To ruminate comes from the Latin verb ruminari, literally to “chew over”, hence, to think deeply about a matter.
Showing posts with label resurrection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label resurrection. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Eastertide Ruminations on Committal Practices around Cremation
My mother died young at age 53 in 1967, and by her request was cremated. There was a moving memorial service for her at our little church, but the “cremains” remained in a box inside a cardboard box on my father's dresser for years, since my bereft and broken-hearted Dad either didn’t know what to do with them, or just couldn’t part with them. Some good pastoral care would have been helpful. For years I felt no sense of place to pay my respects to my mother or grieve or do whatever one needs to do at a graveside.
Many years later my Dad remarried a wonderful woman named Virginia, and my Mom’s ashes went along with him to his new household. He was blessed with ten very happy years with his second wife, and then in 1983 he himself died at the age of 69. My wife and I were privileged to be with him for a couple weeks at the time of his death, although I had left for a few minutes to have a swim in the ocean when he actually died. When I saw my wife standing quietly on the shore I knew he was gone.
Later that week I received a phone call that from anybody else but a gracious soul like Virginia might have been extremely awkward. We were preparing for my Dad’s graveside committal (unlike my mother, he had chosen to be buried), and Virginia asked me and my sister and brother, “What should I do with your Mom’s ashes?” He had held onto them all those years.
So we all huddled and decided they should go into the ground alongside my Dad's body and that's what we did. So my sister, brother, my Dad’s wife, and I saw both my parents committed to the ground in “The sure and certain hope of eternal life,“ despite the fact that they had died 17 years apart. And it probably wasn’t with those words since it was a Quaker cemetery (Virginia was a Quaker and my Dad had become one), and Quakers are short on liturgy. Nonetheless, now we have a place, even if it is far from where we live.
We know their remains are just that, but rituals and sacred sites have their place in our lives. Once in answer to a question about multiple spouses in heaven, Jesus said that “when the dead rise, they will neither marry nor be given in marriage, but are like the angels in heaven,” so I anticipate in faith that God will sort it all out on the Great Day of Resurrection.
Cremations were rare back in 1967, and my mother was a practical Christian woman with a proto-Green streak. Today cremations are much more common, but our committal practices have not caught up with that reality.
A friend of mine sent me a link to today’s Christian Century blog. There is a moving and instructive article by Thomas Lynch called The holy fire, Cremation: A practice in need of ritual. Lynch is a writer (a good one) and a funeral director, and I recommend that every pastor should read this piece, which can be found here.
Monday, April 5, 2010
The Resurrection is not a metaphor: “Seven Stanzas at Easter by John Updike”
A few years ago, a friend of mine, a college professor, was driving by a local Lutheran Church and saw in big letters on their sign, THE RESURRECTION IS NOT A METAPHOR!
Those who read this blog know my love for the work of John Updike, one of our best Twentieth Century Christian novelists. His poetry is pretty good, too. Here's his take on the wise Lutherans' signboard.
Seven Stanzas at Easter
by John Updike
Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body.
If the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules reknit, the
amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.
It was not as the flowers,
each soft spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
eleven apostles;
it was as his flesh: ours.
The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that – pierced – died, withered, paused, and then regathered out of
enduring Might
new strength to enclose.
Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a thing painted in the faded credulity
of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.
The stone is rolled back, not papier mache,
not stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of time will
eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.
And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in the
dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.
Let us not make it less monstrous,
for in our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour,
we are embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.
– John Updike, “Seven Stanzas at Easter,” in Telephone Poles and Other Poems (London: Andre Deutsch, 1964), 72–3.
(Photo by David Macy: Easter, yesterday, North Haven, Maine)
Saturday, April 11, 2009
A Hymn for Easter

On Easter Day, on Easter Day
The angel rolled the stone away.
Let all good Christians sing and pray
On Easter Day.
On Easter Day, on Easter Day
A new creation came to stay
To take the sting of death away
On Easter Day.
To take the sting of death away
On Easter Day.
On Easter Day, on Easter Day
Christ came among them, so they say,
And shared his story on the Way
On Easter Day.
On Easter Day, this Easter Day,
We come to worship, sing and pray,
And share his presence, come what may
Christ came among them, so they say,
And shared his story on the Way
On Easter Day.
On Easter Day, this Easter Day,
We come to worship, sing and pray,
And share his presence, come what may
On Easter Day.
©Richard L. Floyd, 2004
Labels:
Easter,
empty tomb,
hymn,
Hymn for Easter,
hymns,
resurrection
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