seasons
The autumn is a season of death. I recently did a whirlwind week of travel across Texas and then up to North Carolina. On my journey I was inspired again and again by the presence of death and how it was celebrated. It is our constant companion no matter what attitude we take toward it. My week of travel started with a funeral and a wedding on the same day; both are occasions to celebrate life in the midst of death. A funeral is an apparent connection, perhaps. The funeral was for a friend of mine who I've known since high school. The exact cause of her death was unknown, but the influence of her life on others is obvious. A church in Houston was full of people who's lives she touched, changed, and inspired. As I said goodbye to my friend, and mourned with her family, it made me want to live.
The next stop was a wedding on a hill country river. Once again, it was the occasion of life in the midst of death. Both the bride and groom will one day die. And during the ceremony, the former familial structure as well as their own single hood is dying. The word decide has the same root word as homicide and pesticide. When we decide something major in our lives, we have to mourn the death of an alternative life-path. So while the happy couple dresses up and celebrates their new life together, friends and family weep accidental tears because they are witnessing a death at the same time new life, new family, and new possibility is born.
My journey come to completion in the Appalachian mountains for the Inner Journey Retreat. There, I found the most brilliant celebration of death that this season of autumn brings: the changing of leaves, and their descent to become the fertilizer for next year's life. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be a burning bush; towering displays of bright orange, red, or yellow, contrasted against the evergreens. In our conversations on the retreat, we had people from across the spectrum of adulthood. From barely thirty to 75; we shared our insights, asked our questions, and faced the reality that we are in or are moving into the second half of life.
The real presence of death so brilliantly celebrated by nature, honoring the little deaths of life's decisions along the way, and celebrating the lives of those who have gone before us, even if the life was shorter than we might hope, can inspire us to live the fullest life we can in the here and now. Saying goodbye brings pain, and living fully in the here and now is challenging.
When the sorrow of death arrives, remember to find the glorious brilliance which is also present. I return to words from our tradition: "For those in the Lord, life is changed not ended." and "Give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth...." By continuing our course on earth, living our life to it's fullest, we show the highest honor to those who have gone before us who watch and hope for us. And at our own end we too may shine like autumn leaves, like a burning bush in the wilderness, helping others to live a full life.
Originally published in the South Jetty
The next stop was a wedding on a hill country river. Once again, it was the occasion of life in the midst of death. Both the bride and groom will one day die. And during the ceremony, the former familial structure as well as their own single hood is dying. The word decide has the same root word as homicide and pesticide. When we decide something major in our lives, we have to mourn the death of an alternative life-path. So while the happy couple dresses up and celebrates their new life together, friends and family weep accidental tears because they are witnessing a death at the same time new life, new family, and new possibility is born.
My journey come to completion in the Appalachian mountains for the Inner Journey Retreat. There, I found the most brilliant celebration of death that this season of autumn brings: the changing of leaves, and their descent to become the fertilizer for next year's life. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be a burning bush; towering displays of bright orange, red, or yellow, contrasted against the evergreens. In our conversations on the retreat, we had people from across the spectrum of adulthood. From barely thirty to 75; we shared our insights, asked our questions, and faced the reality that we are in or are moving into the second half of life.The real presence of death so brilliantly celebrated by nature, honoring the little deaths of life's decisions along the way, and celebrating the lives of those who have gone before us, even if the life was shorter than we might hope, can inspire us to live the fullest life we can in the here and now. Saying goodbye brings pain, and living fully in the here and now is challenging.
When the sorrow of death arrives, remember to find the glorious brilliance which is also present. I return to words from our tradition: "For those in the Lord, life is changed not ended." and "Give us faith to see in death the gate of eternal life, so that in quiet confidence we may continue our course on earth...." By continuing our course on earth, living our life to it's fullest, we show the highest honor to those who have gone before us who watch and hope for us. And at our own end we too may shine like autumn leaves, like a burning bush in the wilderness, helping others to live a full life.
Originally published in the South Jetty
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