Life at the Time of Death

Two weeks from today, Western Christians will observe the rituals and liturgies of the Good Friday service. A day of fasting, and mourning, and recalling the death on a cross of one innocent of guilt. I will join the cassock clad assembly as we process the heavy wooden beams to the tolling of the bells up the street and into the darkened nave of All Saints Chapel.  This year, in preparation of the events of Passiontide, I realize how different my approach has become.

Since this time last year, I have seen and experienced many things. During my time as a CPE chaplain, I spent many hours with people before they died, at the time of death and afterwards with the families. For the most part I had no words holy enough for me to even presume to utter in those moments, and I had to learn to trust in the sacredness of silence, and God's presence in the stillness beyond a whisper. Due to various circumstances, I also found myself on the receiving end, sitting in my grief while someone else held the sacred silence for me.

Even in my darkest moments I was always made aware of newness of life, in what ever form it be made manifest. On a rather taxing on-call, I was paged to guide a bereaved family through the transition of losing their mother. After a few tense hours, we gathered together in the room and surrounded their recently deceased love one. As I offered prayers I noticed the dawn was just breaking through the window. We had been weeping all through the night, but now the sun pierced over the horizon, a sign that life would renew. Another occasion presented itself on a Sunday morning. One weekend while I was feeling exceptionally broken I awoke and prepared to go to church.  As I was making ready, I felt the need to change my plans and attend a different church in town. When I arrived I discovered that there was to be a baptism this day. Baptism, when flesh meets water in representation of both tomb and womb, a symbol of new birth and resurrection.

Today my heart again breaks for those I know who suffer pain or bereavement. This afternoon I took some time to sit in the hammock.  I gazed upward at grey skies and baron trees, but as I followed the branches to the trunk and down to the earth I saw a beautiful thing.  Breaking through the muddy ground were strong green shoots of daffodils, not yet bloomed, but quietly waiting for that moment when life bursts forth in glorious color.

These thoughts remained with me through this evening. Before retiring I went to our Oratory and lit the candles. I opened my prayer book so that I might turn to Compline, but instead I happened upon the Ministration at the Time of Death. I have read this portion many times, but one particular prayer stood out and struck me in a new way.

A Commendation at the Time of Death

 

Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world;

In the Name of God the Father Almighty who created you;

In the Name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you;

In the Name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you.

May your rest be this day in peace,

    and your dwelling place in the Paradise of God. (BCP 464)

Death is only a part of life; a passing point from life to life.  This year as we recall the Passion of our Lord, let us look to resurrection, while being ever mindful of the death all around us.  For in this we have no fear, the darkness around only makes the color's burst more brightly and makes each sacred silent moment ever more precious.