Each One Unique

Rev. Grace H. Simons

Every life ends. It's true for the tiniest microbes and the largest animals and plants of land and sea. And it's true for us. Every last active, loving, funny, frail, smart, cranky, graceful, selfish, creative one of us - we all will die, sooner or later. Biology's economics require that all living things have their time and then make room for others to follow. But we have a hard time reconciling ourselves, especially to accidental or untimely deaths, to the deaths of those we care for, and to an end to our own lives.

Over the past 75 years or so, Americans have largely become unacquainted with death. Our life expectancy has increased dramatically in response to public health measures, the advent of vaccines and the development of both medical technique and technology. Few of us die at home any more. It's becoming less common for a body to be present at a funeral or memorial service. A fair number of us have never seen a dead person. This is a radical departure from earlier times, when death was commonplace and occurred in familiar territory.

I would never want to return to past high rates of death in childbirth and infant mortality, of common workplace fatalities, or times before antibiotics and anesthetics. At the same time, there's something amiss in a culture that seems to find death an embarrassing weakness, a chapter best kept out of sight so as not to disrupt our busy schedules. For a while, Americans spoke of death only in hushed tones and euphemisms. Polite conversation avoided mention of the dead, leaving the bereaved to grieve in isolation. They were often encouraged to "get over" the large hole left in their lives.

The groundbreaking work of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and the development of the Hospice movement have increased our recognition that death is part of a natural pattern. We are again beginning to recognize a human life cycle, with birth, growth and death all part of the picture. Like it or not, we are subject to biological constraints as well as expansions. We may well do all we can to be healthy - and so we should - but death will come.

Death will come. And what does that mean? Ah, there's the mystery! I imagine the question is as old as the beginnings of human awareness. Archeologists and anthropologists have found a remarkable variety of answers all around the globe. Some of you may have made the trip over to see the King Tut exhibit now in San Francisco, with its mummies and elaborate burial artifacts. Your birth family likely had certain beliefs and patterns. You may have encountered or studied other practices. And this weekend, we continue our tradition of celebrating Los Dias de los Muertos - the Days of the Dead.

We've imported this holiday from parts of Mexico - particularly Oaxaca and Chiapas. It's a mix of ancient Aztec and Toltec beliefs and practices together with the Catholicism of the conquistadores. We know of the early forms through the records left by priests who worked to convert the indigenous people - and who definitely disapproved of their ideas.

The local beliefs considered death to be but one stage of living - perhaps the best part. They celebrated with many of the features we see today, but held several different observances at different times of the year. One day was set aside for warriors, one for babies and children, another for people who drowned. With the influence of the church, they were combined and centered on Nov 1 and 2, which Catholics mark as the feasts of All Saints and All Souls. As Los Dias de los Muertos has become more widespread, practices vary, but some still observe one day focused more on children and the second on adults.

Los Dias de los Muertos was a small local festival for most of post- Columbian history. In the past few decades however, it has spread more widely through Mexico and into the U.S. These days, UU congregations like ours have adopted and adapted the holiday. The key feature that's been maintained in Los Dias de los Muertos celebrations is its festive nature. Remember that the ancients thought that death might be the best part of life, and then add their idea that the spirits of the dead are allowed to return to visit their loved ones on this special night. Certainly that calls for a party!

Each family sets up an ofrenda - an altar similar to ours - honoring their well-loved dead. For days and weeks ahead of the holiday, the markets feature candy skulls, bright papel picado and skeleton art showing a variety of activities. In the cemetery, graves are cleaned and decorated, especially with marigolds and other bright flowers. Families gather there in the evening. Candles shine in the darkness. There's music, dancing and special foods - particularly the favorites of those now fondly remembered. Pan de los Muertos is a specialty, and we have some for our fellowship time this morning.

This exhilarated atmosphere is pretty foreign to most Americans. It's a whole new attitude; one that can help us to look at death differently, to remember and honor our dead with joy. Love does not require us to be somber. We sorely miss those we love who have died. Our pain is acute at the time of a death, and only gradually changes in character. Yet we remember our dead for their unique combination of gifts - the encouragement, the liveliness, the quirky sense of humor, the quick wit, the skill with tools, the patient way they taught or guided us, their love for pumpkin pie - or whatever their personal traits happen to be. "Every life is different from any that has gone before it." writes Dr Sherwin Nuland. Shall we not honor the life that meant so much? As we remember and savor a particular person, we prepare ourselves to pass the lessons - the gifts we've received - along in our turn. And we celebrate.

At the same time, this holiday, and this time of year, ought also to remind us that we, too, are "en route to death." We celebrate, and we think of particular friends or family members who have died, but we somehow resist thinking about our own deaths. This gets harder to do as we age, since friends and classmates pass away and the obituary dates show people younger than we are. Still, we tend to skip on and consider our survivors.

Not that this is entirely a bad thing. Any preparations we make - any arrangements settled, any forgotten items cleared away, any disputes or misunderstandings reconciled - do indeed make things easier for those who are most affected when we die. Here I will offer my annual reminder that I keep some blank forms for Advance Directives for Health Care and some church forms for personal information and preferences about a memorial service. Each year, I remind you that it's helpful to have this paperwork on file. Each year, some of you pick up the forms. But few actually turn them back in. The notebook where they are kept is surprisingly skinny. You could make this the year that pattern changes.

Another annual shout-out goes to the Stanislaus Memorial Society. This local group has made arrangements with Allen Mortuary in Turlock to record your preferences and information and keep them on hand until they're needed. The Society gets a discounted rate, which is nice, but the true gift to survivors is the knowledge of just what you want. Many families find themselves trying to figure out what would be best when their grief is most acute. We can make sure that those we love won't be in that position. As it happens, Phyllis Young is serving as secretary of the Memorial Society now, so we have easy access to the organization.

But let's come back to that topic we so easily avoid. The Dr. Nuland I quoted a moment ago is a surgeon and he's written a book called How We Die. I mentioned the first part of his opening sentence. "Every life is different from any that has gone before it," he writes and then continues, "and so is every death." I've been reading the book, which came highly recommended. I recommend it to you. As you might expect from a surgeon, he's written pretty detailed accounts of different ways people die. So I have read about edema and infarction, sepsis and ischemia, amyloid plaques, neurofibrillary tangles and a variety of other conditions described in terms that are common among medical professionals but not all that familiar to the rest of us. Nuland says that death rides many horses.

But along with his descriptions, he's a good story teller and something of a philosopher as well. And despite his statement that every death is different, he explains how in the end, death is caused when a problem, or combination of problems, results in lack of oxygen delivery to the cells. He also reminds us, from his physician's experience, that we are prone to delude ourselves about what death, particularly our own death, may be like. The way we hope to die, he says, has little to do with the way we actually die. He is an advocate of advanced directives, and rails against treatment that involves great cost in pain and suffering with little or no hope of lasting improvement. Too often, he claims, the medical challenge overtakes the best interests of the patient.

Nuland also speaks of the importance of talking about an impending death, both for the dying person and for family members and friends. Claiming that everyone really knows what is happening, he says failing to talk about it means that the dying person is alone in a profound way and that regret is the predictable result of silence for the survivors. He urges doctors and family members to be clear in communicating the seriousness of the situation and the approaching death and to say their goodbyes.

Describing the aspirations of an earlier day, he explains their concern for ars moriendi - the art of dying. It's an illusion, he says, and continues, "Ars moriendi is ars vivendi: The art of dying is the art of living. The honesty and grace of the years of life that are ending is the real measure of how we die. Who has lived in dignity, dies in dignity."

I'd say his words match well with the lessons of Los Dias de los Muertos, and with the admonitions of the world's philosophers and religious thinkers. The real question, then, is `How shall we live?' Answers are phrased in many ways:
"Choose life!"
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
"Do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God."
"Be the change you wish to see in the world."
"Love God and love your neighbor."
"Show compassion to all things."
"Keep an attitude of gratitude."
You may have other favorites.

However the advice is phrased, we are asked to look beyond our own small, immediate impulses and to act for the greater good. Each of us will do this differently. We have our own combination of talents and skills, appreciations and sensitivities. This unique assortment of traits shapes the way we move in the world. Each of us touches family members, friends and colleagues day by day. We also reach beyond these immediate circles. Maybe small things, like the Guest At Your Table boxes, are most possible. Maybe we help with dinners at the Winter Shelters or get involved in larger projects. A variety of opportunities await here at the Fellowship, and many more present themselves in the wider community. Whatever we choose, the sages' advice echoes; we will be remembered for the ways we live, the ways we touch those around us.

Remembering those lives now ended and the gifts we carry forward because of them, is the essence of Los Dias de los Muertos. It's a celebration of the connections we've had, and still have, with our beloved dead. Their particular lives have shaped and enriched our own. Our love for them continues. We cherish their gifts, pass them along and add our own as our lives unfold, each in its way. Surely, that's worth celebrating!

November 1, 2009

Rev. Grace Simons left us a collection of her sermons when she retired in October, 2011. We have a brief biography of Rev. Grace, and the last edition of Grace Notes, a column she wrote for our newsletter.
We also have sermons by Rev. Joe Cherry, our Interim Minister.
Our Guests, who include visiting clergy, lay people and one rocket scientist.