was absent. And I wondered, Where did she go? I said to her in my mind: Where are you now? Are you in the corner of the ceiling looking down at us crying for you? Do you now have wings so you can fly? Are you in the heavens with God? What is it like where you are?

Since that time, my father, who was also an Episcopal priest, died five years ago. In his moment of passing, I said to myself and to him: Now you know. Now you are on the other side and you know what we cannot know until we come to where you are. Now you know the truth about the faith you proclaimed. Or you simply know what is truth and how far or how near we come to getting it right.

William Shannon, wrote of death in this way: We are one with one another because whatever of us there is that is really worthwhile is from God and in God.  And that is something that death does not and cannot change – though it appears to do so, since we are so accustomed to think of a person solely in terms of her empirical ego. Death is the end of the empirical ego, but not of the person. We are all eternally one in the love of God.”  Theologian John Shea expounded on the idea of spiritual presence verses the “empirical ego” by saying: “In short, we are addicted to physical presence. We want to smell the hair of our children, touch our lover’s hand, look into another’s eyes, and hear human laughter. We cannot imagine presence without the impact of the physical senses. Our consciousness not only dwells on the physical and psychological, it often stops there. So when the spiritual is all we have, we cannot confidently discern it and are highly suspicious of those who say they can…. We really want what we can no longer have. Spiritual presence is second best, a poor substitute for flesh.”

I think he is courageous for having said this. There are a lot of should’s for Christians who grieve. They are the things we know we should feel or appreciate that we can’t reconcile in our moment of despair. There are things we dare not say lest someone think we have abandoned our faith.  Instead we believe: We should be content to know that our loved ones are in a “better place.” We should take consolation in their passing from death into life. We should rejoice in that they are now free. But few of us, are quite there, for quite some time.

Months after the suicide of his son, one of my parishioners in the depths of his inconsolable sorrow suddenly yelled out: I want my son back!  We want them back.

But Shea is confident and persistent in his argument that we can in fact can share in the life of our loved ones once again through the practice of spiritual presence. I cannot say how shocked I was to read his description of this practice from a Roman Catholic theologian.  He roots the practice in Jesus’ words recorded in John’s Gospel: “And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one….”

The practice of spiritual presence is simple really. But it does require that we accept without hesitation that the center of our being is a spiritual reality that is distinct and apart from the body’s that we inhabit.  This should be familiar to you: We are spiritual beings having a human experience. We are not humans having an occasional spiritual experience.  As spiritual beings we have particular capacities which we can develop. Meditation is not a toy or a pillow upon which to rest our heads. It is a tool by which we can, if we wish, hone our spiritual capabilities. Shea goes on to suggest that should we be able to accept that this is our true nature, that we are sovereign beings inextricably connected to God throughout eternity, and not as bound to our physical bodies as we have been taught, then we can begin to focus our attention inwardly; to find our centers. This is the goal of the practice of Centering Prayer, a mediation technique made famous by the contemplative monk Thomas Merton. Shea speaks of centering in this way: “When our consciousness rests in this center, we become aware it is receiving its being and love from elsewhere. It is not its own reality. It is dependent on a larger reality that is filling it from within and encouraging it to connect with other spiritual centers and to share its life with them.” Anyone who has ever sat in meditation for five minutes knows this as truth. In an instant we know that we are more than just our body and our name. I believe that the transition to death must be something like this. I have seen a lot of people die. And I must conclude that I do not think that death snatches us and tears us away from the fabric of the temporal life but rather beckons us to follow and we cannot resist the silent, sublime call of God to return from hence we came.

To reconnect with the ones we love who have passed from this life all we need do is to move from the center of our being into the center of their being. Our imagination is the tool we need to accomplish this. Move your center into their center. And you do not go alone; with you comes the love of God. Shea warns sternly that the only purpose of this activity is to further realize the love of God. This is a very serious spiritual practice and should not be misused.

Beyond reconnecting as companions with loved ones who have passed, the practice of spiritual presence can be applied in day to day life. How often are you asked to pray for someone? Shea describes prayer in this way: “Prayer is a capacity of our consciousness to move beyond the physically imposed boundaries of our skin and enter in the spiritual center of another…. Then we are in them and they are in us, and we are both in Christ, and [God] is in Christ and in us, and the love of God is in and through all….”

I conclude where I began, at the Episcopal burial rite. The opening words are these:

I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.

Whoever has faith in me shall have life, even though he die.

And everyone who has life… shall not die forever.

Source: The Relentless Widow: The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers, by John Shea, pp. 150-152.