Death and New Life

PHOTO: Mary van Balen (First appeared in The Catholic Times, February 19, 2012 ©2012 Mary van Balen)

Last week I received a call from my brother informing me that my Uncle Adrian had passed away. He was my father’s youngest brother and had been the last surviving of six siblings. Uncle Adrian was easy to be with and always a lot of fun. When I was in grade school, my parents drove me to his home where I spent a week of summer vacation with him, my aunt, and four cousins.

His two sons and I hiked along creeks and picking among stones along its bed, found “magic” ones that we used to write and draw on flat pieces of slate we had found. I remember sitting with Uncle Adrian on the porch one evening, just watching the sky and talking about a variety of topics. That is when I learned that the neighbor’s dog had had a litter and was looking for homes for the puppies.

I was ecstatic. I had wanted a pet for what seemed to me like forever, and here was a puppy, a free puppy, just for the asking. I fell in love with a light colored puppy with nappy fur and dark ears, and by the time my parents came to pick me up, I was sure this puppy was meant for us.

They did not share my conviction, however, and no amount of pleading could change their minds. The ride back to Ohio was quiet and I imagine I was sullen in the back seat. Still, I had had a great time, and that week remains a fond memory fifty years later.

My brothers, sisters, and most of our cousins came to the funeral home to remember Adrian and share our stories. Afterward, we gathered at a local park shelter house to share food, laughter, and more stories. Death provided an opportunity for us to reconnect and to celebrate not only Adrian’s life, but also the lives of family and friends that were intertwined with his.

My sister and brother-in-law and I spent the night at the home of their daughter, her husband, and their three-week-old daughter. How good to feel the warmth of a tiny baby snuggled up against my shoulder as I walked her around and around the house, talking quietly about our family, the bird’s nest outside on the trellis, and hopes for future visits.

Death and new life seem to be the opposite ends of each person’s journey. Certainly if life is viewed in a linear way, such a view makes sense: One is born, one lives, one dies. But life can be understood in other ways. It can be a circle that continues forever. On a purely physical level, the death and decomposition of a living being allows its matter to become part of new living beings. Joni Mitchell sang “We are stardust,” and she was right.

On a spiritual level, death also brings new life. We experience many deaths throughout our lives: deaths of relationships, dreams, or jobs. We must let go of some emotions or desires that keep us from being who God made us to be. Life is an unending string of deaths that lead to new life.

Liturgically, we are approaching Lent, when we celebrate the Paschal Mystery of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. This is the ultimate understanding of death leading to new life. Jesus was born lived his life, and in the end, was murdered by humanity that could not accept the challenge of love and compassion he proclaimed.

The lives and deaths of our family and friends are reminders of this greater mystery. From the explosion of stars to the birth and death of every person, to the final coming together in an unimaginable new life, we are part of the cycle that is echoed in the earth’s seasons and the church’s liturgies. Death is not the end. It is the entrance into a new way of being.