Tuesday, 4/4Listen, I will tell you a mystery! We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: A mystery indeed. Death, that is. Wouldn’t we all rather reflect on something else? Yet from time to time, we do think about death, right? Perhaps we’re gobsmacked by the unexpected death of someone dear to us. Or momentarily overcome by the realization that the older generation is leaving, one by one. Or struck by a growing awareness of our own mortality. In my encounter with illness this past summer, suddenly there were intimations of my own mortality. Busy days in the office were replaced with regular visits to the Bendheim Cancer Center. Sidelined as the can-do matriarch of my family, I became a vulnerable, needy patient. However reassured that I would recover just fine, I was living a possible preview of coming attractions that I had been reluctant to face. Now the invitation to contemplate death felt quite personal. In today’s passage, Paul lets us know that he too was thinking about death. In fact he had a pretty clear theology constructed around it to share with the Corinthians—all about living in “in-between” times, awaiting what seminary students now call “the parousia” or the resurrection of all believers. And what a day that would be—trumpets sounding with the glory of Handel’s Messiah (to our ears, if not to Paul’s!). Paul figured it would happen soon, surely within his lifetime. But as he grew older and realized he himself might not live for that day, his thinking shifted a bit, as our thinking often does. Has your thinking shifted about death as you’ve grown in years? Might you take some moments to recognize your present hopes and fears? Perhaps even to share them with someone you trust? For me, growing in years, death remains that great mystery. It doesn’t necessarily conform to Paul’s ideas. What I realize is that my expectations have been deeply shaped by the love and beauty I have known in this life. As well as by the suffering that runs through all of our lives. Doubts and fears remain. Recently, as our own St. Cecilia Choir sang at a 9:15 service, their young voices, a lyrical melody, and profound words connected with a place of deep experience within me, as if the Spirit was offering some reassurance about death, and about life as well. The anthem was called “Light of the World, Jesus Shining:” Light beyond shadow, joy beyond tears, Love that is greater when darkest our fears... Growing more aware of the reality of death—that all of us will die—the more precious life and loved ones are for me. The more fragile life seems, the more precious is the whole world. As the beloved contemporary writer (and theologian) Anne Lamott recently wrote, “...this weird scary aspect of life (death), can just wreck everything if you don't figure out at some point that it is what makes life so profound, meaningful, rich, complex, wild.” Wow. Can we take that to heart? Wow. Can we take that to heart? May Lamott’s affirmation be mine as well: “Love is sovereign here. Life never ends. Joy comes in the morning. Glory hallelujah. And let it be so.” - Mary Cattan * *Anne Lamott: Facebook post 1/15/17
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