The leaves of death: the carpet of grief

Today, watching once-green leaves now turned to russet fall from the trees with random carelessness and somehow form a carpet  on the ground I am reminded of the power of creation to point us to the reality of life and death. It is at this time of the year while children have been 'trick or treating' that many of us remember our loved ones who have died. This of course brings with it a perplexing sense of the pain of loss and absence as well as the very comforting sense of presence and connection. They are conjoined companions on the journey of grief.

Today, 2 November -commonly called 'All Souls'- in the Christian tradition many people will be attending services of remembrance in honour of someone close to them. At many services we will be reminded that "the souls of the faithful are in the hand of God" Wis 3:1 For some it will be to pray for them, for others it will be to ask for prayer, for others it will be to acknowledge that their loved one is now in God's hands and embrace, and for others there is a bewildering sense of not knowing what is happening or why they remember -a sense of hollowness where it is hard to know what or how to feel. Whatever our beliefs, what unites all humanity is the experience and pain of loss. Remembering together in community is a powerful experience that in itself provides a deep carpet of love, hope, support and care where there is space for the traditions and needs of all to be cherished and respected. 

Grief is an untidy journey. There is a temptation to try and package up our grief and tidy it away into some sort of ordered and controlled bookcase of emotion where we can take it out when we feel like it. Those who would try to tidy grief up have usually either never experienced loss or have run away from their grief. The reality though is that grief is an uncontrolled, untidy experience that rustles us often in the most unexpected ways and places. It can be like the whirling of a wind that scoops up scattered leaves and then creates a new carpet underfoot until the next gust appears. This carpet of grief becomes our comfort and path for the time being -however long that will be. Grief is a 'work in progress' that continues for as long as is necessary. 

Over these days as we think of our loved ones we think of our continuing sense of love and connection as well as marking the pain we feel because we miss them. Their voice, their smell, their physical presence, their companionship, even the things about them that irritated us. Grief can at times can make us feel a sense of loneliness like we have never experienced before. This is indeed the valley of the shadow of death Psalm 23:4 Only yesterday a family member told me that the 'shroud of loneliness fell off' when they attended a service of remembrance in the hospital where their mum had died. It was the very fact of being with so many others who were also grieving that they felt less alone.

As we tread on the leaves of loss let us tread gently because we tread on holy ground. These leaves, although dead, contain within them the marks of life and nourishment for the future. These leaves of death are for now, the carpet of grief.

Father of all, we pray to you for those we love, but see no longer. Grant them your peace, let light perpetual shine upon them, and in your loving wisdom and almighty power, work in them the good purpose of your perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen

All Saints: Remembering the ordinary foot-slogging Christians

Icon for All Saints'.
Christ is enthroned in the centre surrounded by the angels and saints,
Paradise is at the bottom, with the Bosom of Abraham (left) and the Good Thief (right) holding his cross.

Today, 1 November is All Saints' Day and tomorrow is All Souls' Day. I have always had a special place in my heart for these two days. There is something about them which touches me in a personal way. For me, All Saints and All Souls is about the countless ordinary folk who have 'done their bit' so to speak in their day. People, like you and me, about whom a book will never be written or who will not be remembered for anything in particular. It is easy to remember those who have become famous or indeed infamous. However, that is not the whole story. Today and tomorrow we remember those who are well known to the world and those who were known and continue to be loved by us.

St Etchen's Church, Killucan

I was thinking of this yesterday as I sat with my family in St Etchen's Church, Killucan, Co. Westmeath. This is a very special church for us. It was where we were married and it holds the memories of many special times and some sad ones too. Four years ago the funeral of a close friend of mine took place there. I say close friend because Rob Whiteside, who was also my Father-in-law was to me someone who was first and foremost a friend. I thought of him a lot yesterday when I was back in St Etchen's and consider him amongst the great cloud of witnesses. Rob was very human and had his faults -we all do- but he was someone who incarnated for me extraordinary goodness. He had the great gift of being able to see the best in people without being naieve about reality. He was an eternal optimist, a fantastic father to my wife Heather and her siblings and an inspirational grandfather -albeit for too short a time- to his grandchildren. I think I missed him most of all for them yesterday. The stories he loved to tell them, the games he loved to play with them and so on.  Rob was someone who inspired hope and he lived it. Although he was very honest about his dying when he was diagnosed with a brain tumour aged 60, he radiated hope. During a trip to the Taizé Community in France a few months before he died, he crawled on his arms and knees to the front of the chapel during one of the prayer services to have a prayer said -not for himself- but for someone special to him. I will never forget this image: true pilgrimage. 

As we celebrate All Saints and All Souls we can feel particularly close to those whom we love but see no longer. We can more easily at this time of year dare to step outside the confining bounds of time and space to taste and experience something much bigger than ourselves.

Who are the important ones who have inspired you, encouraged you, nurtured you, loved you? Remember them today. I am remembering Rob today and indeed all those I have been privileged to care for in ministry.
They may never be remembered in history: that doesn't matter.
They are precious to God, to me and to you. 

Back to the farm: remembering the stories

Today I journeyed to my parents' farm where I grew up in Co Wicklow. It has been seven months since I was home and driving down the lane today brought so many memories flooding back. That lane holds the memories of so many journeys beginning and ending for me. As a schoolboy I regularly walked the lane with my siblings to catch the bus to school and then the journey downhill from the road at the end if the school day when a lovely warm dinner awaited. Today we were due at dinnertime - which is religiously 1pm- but thanks to roadworks, traffic and loo stops with children we eventually arrived at 3pm. The children were so excited as we turned into the lane and they caught sight of some cows in a field. And a digger in the distance. When we got inside it was just like a school day from 30 years ago when the 'dinner' was produced for us. 'I love granny dinners' our second eldest proclaimed!

So here we are and I hope to have the opportunity to walk the farm with the children to share with them my stories and memories of growing up here. They regularly ask 'tell me a story from when you were a little boy...'

Over the next few days I hope to share some more with them and 'walk them'.

All of this invites us to ponder and reflect on how we communicate and keep memory alive? How do we tell our important and personal stories to our children so that they have a sense of who they are and where they come from? Remembering is at the heart if the Jewish & Christian traditions. We tell the story of salvation and who we are as God's people. This is a powerful source of formation, tradition and personal and communal identity.

Which stories will I tell to my children over the next few days and what are the stories they will be weave for themselves so that they can pass them on in due course? Stories are important parts of who we are.

Grief

I shared in two public ceremonies of remembrance in the last week where bereaved families came to remember their loved one. In both cases the churches were full to capacity. The first was for those who are bereaved following the death of a baby or the loss of a pregnancy and the second was for those whose loved one died in the care of our local hospice services. In a very poignant way I had a deep sense at both events that I was treading -hopefully very softly- on sacred ground. The sacred ground of hopes, dreams and memories. I was for a short time treading very gently in the land of grief where our sensitivities are heightened and our rawness very bare. Grief is a strange land.

Remembering is at the very heart of the Christian tradition. We remember every time we gather for worship. We recall the saving, generous and loving acts of God in Jesus Christ. However, it is more than simply recalling in a nostalgic sense. Rather, it is about keeping alive the bond of love and connection across time and space. It is hard to adequately express in words -which are so conditioned and limited by time and space- just what this means. How do we convey what it is to be still connected, to still have communion with those 'we love but see no longer'?

At each service of remembrance there was a sense of collective and shared experience of loss, yet, we all grieve differently. There is something very powerful when we can gather together in this way acknowledging the experience that we share yet being able to have a time where each person can be with their own grief. At each service I think this happened.

At the end of the Service for those who were grieving the death of a baby or a pregnancy there was a profound experience where the staff of the hospital each lit candles and formed a ring of candlelight around the church with parents and families each holding their own candle. The lights went down and the music faded. In that silence we were treading in a land without the limits of time and space. It was a time of deep presence and supportive love.


In the second service for our local hospice I was struck by the number of young people there. A full church of families marking the death of a loved one. A service where once again we were in a space of memory and love. Each person there with their rich memories of love and pain. Stories which were shared afterwards with me through the tears and the knowing looks as I reconnected with families I had journey with earlier this year. Young people, parents, children, grandparents, spouses, partners. As a Christian the abiding sense I had during this service was of God coming alongside each person and holding them, embracing them and loving them as if they were the only person in the world. Personal and individual love in a collective setting. To remember in this way is profound and transcends religious and faith systems.

There was no easy way to escape the painful fact that we miss the one who has died. we miss their voice, their physical presence, their smells, their habits -even the ones that annoyed us, their company, their laughter, their playfulness, their support and so the losses can go on...

Death is painful and grief is hard. None of us will escape it so why do we find it so hard to talk about it? Why do we find it so hard to reach out to someone who is bereaved? Instead we don't know what to say, so we duck into a shop to buy something we don't need rather than stop to ask a grieving friend how they are. We are afraid they might cry, that they might get upset. Yet those tears are healing. Let's be real and have the courage to come alongside those who mourn. Words are not necessary, presence is everything.