Last week at church I was visiting with a couple about putting flowers on the graves of our loved ones. It got me to thinking why some do that and some do not.
I remember when I was a child, my mom always took my sister and me to where her dad, our grandpa, was buried and we placed flowers ... real or artificial ... usually for Memorial Day and again at Christmas. Then when my mom died, my sister and her family planted hostas and my husband and I brought flowers. Sometimes we did this for other family members buried at the same cemetery and also at the graves of my husband's family.
We haven't done it now for probably two years.
Perhaps busyness got in the way. Or the weather. Or perhaps it wasn't important anymore.
I think for those who have done it and continue to do it, it has become a tradition. Also perhaps, a sign of respect. We loved them, so we want to honor them with flowers.
But is it necessary? And does it mean we think less of a person if we don't put flowers (or a flag) on a grave?
Anyone have thoughts?
July 21, 2014
Some Thoughts on Death
Casey Dwyer, a young Christian, posted an article July 18, 2014, on "Some Thoughts on Death" on Facebook.com.
You can read it here or go to his blog, Revival and Renewal:
http://revivalrenewal.wordpress.com/2014/07/18/some-thoughts-on-death/
The world seems agonizingly resolute when looked upon with a grief-laden gaze. The trees sway in the wind in slow, methodical motions; the clouds traverse the sky in slothful, morose tracks at paces that seem, to the grieving eye, far too slow. Maybe this is because when many of us face sorrows like death (sorrows over which we often have no control), a look around the world re-affirms our helplessness to control our lives. Though in my grief I would wish the world would stop and mourn, that the sun would cease to rise and the bustling birds cease to sing, I begrudgingly find that this will not happen. The world moves on; I am alone.
At least that’s what I used to think.
Death and I have had to get to know one another recently; my biological mother died last April, right before my twenty-first birthday. It was a bitter time, and (as I described above) I felt quite alone in my grief. But I found that I had a tool this go-around with death that I didn’t have before; I had an understanding of it that helped me to see (with the much needed help of friends) death in the right lens.
What, then, is the cause of death? Death must be (I cannot believe otherwise, nor do I think anyone really does) a bad thing. We humans are relational beings, “it is not good for man to be alone.” Made in the framework and disposition of God, who is eternally relational (relating in himself as Trinity), we humans thrive basically on relationship, whether that be horizontally (between us and other people) or vertically (between us and God). Thus we shiver when we read Christ’s exclamation of the weight of his punishment on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). Thus hell is viewed as utter separation from God, a place void of relationship. The separation that occurs at death is one that is inherently contrary to design.
If this is so, then the cause of death (being always in the plan of God) is sin. Adam sinned against God, and the consequence was death (Gen. 2:17; 3). Yet we might say that the larger consequence was corruption, or perhaps decay. This pictures sin as the destroyer, the action which mars and distorts that which is good. Thus the Creation, which is inherently good, decays as well; not only Adam dies, but all that is dies as well[i]. The world is marred by sin, effected in such a way that all that lives experiences decay in some form or another.
Therefore we can say that sin, beings death’s mother (cf. Jas. 1:15), is the real villain in sorrow. Sin is the reason why we decay, why sorrow fills our hearts at death. Yet it is a mistake to say that we are the only ones who feel this sorrow. In fact, all creation mourns over this state of affairs, over this marring of that which God made. Paul describes this in Romans 8:18-25:
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we are saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Paul’s point here is quite profound. It would seem that, contrary to what I once thought, all creation does mourn with me. And not only does the creation mourn with me, but it also hopes with me. This hope is that through the cross of Christ the world might be redeemed, that the decay might be burnt up and that the world may again dwell in peace. What I didn’t understand about death before was how closely linked an understanding of it was to Christ’s work on the cross. Through Christ’s death death itself is defeated. Christ died so that death might die. We have hope, in Christ, that this banal death will be abolished and that we might live forever as adopted sons and daughters of God[ii].
[i] However, this does not answer the question of whether or not death existed before the fall in some aspects of the creation (i.e., would Adam and Eve have slaughtered cows or pigs to feed themselves?). That is debatable for certain, but it will not be debated here.
[ii] It is important to remember that the death of death does not mean that everyone will be saved. It means that those in Christ will never really taste death (cf. John 11:17-25), but those who disobey the gospel will taste only what Paul calls “eternal destruction” (2 Thess. 1:9).
You can read it here or go to his blog, Revival and Renewal:
http://revivalrenewal.wordpress.com/2014/07/18/some-thoughts-on-death/
The world seems agonizingly resolute when looked upon with a grief-laden gaze. The trees sway in the wind in slow, methodical motions; the clouds traverse the sky in slothful, morose tracks at paces that seem, to the grieving eye, far too slow. Maybe this is because when many of us face sorrows like death (sorrows over which we often have no control), a look around the world re-affirms our helplessness to control our lives. Though in my grief I would wish the world would stop and mourn, that the sun would cease to rise and the bustling birds cease to sing, I begrudgingly find that this will not happen. The world moves on; I am alone.
At least that’s what I used to think.
Death and I have had to get to know one another recently; my biological mother died last April, right before my twenty-first birthday. It was a bitter time, and (as I described above) I felt quite alone in my grief. But I found that I had a tool this go-around with death that I didn’t have before; I had an understanding of it that helped me to see (with the much needed help of friends) death in the right lens.
What, then, is the cause of death? Death must be (I cannot believe otherwise, nor do I think anyone really does) a bad thing. We humans are relational beings, “it is not good for man to be alone.” Made in the framework and disposition of God, who is eternally relational (relating in himself as Trinity), we humans thrive basically on relationship, whether that be horizontally (between us and other people) or vertically (between us and God). Thus we shiver when we read Christ’s exclamation of the weight of his punishment on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). Thus hell is viewed as utter separation from God, a place void of relationship. The separation that occurs at death is one that is inherently contrary to design.
If this is so, then the cause of death (being always in the plan of God) is sin. Adam sinned against God, and the consequence was death (Gen. 2:17; 3). Yet we might say that the larger consequence was corruption, or perhaps decay. This pictures sin as the destroyer, the action which mars and distorts that which is good. Thus the Creation, which is inherently good, decays as well; not only Adam dies, but all that is dies as well[i]. The world is marred by sin, effected in such a way that all that lives experiences decay in some form or another.
Therefore we can say that sin, beings death’s mother (cf. Jas. 1:15), is the real villain in sorrow. Sin is the reason why we decay, why sorrow fills our hearts at death. Yet it is a mistake to say that we are the only ones who feel this sorrow. In fact, all creation mourns over this state of affairs, over this marring of that which God made. Paul describes this in Romans 8:18-25:
For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we are saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Paul’s point here is quite profound. It would seem that, contrary to what I once thought, all creation does mourn with me. And not only does the creation mourn with me, but it also hopes with me. This hope is that through the cross of Christ the world might be redeemed, that the decay might be burnt up and that the world may again dwell in peace. What I didn’t understand about death before was how closely linked an understanding of it was to Christ’s work on the cross. Through Christ’s death death itself is defeated. Christ died so that death might die. We have hope, in Christ, that this banal death will be abolished and that we might live forever as adopted sons and daughters of God[ii].
[i] However, this does not answer the question of whether or not death existed before the fall in some aspects of the creation (i.e., would Adam and Eve have slaughtered cows or pigs to feed themselves?). That is debatable for certain, but it will not be debated here.
[ii] It is important to remember that the death of death does not mean that everyone will be saved. It means that those in Christ will never really taste death (cf. John 11:17-25), but those who disobey the gospel will taste only what Paul calls “eternal destruction” (2 Thess. 1:9).
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