| There is no more sobering a thought than that of the fragility of human life. In a day when we closely approach 100,000 deaths, the result of COVID-19, how can we not pay attention? How can we simply make it “matter of fact.”? How possibly can we exclude ourselves from the picture? Perhaps for the first time in our lives, the certainty and security we have about our life has collided, full-force with reality. We no longer feel in control. We no longer can presume that life endures forever and that we can jaunt around the earth oblivious to the ultimate truth, best expressed in the Epistle of St. James: “For what is your life? It is a vapor that appears a little while and then vanishes away.” (James 4:14) A vapor……imagine! In the Gospel of St. Luke (Luke 12:16-21), we have a parable that reminds us about life’s tenuous nature. The story of the Rich Man who possessed so much that he tore the old ones down and built a new storage barn that could hold all of his wealth. Looking at the new structure, he remarked that it would be here for years, therefore he will “take it easy, eat, drink, and be merry.” (Luker 12: 19) God said to him “You fool! This night your soul will be taken from you, then whose shall all this be?” (Luke 12:20) This reminds us of the remark by St. Isaac he Syrian: “He who considers himself master of his possessions is a slave to the passions!” Oblivious to life around him, counting on tomorrow, no doubt dreaming of how he will use his fortune, the Rich Man ignores the fact that all around him people can be dying and he doesn’t, even for a fleeting moment, realize it can happen to him. The Church Fathers taught that remembrance of death was an important part of the Orthodox spiritual life. St. Maximus the Confessor, known as the Mystic of Fire and Light, wrote that “The fear of death is the root cause of all sin.” The fear of death and the denial of our own impermanence is the heart of all our suffering.” Yet each time we are hurt or insulted or disappointed we feel the sting of mortality. Every trauma we experience, as simple and seemingly insignificant as it may be, leaves a wound that, if neglected, can hurt us for the length of our days. As the late American theologian, Prof. Paul Tillich, said: “Suffering introduces you to yourself and reminds you that you are not the person you thought you were.” Every day during this public health crisis, we realize that we have precious little control over events. We do, however, have control over our spiritual life, the choices we make for our hearts and souls. God came into this world to connect with our suffering and our joys in the most intimate of ways. He became one of us. He became, as Isaiah writes, “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” Love shares the suffering of its beloved and that cannot be effectively done at a distance. He took upon Himself our suffering so that we may do the same. He faced the reality of His own death, freely and with genuine surrender. The remarkable truth then is that when we connect with our own suffering we are connecting with God’s, for, as the hymn says, “his wounds are yet visible above.” If we refuse to touch our suffering, then we are also refusing to embrace His. Metropolitan Anastasios of Tirana writes: “The truth is that much of life involves suffering. To leave it out of our love is to cut out a significant part of our human experience. That is a recipe for more suffering, not less. Jesus is “the least of the brethren” within us and without us, and we must bring love to them all, for each one of them is Christ and each one of them is us.” This is beautifully expressed in our practice of the Holy Eucharist. Into the chalice filled with the wine to become His blood, the portion of bread, called the Lamb, is divided and then broken into pieces and placed in the cup. Altogether, united in God, it is the Lord’s very flesh and blood. The division represents his Crucifixion and our fragmentation. The descent of the Holy Spirit represents the heavenly fire of joy. The chalice is the cup of joy and of sorrow, of life and of death, all enfolded in Grace, all made whole, all welcomed in the one great unity which is God’s life. And we are called to drink of it to recognize what has been done for us in Christ and to make manifest the unity he has accomplished. The Eucharist is life, opening to death, opening to life. It is not only Christ’s story, it is OURS. Stephen R. Donaldson, in his book Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, poetically expresses this: “Drink of loss ‘til it is done, ‘til solitude has come and gone, and silence is Communion.” There is little doubt but that the pandemic has caused us all to stop and think – about ourselves, our families and friends, and the countless unnamed persons whom we don’t know but who have, sadly, lost their earthly lives. How do we even begin to connect with the truth about death in our lives so that we are prepared when, at last, it comes? St. Ambrose of Optina tells us: “You must not be greatly troubled about many things, but you should care for the main thing — preparing yourself for death.” This means examining our life priorities and changing them in light of the Gospel’s message. It means living with Jesus as the driving energy of our life. It means turning “talk” about faith into actual practice, and chit-chat about “religion” into actual faith commitment. It means, once the threat of the virus passes, we don’t return to “our old self.” Death is not a morbid thing for Christians – sad yes, but not morbid. It holds out the certain hope that where Christ has gone, we too shall follow. Again, Paul Tillich writes: “While we weep at death because we are human, we can never resent it, fear it, avoid it, or escape it. That is because it has been conquered and no longer is our fate. In the Cross of Christ, it has been robbed of its power. Where, O death, is thy victory? Where, O death, is thy sting?” Death is always followed by Resurrection, as the bleakness of night is always prelude to the brilliant light of day. To live in faith and to die in faith is a great testament to the truth that all things in life and death unfold in God and belong to Him. So while we mourn the many souls who reposed because of the present pandemic, and those who will suffer this future fate, we do not lose hope. At their passing we wish them “a quiet, Alleluia!” Their repose is a Homegoing and they will, with Christ the Victim, Priest, and Resurrected Lord, wait in patience for our arrival. As the ancient liturgical prayer of the 5thcentury says: “For those who have been faithful, O Lord, life is simply changed, not ended.” The English poet, writer, and Priest, Dr. John Donne (1572-1631), grappled with the fear of death, and thanks to his devout prayer life, he reached a conclusion. It is best expressed in the Sonnet below. – Death Be Not Proud. Read it slowly and prayerfully. It is OUR hymn, our heart’s desire, our words in a time when other words fall silent: Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Christ is Risen! Indeed, He is Risen! Faithfully yours in the Risen Lord, |
