A collaborative service by Rev. Henley and Deacon Lisa Harris who wrote the following poem “When I Die” especially for this service.
“When I Die”© by L. Michelle Harris, June 1, 2008
Dying is the hard part
To exhale every desire and dream
Every love and hate
Every memory and grudge.
Better it would be if
Death just comes
Like love
Surprising and complete
Then dying isn’t necessary.
Better it would be if
Death comes late
Death of one too young
Is a burden to the living.
Death itself is a mystery
But I have hope
Hope that I’ll be free of all struggle
Hope that I’ll be greeted by
my ancestors
Hope that Tupac still has voice
And an eternal rhyme
Background for a bid whist game
That never ends.
And to those left to commit
What remains of me to earth
And memory
I don’t ask much of you.
Just that you keep it short
Keep it sweet.
Let one saxophone play
Precious lord take my hand.
Let one person speak
And say only this:
She Loved.
Sermon preached by Rev. Henley
Sing “The Old Rugged Cross” at my memorial service. The congregation sang it at my Grandma Mary’s funeral, who was married to my Grandpa Jim for sixty-three years. Then, three months later, they sang it for Grandpa’s funeral. I remember exactly how I felt when they sang that song when I was a young girl. I remember what the sanctuary of the Old First Orange Baptist Church looked like, smelled like, and felt like, on that day we buried Grandma. I remember my concern for my mother and I remember how all my aunts and uncles looked that day.
There are some things we never forget. And while we might not remember them very often, sometimes, something triggers the memory and you are right there, in that moment of time, experiencing, reliving the event. And there is not one thing as meaningful as the events that surround those deaths in our lives of those we love.
When I die, I want those who know and love me to have a memorial service. And I want them to read the “The Cost” by Dorothy Monroe. This poem because, I have never read another poem that expresses my feeling about living better than her words—except that now I’ve heard the poem Lisa wrote for this service, I want you to read her poem, too.
"The Cost"
Death is not too high a price to pay
for having lived.
Mountains never die,
Nor do the seas
or rocks
or endless sky.
Through countless centuries of time,
They stay eternal,
deathless.
Yet they never live!
If choice there were,
I would not hesitate
to choose mortality.
Whatever Fate demanded in return for
life
I’d give,
for never to have seen the fertile plains
nor heard the winds
nor felt the warm sun
on sands beside the salty sea,
nor touched the hands of those I love—
without these,
all the gains of timelessness
would not be worth one day
of living and
of loving,
come what may.
We hear all the time, “When I die, don’t do anything, just scatter my ashes somewhere and get on with your life.” Or, “This body is just a shell; it is not me, you don’t have to cry over it.” And then there is, “Don’t do anything, do whatever you want, I don’t care, funerals or memorials are for the living, not the dead.”
True, no one argues that funerals and memorial service are for the living. If we’re dead, we certainly can’t be there. But, what are we really saying when we say things like that? Because, you know, to say those things about ourselves, means something.
Are we saying that we don’t believe our lives were worth you taking time out of your life to remember, to celebrate, to acknowledge?
Are we are saying, by our indifference, that our death won’t affect those we love?
Are we saying that we don’t think you will need any kind of ritual to remember?
Are we saying that death is a part of life, like going on vacation, or getting a divorce, or changing jobs—no big deal.
Death is a big deal.
No matter how modern, or intelligent, or enlightened we become, death matters. Those who love us will miss us. Those who hate us will miss us. Those whose lives we made miserable will miss us. Those who made our lives miserable will miss us.
It is a big deal.
No matter our age, there is a loss of our future. No matter the regrets of our lives, no matter the successes of our lives, death is final. No more opportunity to redeem ourselves, no more opportunity to say we are sorry, no more opportunity to forgive another.
I said once in a sermon, “Life is sacred because of the sheer improbability of existence and the absolute certainty of extinction.” To say, “Just cremate me, scatter me anywhere,” denies the sacredness of our lives, denies the worth and dignity of our existence. To say, "Don't do anything special," belies our belief in the miracle of our lives.
When we die, no matter who we are, it matters. And when we die someone grieves for us. Some of us may have only a few friends and loved ones who grieve our deaths, some of us may have hundreds, but death always brings grief. Why, because when someone dies, we remember everyone who dies, and we grieve, not just for the death of one person, but for every person and every loss we have ever had to grieve.
Malidoma Patrice Somé is from the Dagara tribe of West Africa. He has doctorates from the Sorbonne and Brandeis University. He wrote a book titled RITUAL: POWER, HEALING, AND COMMUNITY, in which he shares his tribal rituals, their power and their meaning to his tribe. He says that those of us who live in this modern world have lost something essential to our lives. “The fading and disappearance of rituals in modern culture” has led to a weakening of links to the spirit world, and general alienation of people from themselves and from others.”
general alienation of people from themselves and others
He wrote, “… grief is in fact owed to the dead as the only ingredient that can help complete the death process. Grief delivers to the dead that which they need to travel to the realm of the dead – [and grief gives us the] … release of emotional energy that also provides a sense of completion or endedness, closure… Without [the rituals of] grief, the separation between the living and the dead never actually shifts into that state in which the living accept the fact that a loved one has become a spirit… rituals are necessary for our survival. Rituals reinforce one’s participation in the cycle of life …”
Sing “The Old Rugged Cross” at my service, because we sang it at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s funerals, at Marguerite’s and Clarence’s funerals, and to sing it at mine will mean that I am a part of a cycle of life that is, was, precious and sacred to me.
So, why plan your own service? Whatever you plan, whether it is one song, one hymn, one poem, a reading, a piece of art, says, “These are my last words to you, son, daughter, spouse, this is what life meant to me, and this is what you meant to me.”
At my service, play “The Dance” written by Tony Arata and sung by Garth Brooks. Hire a band, play the CD, whatever you want to do, but listen to “The Dance,” and remember me.
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared 'neath the stars alone
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd of had to miss the dance
...
Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I'd of had to miss the dance
And hymn #311 in the gray hymnal Singing the Living Tradition by Ric Masten “Let It Be a Dance.” He died recently at the end of a nine-year battle with prostrate cancer, having lived and sung his goodbyes for all those nine years. Sing that song, as a congregation, with your beautiful, learning to sing-out voices.
Let it be a dance we do, may I have this dance with you, through the good times and the bad times, too, let it be a dance.
Let a dancing song be heard, say the music say the words, And fill the sky with sailing birds And let it be a dance. …
Let it be a dance we do. [Complete lyrics at the end of the sermon]
My life has been a dance. Not only with my family and friends and everyone I have loved throughout my life, but a dance with God. Sometimes the dances were a waltz; sometimes a “Twist,” other times the jitterbug. I haven’t done any hip hop or salsa, but dancing is dancing. It is having the courage to “let yourself go” on the dance floor and in life. Letting yourself be free of everyday constraints and enjoying yourself. I have danced with others and I have danced with God. And while we’ve stepped on each other’s toes, and we’ve apologized; we’ve continued the dancing.
We are risking an incompletness about our lives if is we let them take the body away and then say to the family, go on about your business, there was not one thing special, not one thing to remember, not one thing to celebrate about having lived.
We don’t have to plan the entire service, why would we want to. The service is really about the living. And it is about the moving on of life. During the time after our death when grief is fresh and the heart is raw and slashed open, what better way of comforting those who loved us than planning something special to say to them.
Oh, and one last thing. What we say to them in our planning is really the last word. They can’t argue with us, or disagree, and they aren’t likely to ignore it.
By leaving words, song, art to be used in a service, we are participating in their learning to live without us. We become a part of the process of moving from living presence to loving memory. By planning, we are saying, “I’m glad you were my son, my daughter, my spouse, my niece, my nephew.”
By planning, we convey to those who loved us, “You have a heart I’d be happy to be carried around in.” [Words by Ric Masten and found on the internet in one of the many articles written about his end-of-life experiences.]
Amen and blessed be.
“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” Emily Dickinson, 1924
Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.
We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—
Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—
Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—
“Death Be Not Proud” John Donne
DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
Let It Be a Dance by Ric Masten is a copyright song of Ric Masten and can be found in the Unitarian Universalist Association hymnal SINGING THE LIVING TRADITION.
Let it be a dance we do, may I have this dance with you, through the good times and the bad times, too, let it be a dance.
Let a dancing song be heard, say the music say the words, And fill the sky with sailing birds And let it be a dance. Learn to follow learn to lead. Feel the rhythm, fill the need. To reap the harvest plant the see And let it be a dance. Everybody turn and spin. Let your body learn to bend And like a willow with the wind, Let it be a dance. A child is born the old must die. A time for joy a time to cry, So take it as it passes by And let it be a dance…
Let it be a dance we do. May I have this dance with you. Through the good times And the bad times to. Let it be a dance.
Posted by UNMC Office at June 3, 2008 09:12 AM