The Niche Next Door

Coming to terms with the burial of our own bodies

07/07/2017

GN 23:1-4, 19 The span of Sarah's life was one hundred and twenty-seven years. She died in Kiriatharba (that is, Hebron) in the land of Canaan, and Abraham performed the customary mourning rites for her. Then he left the side of his dead one and addressed the Hittites: "Although I am a resident alien among you, sell me from your holdings a piece of property for a burial ground, that I may bury my dead wife." After the transaction, Abraham buried his wife Sarahin the cave of the field of Machpelah, facing Mamre (that is, Hebron) in the land of Canaan.

         At some point in life we become comfortable thinking about our own death. By the way, that age is NOT 47. What I mean is that I can understand death “biologically,” as the end of the life of the body, and also “theologically,” as one of the “four last things” – death, judgment, heaven and hell – the transition to the “after life.” But I do not understand it “personally” – that Fr. John will die. Even saying those words sends a chill up my spine, “Fr. John will die.” It feels a lot more like fiction than fact. Are you at the age where you’re comfortable thinking about your own death?

           I think the point when our passing becomes personal, and not just philosophical, is when we make arrangements for our own burial. That’s the point when I accept deep in my bones that one day these bones will be buried deep in the earth. One friend uses euphemisms to describe death, saying, “You will be six feet under, pushing up daisies.” I have not thought about my own burial, and I suppose I’ll be buried at Calvary Cemetery in Little Rock, the so-called “Priests Circle.” This may be one reason we’re going very slowly in selling niches in the columbarium here at Immaculate Conception. People joke about who their neighbor will be in the niche next door. “I don’t want to spend eternity next to Fr. John!” Even though we know we will die one day in theory, we’re not ready to tackle that possibility in practice. It’s hard to deal with our own demise.

            In the first reading today, Abraham finds himself facing the final disposition of his wife, Sara, that is, dealing with her death. Apparently, Abraham, like me, hasn’t given this much thought, because he has to purchase land for a burial ground. Providentially, he buys the area called “Hebron,” where, one thousand years later, King David would rule as King of Israel for seven years. David’s reign begin on the ground made sacred by the bones of his ancestors. Abraham says, “Although I am a resident alien among you, sell me from your holdings a piece of property for a burial ground that I may bury my dead wife.” Incidentally, Abraham’s plight is common to all immigrants, who struggle over where to bury their beloved dead. They ask themselves: is my true home my native land or this new land? Last week we had the funeral of an immigrant from Mexico, whose body was shipped back to Mexico for burial. It’s not until we face the question of where we will be buried that we tackle the tough personal question of dealing with our own demise.

             Today, I’d like to invite you to think for a moment about your own death, specifically about your burial. Captain Kirk said in Star Trek, “How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life.” So, how will you deal with your own death, that is, your burial? The popularity of cremations has introduced new and un-Catholic customs of burial. Some people spread their loved one’s ashes over a lake or a mountainside, or keep them perpetually on their mantle at home. We can certainly sympathize with people’s grief and anguish of letting go. But the right thing to do is bury the ashes. This is one of the “corporal works of mercy,” namely, “bury the dead.” Abraham was performing a corporal work of mercy for his wife, Sara.

             We also treat the body with great respect and reverence because it is sacred. Your body was washed in baptism, your body was nourished with Jesus’ Body and Blood, your body was united to another body in marriage, your body was anointed with Sacred Chrism at Confirmation and your body was anointed with holy oil when it received the Last Rites. Those ashes are sacred, and who knows, maybe they’ll be the relics of a saint one day. How we will revere the relics of your saintly father after he’s canonized if you spread his ashes over his favorite fishing hole?

On second thought, maybe I have answered my original question about when someone begins to think about death. Apparently, it is at age 47. I just spent a whole homily talking about death and where I’ll probably be buried. And by the way, that’s a much holier thought than worrying about who will be buried in the niche next door.

Praised be Jesus Christ!