Category: A Contemplative Life

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and wonder what has happened to the world. This is more likely to happen on gray days, when a mist meanders down James Street and there are fewer people walking the sidewalks. Those who do make the dreary walk have their heads down, their shoulders up, keeping out the world.

I stare out the window and I wonder. What kind of a world is it when a leading presidential nominee more closely resembles an elementary school bully than someone with great character about to take the reigns of a nation? What kind of world is it when people sell helpless people to other people? What kind of a world is it?

Fear hides around every corner, these days. Fear pulls on us, nags at us, reminds us of how much we have to lose. Fear shows us empty hands and tells us they will be ours. That could be our lack.

* * * * *

I walk to the corner store again and talk to Jose, the nephew of the owner. He’s in his forties. He tries to sell me a sandwich or some of the Mexican food they made on the grill in the back. When I try to pay for my gallon of milk and box of cereal with a debit card, he looks miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “the machine still isn’t working.”

But I’m welcome to use the debit machine in the store, the one that will end up costing me $4 to take out $20. I do it, though, because it’s the corner store. It’s where I meet my neighbors. It’s the tangible intersection between my privilege, my relative wealth, and the people around me.

We laugh about all the snow. A man in the aisle suggests that if I want to make really good Rice Krispies treats, I need to add lost of butter. Jose tries once more to sell me some Mexican food. I laugh and tell him I’m good for now. I tell him I’ll see him soon.

* * * * *

There are big things afoot in this world. There are tremendous tragedies unfolding before our very eyes, and there are poignant sparks of beauty, of new life.

But we cannot let these momentous things distract us from the everyday. The soft-spoken hello to the neighbor I pass. The quick wave and how are you to Eric across the street. The ATM fee, eaten in order to keep the peace. A kind, enthusiastic man trying to make a living by selling Mexican food in his uncle’s store.

The world goes on in spite of the larger-than-life bullies. The question at hand, the question I must focus on, is not how they will affect the world, but how will I?

My friend leaned across the table with heavy emotion on his face.

“This is it. This is it,” he said passionately. “I’m no longer afraid of dying, and that has changed everything.”

* * * * *

I’ve been avoiding the writing of this post because the whole thing makes me terribly uncomfortable. I don’t want to appear critical of those who have recently lost loved ones, and so I hope you can all read this and give me your grace and kindness. I’m trying to be graceful and kind in the writing. But I also feel it’s something very important for us to think about, so I can’t avoid writing this post any longer.

Here it is: recently, I’ve noticed a trend in the way that many Christians talk about someone who has died. Actually, that’s the thing I want to talk about – we rarely use the word ‘died’ or ‘dead’ anymore, as if those are words to be strictly avoided at all costs. As if there’s something disgraceful or improper or derogatory about saying that someone has died. We say they have moved on, that they’ve been healed, that they’ve said good-bye to their earthly body, and we perform all sorts of other verbal gymnastics to avoid saying what we’re actually saying.

This is not a healthy trend.

I wonder at this omission of the word ‘died.’ I wonder about why we don’t want to talk about death and dying? I wonder what happens when we continue to move further and further in the direction of the denial of death? We are, after all, a culture very much built on this denial.

“The human ego prefers anything, just about anything, to falling, or changing, or dying. The ego is that part of you that loves the status quo – even when it’s not working. It attaches to past and present and fears the future.”    Richard Rohr

It all reminds me very much of Harry Potter and how no one wanted to say the name of their greatest enemy, Lord Voldemort. They refer to him as “He Who Must Not Be Named.” Or in Narnia (if you prefer CS Lewis’ brand of witchcraft to that of JK Rowling), the animals whisper the name of the White Witch, not wanting to speak it aloud. Of course, refusing to name something doesn’t eliminate it; in fact, in some ways, it gives it even more power, injects it with more terror, causes us to be even more afraid of it.

What also happens when we try to avoid the word death is that we take away the freedom to express the heavy emotions of sadness or loss that go along with that word. When someone talks about  a person who has “moved on” and intentionally avoids using the word death or died, I don’t feel free to mourn properly. I feel that they are trying to keep things positive and mourn-free, so I nod and smile, my lip trembling, instead of weeping as I would like.

Hey, I do it, too. I stood there at the viewing and asked someone, “So, when did he, um, you know, pass on?”

I’m not saying we should be happy about death. I’m not saying we shouldn’t fight to stay alive. But when someone has died, let’s use the word. Let’s name Death so that we can put it in it’s proper place in the Christian tradition: immediately before a Resurrection.