Speak of the Dead

Pastor’s Epistle—October, A.D. 2018 B

It is time now to speak of the dead. Such is the gift of Hallowtide.

In autumn, as the world itself seems to wither and decay—the air growing cold, fields lying fallow—our thoughts turn quite naturally along with the seasons to our own mortality, and to those we’ve loved and lost along the way, and who now lie in our graveyard, patiently awaiting the Resurrection at the end of the age.

This need not be macabre. We must neither ignore nor fetishize death. Death is a natural and inescapable part of life in this fallen world. Most of humanity throughout most of history would have been exposed to death from a very young age. Grandparents would have died in the home, surrounded by extended family. The community would come together to wash, prepare, and bury the dead, while supporting and caring for those closest to the deceased, suffering the keenest grief.

The early Church was often forced to celebrate Sunday Eucharist in catacombs beneath major cities, literally atop the bones of the dead. After legalization, Christians inhumed the saints beneath the altar and floor stones of the sanctuary. I remember as a child visiting one small chapel in the Tower of London, which held at least 1600 sets of remains beneath it. Death was not just part of life, but part of our faith, part of life together: “Mortal, can these bones live?” “O Lord, You alone know.”

When burial inside the church building became impractical, churchyards sprang up immediately adjacent to the walls, that the dead might be as close to the altar as possible on the day of Resurrection. Old country churches still have graves right up against the foundation, often with a playground nearby. Thus the previous generation rests where the next can see and know them. There is great beauty in that: in the cycle of death and new life.

But again, we should take our cue from God’s first book, the book of nature. In autumn the leaves do not simply die: they erupt into color! The air is full of sweetness and spice, the land awash in beauty, the sounds and scents and tastes of autumn all promising wonder and mystery and glory to come. Winter is not the end. Winter is never the end. There is always spring just over the horizon. Every Christmas points to Easter.

The dead are not dead. They are not even gone. Those who went before us rest now in Christ. They were always more than just their bodies, more than just their flesh. Their souls are made in the image of God, and thus can never die. Nor will their bodies lie forgotten, for we are promised that our tombs, like that of Christ the Lord, shall be opened and emptied when the harvest comes in full. Then death itself shall die, and we in Christ shall live forever.

The early Church reverenced the bones of those martyred for the faith. They would gather them, wash them, reverence them, clothe them with honor and enshrine them in places of worship. This was the beginning of the so-called Cult of Saints. But why would our forebears do such things? Why treat something as grisly and distasteful as human remains as though they were holy men and women, honored guests and teachers who might rise up again at any moment as if from sleep? Why, because someday they shall! “We believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting!”

We live now in a culture quite uncomfortable with death. These days we tend to meet our end not in the home but in hospitals or nursing homes, quite isolated from the world and from our immediate community. Professionals dress and prepare our bodies. Professionals make all of our funeral arrangements. Professionals bury and bless us in well-kept cemeteries pleasantly manicured yet often out of sight, banished to the edge of town, far from children’s laughter. And so, if we are not careful, we the living may find ourselves ignoring death: both the grief that lingers after the loss of those we love, and our own mortality to come. We don’t want to think about it. We don’t want to prepare.

But death must not be feared. Life is glorious, yes, despite strife and struggle. Yet the most important day of each of our lives will be the day that we die: the day when we are hurled from time into eternity, to face the unfettered Life and Light of Truth of God’s own unspeakable presence. Now we see but dimly; then shall we see face-to-face. Christ has gone before us to conquer death and hell. Thus even as we too must confront the long march to the grave, we know already that we shall emerge bright and shining into our own long-lost homeland, the King’s own country, where there is no darkness, no shadows, no pain, no tears, and no grave.

And when we are there—dead to the world but alive in Christ—we shall still be part of the Church, the Body of Christ, part of our community, praying now for those we love, for enemy and friend alike. And every question shall be answered, every promise fulfilled, every tear dried, and every awful earthly tragedy somehow finally set right.

Thus does the Church set aside the Hallowtide—the great three days of Halloween, All Saints, and All Souls—to remember the dead who are not dead, and to rejoice with the living in the promise of life to come.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.

Let perpetual light shine upon them.

May they rest in peace.

In Jesus. Amen.