It’s winter-time. Sierra and I painted pictures of trees. We talked about how leaves fall off of trees during the winter, because things die. But I also reminded her of the summer time and how the leaves will come back, because things will return to life after a long sleep through snowy winter months.
A few friends have had grandparents struggling with health lately. This is not foreign to me, but I think I have been more distant from the deaths of the elderly in my family because of physical space and we always had a forward view of death.
This was something spoken of in a recent class. We were discussing the Last Supper and the implications of an eschatological meal when the culture in which Jesus was born was sort of obsessed with mealtimes.
And this was said:
when we face death, we must remember the meal, the fellowship, and the party.
It’s the party with the best wine, the best food, the best people around–the ones you’re close to and the ones you’ve always wanted to meet. This, my professor reminded us, is how we must view death.
It doesn’t do away with the sorrow and the lament. We weren’t supposed to die. By all means, lament and mourn and wail. Grief is normal and natural, it is important. But we have to remember that just like the trees which die during wintertime, death is necessary to bring on the next life.