All Saint's Day is the church's Memorial Day, a day to remember all those who have died in the faith of Christ, as one of my favorite hymns says,
For all the saints who from their labors rest,
All who by faith before the world confessed,
Your name, O Jesus, be forever blest.
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Regardless of your faith tradition, however, this is a good day to honor the faithfulness of the saints, all those who have been transformed through death into new life. And to give thanks for God's faithfulness to the saints; God's love, mercy, forgiveness.
My Understanding of Sainthood
I must admit I have always held in some disdain how a deceased parent or spouse becomes a saint in the eyes of loved ones. All faults and foibles are conveniently forgotten. Well, after my mother died, I finally understood. We don't make them into saints. We don't need to reframe how they behaved, what they did while alive, in order to induct them into sainthood. We don't need to enlist them in the process of canonization, proving the miracles they did on earth. We have nothing to do with it, for they have attained sainthood through death, in death. Mom is now a saint. I feel such joy in that awareness. Not only are you now perfect, Mom, but I, too, will be perfect some day. I, too, will be a saint. We will be saints together. We will know each other in our perfection.
For the time being, however, I am here and quite alive. All Saints Eve and All Saints Day give me the opportunity to connect to that which is larger than myself, bigger than the death of my beloved mother and others whom I have loved and now miss. In a way, All Saints Day prepares me for my own death.
The Purpose of Ritual
This calls for a ritual, however simple it may be. Barbara Bizou quotes Angeles Arrien in her book The Joy of Ritual, Spiritual Rituals to Celebrate Milestones, Ease Transitions, and Make Every Day Sacred, "Ritual is recognizing a life change and doing something to honor and support the change." p. 10.
"Rituals keep us centered in the present, and at the same time allow us to deal with the past and envision our futures in a very healthy, directed way." (Bizou, p. 17)
My Ritual for My Mother
Therefore on the first All Saints Day following my mother's death, I placed the candle hospice had given us on my altar space in my office, along with pictures of Mom representing various times of her life. Mom as a little girl, a toddler, with her grandmother. Mom in her 20's, in her beauty, sitting on a porch stoop; legs primly crossed at her ankles, hands folded in her lap. A formal portrait of me, about a year old, with her. I look adoringly at her. Mom and my grandma and me on a summer day on the farm. Mom is about 31. Mom and I on my daughter Kate's wedding day. She wears floral silk and her hair is perfectly coifed as always. Mom and Dad standing on the porch at Sweetwater Farm, our Ohio home, on a crisp, smell the apples, fall day. Two Christmas pictures: one of the three of us siblings with Mom and Dad. Dad is holding her hand. One of Kate and I with her, and she is holding her first great grandchild, Maren, only weeks old. We knew that would be Mom's last Christmas, but she radiated holiday joy, wearing red blazer and holly decorated Christmas shoes. Oh how she loved shoes.
Rituals take place outside ordinary life and within sacred space, which I created by gathering those beloved pictures and by sitting in silence, remembering our connection and cherishing my union with her. I created an intentional time to honor not only my mother, but my own feelings as well. And to move ahead in my own life. I offered these words:
I bless you. I release you. I carry you always
and forever in all that is dearest to me. Amen."
Meditations for the Passages and
Celebrations of Life, A Book of Vigils
Noela N. Evans, p. 17.
Your Chance to Create Ritual
What about you? Who are the Saints you need to remember? Who are the Saints you carry with you? How can you honor them and honor your connection to them?
Here are some simple ways to consider:
Light a candle and sit in silence as if your Saint was with you.
Ring a bell and say your Saint's name out loud three times. Close by ringing the bell again.
Recall a special memory and share that with someone who misses that Saint as well.
Give a gift to a charity that meant something special to your Saint.
Plant a tree.
Spend time in walking meditation or walk a labyrinth.
In some way mark this time. Know that your Saint will be with you as do this.
An Invitation
I invite you to share your experience of All Saints Day. What is your experience of ritual on this day or any day?
I have a hard time with endings.
With September's arrival comes the ending of summer. True, summer is not my favorite season and true, I love fall much more than summer, but still, the whole idea of ending something in order to move on is not so appealing.
At least the change from one season to another tends to be gradual--first you notice a tree on the block beginning to change colors, but the leaves have not yet fallen and then you notice the gathering of flocks of geese and cranes practicing their "we're out of here" lift off. For the moment, however, you still hear them in the morning as you take your morning walk. Oh, and on that morning walk, you wear a hoodie or sweater, but as the day progresses towards noon you can shed the extra garment. Until one day there are more leaves on the ground than on the tree, and you hear the absence of cranes calling to one another, and you need that sweater all day. Summer has ended, you say.
I expect a lot from endings, especially in books and movies. I want that satisfactory sigh of understanding and completion, but I notice frequently in contemporary fiction how often my eyebrow lifts as I read the last page. What? Really? Recently, I saw the new Woody Allen movie, Blue Jasmine, and --spoiler alert--there is no real ending. It just stops, and the surprise and even displeasure in the audience was audible.
I've long felt that an ending in a novel is unsatisfactory because it has not been edited as much as the beginning or even the middle of the book. The author rereads and reworks the beginning and middle sections far more often than the ending, unless the ending is written first. Repetitive editing. Therefore, the ending can feel scraggly or undercooked.
In life, however, we only have one shot at the ending. One per customer. There is no way to say, "Let me try that again. I'll do it better this time."
I Need to Practice Endings
I tend to sag in the middle of things.
Let's say I'm at a dinner party and for the most part have been enjoying the company and the food, but often I realize how I am ready for it to be over. I want to look back at it, instead of being there in the moment. I think about how I'll write about it or reflect on it--the conversation about caretaking parents or plans for retirement--but at the moment I would rather be home reading a book.
Then comes the time to say, "Good night. I had such a lovely time, and thanks for inviting us," and I get a second wind. I bring up one more point related to an earlier conversation, as if we were still sitting at the dining room table.
It is hard to take that final step out the door and hear it close behind me.
I reread a last chapter of a book rather than close it. I add a PS onto my letters, and after I have said "All for now," in an email, I continue with another topic. I like to watch all the movie credits and hear the last strain of music. I don't like rushing out of orchestra hall after a concert. I want more days of winter.
I hold on to the ending and have a hard time moving on to the next beginning.
Of course, with all truths this is not always true. Usually, I am ready for vacation to end and classes to conclude, and I love getting to the end of a first draft for my blog or anything else I am writing. Noticing when ending is not a problem, however, somehow makes my trouble with endings all the more true.
What to do?
This time of our life, now that we are in our 60's or more, are ripe with endings.
Careers are over. Friends and family members die. There just are not as many open doors as there used to be. This time of life, as we cope with change, loss, and yes, endings, is the time to examine our coping skills. Do we linger when it is over or do we gracefully smile and offer our gratitude?
I am grateful for Dawna Markova's words in her book I Will Not Die an Unlived Life, Reclaiming Purpose and Passion:
When I die, I want my heart and soul fully seeded
with rich stories and experiences. I want to be moving
forward, falling upward, leaving my body well worn.
I want to know presence, staying with what is hard until
it softens, staying with what is narrow until it expands.
I want to know how to float in the silences between breaths
and thoughts, I want to know how to lift above and sink
below the flow of life, to drift and dream in the currents
of what cannot be known. It's not so much about being
prepared for death as it is being full of life. I want to be
so well practiced in crossing thresholds that dying is
merely another step in the dance. I want to be so
comfortable with stillness and silence that I can root
in them.
This is the time to deepen our spiritual practices, so they are not an aside to who we are and what we do, but rather that they become our being and therefore, ease and support our one to a customer ending.
A Gift
This will happen
Oh, god we say just give
me a few more
breaths
and don't let it be
terrible
let it be soft
perhaps in someone's
arms, perhaps tasting
chocolate
perhaps
laughing or asking
Is it over already?
or saying not yet. Not
yet the sky
has at this moment turned
another shade of blue
and see there a child
still plays
in the fresh snow.
--Susan Griffin
An Invitation
How well do you do with endings? What endings have you experienced in your life and what can you learn from them?
What are you doing now to prepare for your own ending? What spiritual practices are becoming part of your being? I would love to know. Please comment.
