Even at the grave, we make our song

I have had the honor of officiating several funerals this month of people I knew fairly well. October also marks the one year anniversary of my own dad's death. It is a month, following the agricultural harvest, when many cultures remember those beloved who have died and rest in God's eternal presence. We conclude the month with All Hallows Eve, then All Saints and All Souls days. Some recognize funerals and the remembrance of ancestors as the earliest expression of religious practice. It certainly draws me to ponder my own existence, what I have to offer the world, and what I will leave behind. 

At the root of trusting in God is an awareness of our mortality. God is immortal, and we are not. That which we call "soul" we give over to God, and in that way practice a sort of death-before-dying. It is not we who will carry our own soul across death's gate, it is God. Entrusting our essence to another we must die to that illusion of control we think we have. That transition, or transformation--when we turn to a deeply spiritual life--often occurs when we move into the second half of life, what we playfully call "over the hill." 

Helen, and Marilyn, and Gary who's funerals I officiated, all lived rich and unique lives. It was a a joy to reflect on their lives, even though each was an occasion for tears for me, and their family and friends. I was able to pray with and share communion with Helen and with Gary shortly before their deaths. They were each at peace with the knowledge of their approaching death. They were as ready as people can be. 

In our funeral service, which is titled simply, "The Burial of the Dead", we conclude with the Commendation. It is a part of the service in which we practice prayerfully letting go of those we love, and entrusting them (and ourselves) to God's eternal care. We pray to God, "You only are immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth we shall return. For so did you ordain when you created me saying, 'You are dust, and to dust you shall return.' All of us go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia." With that triumphant praise to God, "Alleluia!", we acknowledge Christ's victory over death, and through our layers of fear and anxiety we boldly proclaim our surrender and trust in the Ruler of the cosmos. Sometimes I say it and mean it, and sometimes I say it and want to mean it. 

When I imagine heaven, it is not a far off place beyond the clouds hovering above earth's crust. I imagine heaven is just here among us in a dimension we are unable to sense most of the time. Then there are those special occasions when the veil gets thin, and our loved ones seem to reach out to assure us they are ok, and we will be too. They are with God, and they remind us that we, even while we continue in our animated dust, are with God, too. We may not always remember; we may fain control from our narrow perspective, but they remind us. I am grateful our traditions remind also us: "All of us go down to the dust."...and each precious day we have we can sing, "Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia."