Death is Everything

DEATH IS EVERYTHING

(Preached All Soul’s Day 1998)

First of all, may I welcome you on this eve of All Souls, as we meet to Commemorate the Faithful Departed.

All of us here, have come together because we share a common experience, namely the death of a loved one.

For some, that death may have happened a long time ago, whilst for others it may have happened recently.

For some, that death may have been the culmination of a long and painful suffering as one watched helplessly by, whilst for others it may have been sudden and unexpected, leaving one shocked, bewildered and confused.

And for some, that death may have occurred in the prime of life, whilst for others it may have occurred in the autumn years of life.

No matter when or how that death occurred, we tonight are here to share the common experience of losing someone who in their lifetime was very dear and close to us, and from whom we are now separated through death.

A few weeks ago I read an interesting article by Christopher Idle in which he challenged me to re-examine those well-known words of Henry Scott Holland, a former Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral, which are often read at funerals, or sometimes sent to give comfort to a person bereaved, which begin "Death is nothing at all".

It goes on you may recall: 'I have only slipped away into the next room. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced solemnity or sorrow'.

I am sure some of you are familiar with those words and recall how they go on to suggest that life carries on as before. There is no doubt they have been a great source of strength to many who have been bereaved.

But are they true to our personal experience of bereavement or do they just express wishful thinking?

Christopher Idle makes the point that, "unless we are Christian Scientists we will hardly say that cancer, or pain is nothing at all; nor that hunger, famine, drowning or murder have no substance in reality. So why death?'

He goes on to say that ‘the whole mourning process depends for its value on recognising that death is something. Indeed it is a monstrous thing, it changes everything........the flowers, the clothes, the tears, the hearse, and the cost of it all alike proclaim the enormity of death's intrusion into our lives’.

‘It is to be expected, planned for, and dealt with; it does not make it natural, normal, welcome or wanted. It is often painful, traumatic, heart breaking, divisive or cruel; it can change homes, friends, families and fortunes, it is not a platitude to say that much will never be the same again’.

So whilst Scott Holland's words "Death is nothing at all" may help us to survive bereavement. By pretending nothing has really happened and that life goes on in the same way as before, I would suggest they are a travesty of the truth and do not reflect our own personal experience of bereavement.

At best they enable us to escape from the real world of day to day living, and at worst, encourage us to deny our innermost feelings, thereby hindering, rather than assisting, the necessary grieving process.

Speaking from the experience of the death of my own wife some eighteen months ago, I cannot say "Death is nothing at all". In fact it was everything in so far as my whole life was turned upside down.

On the practical level, I found that I was now totally responsible for the domestic side of life; the cleaning, the washing, the cooking and the shopping.

On the emotional level, I found I no longer had anyone to share my life with that same degree of intimacy and understanding; the joys and sorrows, the hopes and aspirations, the disappointments and frustrations I now had to bear alone.

In short, I found a great empty hole in the centre of my life symbolised by the vacant armchair beside the fire. True, other people have partly managed to fill that hole through their love and kindness displayed over the past eighteen months, but life can never be exactly the same and therefore I cannot say with Henry Scott Holland, "Death is nothing at all".

And that is why I value this annual service in which we commemorate the Faithful Departed since it enables me to express, in the company of like-minded people, my innermost thoughts and feelings which I would otherwise suppress and keep to myself.

Firstly, it allows me to be honest with myself by openly acknowledging that I do miss dear Mary, as you too miss your loved ones, though at the same time, life still goes on.

Secondly, it allows me to recall by name, not only Mary but also others, who have played a major part in my life and enabled me to become the person that I am, for better or for worse, today.

Thirdly, it allows me to express my continued love for Mary. Just because she is out of sight in this world, it does not mean she is out of mind. That is why I lit a candle for her, prior to the commencement of the service as a symbol of that continuing love, since the language of symbolism enables us to express what we sometimes would otherwise find difficult to put into words.

The lighted candle reminds me how Mary lit up my life even in the darkest times. The warmth of the flame reminds me of the warmth of her personality even when I felt cold. The smoke of the candle, reaching from earth to heaven, reminds me that l can pierce that cloud of separation with my prayers.

And this brings me to the fourth reason why I value this annual service of the Commemoration of the Faithful Departed.

It reminds me that I need not walk alone through "the valley of the shadow of death" for God is with me, as the psalmist recorded from his personal experience.

On entering the church, I lit my individual candle for Mary from that Easter candle in our midst, which symbolises the power of God to raise us to new life in him.

Just as God revealed his power to save through Jesus Christ, when he came and stood in the midst of his grieving disciples in that upper room in Jerusalem on the first Easter Eve, so he comes to us tonight, in our upper room, and stands in our midst to transform our weakness into strength, our sorrow into joy and our tears into laughter.

So my friends, let us not deny the pain and anguish we have experienced through the death of a loved one by pretending that "Death is nothing at all".

Much rather, let us acknowledge our own pain and anguish and use it as an opportunity for discovering the power of God to raise us to new life, as we continue along our journey without the physical presence of the one we love and cherish.

I say this to you tonight, not just as your Vicar, but also as a fellow traveller.