Hosea 11:1-11
Psalm 107:1-9, 43
Colossians 3:1-11
Luke 12:13-21
Homily by Fr R Christopher Heying
From dying suddenly
and unprepared,
Good Lord, deliver us!
In Name of the Living God and the God of the Living:
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Because I could not stop
for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no
haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where
children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house
that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries,
and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
Such of course is the poem by Emily Dickinson that reminds us that Death will come for each of us.
Ars moriendi,1 in English, “the art of dying,” refers to a genre of literature that grew from two Latin books in the 1400s which dealt with death and dying, the shorter of which being a “block book,” complete with wooden images upon which one could meditate and learn to “die well.”
These guides were written within memory of the Black Death and during the social upheavals of their own day. They were highly popular and led to various English books on death and dying, including The Waye of Dying Well and, in 1750, Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Dying,2 wherein he writes:
Baldness is but a dressing to our funerals, the proper ornament of mourning, and of a person entered very far into the regions of and possession of death: and we have many more of the same signification; gray hairs, rotten teeth, dim eyes, trembling joints, short breath, stiff limbs, wrinkled skin, short memory, decayed appetite.
Taylor says that we “may read a sermon, the best and most passionate that ever man preached,” if we were just to enter the tombs of kings. He goes on to speak of a practice where Spanish princes had to walk through the cemetery of their grandparents in order to receive their crowns.
Ars moriendi, the art of dying, is not just genre of literature but a vital spiritual tool, a poignant reminder of what God said to the rich man who focused on tomorrow’s security: “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you” (Luke 12.20).
And every year the church reminds each one of us: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (BCP 265).
It is said that only two things are certain: death and taxes. We might reduce the sting of taxes, but none will escape being swallowed by death. Much like the rich fool, our own life may be required of us this very day.
So what are we waiting for? What are we waiting for to get right with God and to get square with one another? Chances are good that there are specific things for which we need forgiveness, from God or from others. Chances are good there are those we need to forgive, for are we not a people who pray, “forgive us our sins as we forgive the sins of others”?
Scripture indicates that any lengthening to our days is really about God’s patience with us and God’s mercy toward us, about God giving us more time, but not unlimited time.
Reflecting on our own death, we may begin to value our own life more, to be more ready to proclaim and to show forth that “this is the day the Lord hath made, I will rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118.24).
Reflecting on our death, we may see that it is time to put our house in order. The church says that it is my responsibility to remind you of your responsibility to make a will and in it to remember the blessings we have received from God and those who have come before us and to remember our responsibility to return thanks to God and be mindful of those who come after us.
Reflecting on our death is a time to get honest with ourselves and the significant people in our lives: spouses, children, loved ones, to share with them now what we hope for then, then at the end of life.
When we are unable to make decisions for ourselves, these will be the ones who make those critical decisions for us, and it would be good if they knew what we wanted because it can get really messy when they don’t know and when they don’t agree with each other.
Modern medicine can indeed keep us artificially alive, often beyond any real hope of being alive.
I remember Elaine who was a lady full of energy and vitality. In fact, Elaine was the one most people remembered meeting when they first came to the church. She was there with her hat, her smile, her ebullient, loving spirit, and warm handshake . . . until a massive stroke left her bedridden, unable to walk or talk, but a feeding tube kept her alive not for weeks or even months but for six long years.
What do we think about care, such as that provided by hospice, care for the whole person that does not see the elimination of death as the singular goal of medicine but perceives death as a natural stage in a life fully lived?
Rather than artificially prolonging life beyond any real sustainability, what do we think about ministering so as to reduce substantially, if not eliminate completely, pain and suffering, not only physical suffering but emotional and spiritual as well?
What do you want and who knows it?
Is it time, while we still have time, to make decisions about a living will, a power of attorney for health care so when we are unable to make those decisions for ourselves others we trust can make them for us with the knowledge of what we hoped for, what we wanted?
Is it time to decide about organ donations or about giving our earthly body to science, confident that we will be given a new body, one with the absence of pain but the presence of life? It is time to consider our own funeral, to let people know our hopes, even to file a copy at the church?
Reflecting on our death will almost inexorably lead each of us to consider what happens after our death, something about which can have hope and faith but no absolute certainty. Maybe we will want to take our questions, our concerns, our fears and anxieties, to the Lord in prayer.
But maybe we will also find the courage to share our intimate thoughts and deep feelings, to share in different ways with different people, people who love us and care about us.
These people who love us are the very people God has given to us, at least in part specifically to demonstrate to us that love is stronger than the grave and that in dying, our “life is changed, not ended; . . . [for] when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.”
Prepared by the one who says (Revelations 21) and says quite clearly and definitively
“Behold, I make all things new.”
“Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.”
“I will wipe away every tear from their eye.”
“I will be their God and they will be my children.”
Ars moriendi.
The art of dying.
Reflecting on our death.
From dying suddenly and unprepared, Good Lord, deliver us!
_____________
1 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ars_moriendi
2 Jeremy Taylor, The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying as found in the anthology of Witherspoon and Warnke, Seventeenth-Century Prose and Poetry, 2nd ed. (Harcourt: New York, 1982).