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Readings for November 6, 2011
In the schema of the Liturgy of Word at Sunday Mass, the second reading often gets short shrift in our attention and reflection: The First Reading, from the Hebrew Bible canon, has an immediacy and bluntness in its rhetoric that grabs our hearts and minds; the Gospel gives us something from the words and life of Jesus, reason enough to prick up our ears. The second reading, usually from the writings of Paul, is sandwiched between the Psalm Response and the Alleluia and is often a "time out" for our brains as we sit in the pews...Too bad, because the writings of St. Paul are crafted brilliantly, and even if one disagrees with Paul's theology on a particular subject, he always gives us something significant on which to think and reflect.
This Sunday's Pauline portion, Thessalonians 4:13-16, is no exception: These verses are Paul's instruction on life after death. In the first century, this was a problematic doctrine: The afterlife was a notion incorporated into Judaism only after the Babylonian Exile in 586 BCE, and not universally accepted. And in Greco-Roman religion, the afterlife was a dreary trip across the River Styx for all except the great philosophers and demi-gods, who could look forward to delights denied to the ordinary soul. But Paul is emphatic: As Jesus rose from the dead, so he will bring us all with him to life in heaven: We will be called by angels and trumpets, to meet the Lord "in the air," and then dwell with God forever.
How fitting that this reading comes on the heels of Halloween and the Church holy days of All Saints and All Souls/Day of the Dead. Nothing reflects the death-denying, spiritually empty nature of our secular society more than Halloween: Surveys indicate that the average American family spends $70.00 a year on Halloween decorations and candy. We scare ourselves with ghouls, goblins, witches, vampires and the like and allow our children to descend into a sugar-induced stupor, without serious consideration of what we are really scared of, which is our own mortality. We distract ourselves with all the Halloween props so we don't have to think about what happens when we die, and who will be with us in the world to come.
In my professional and personal life at this time of year I am surrounded by the Mexican customs of Dia de los Muertos/Day of the Dead. Most world cultures have some sort of autumnal rituals around remembering those who have died, but in our hemisphere, it is largely this amalgam of Christian and Pre-Columbian observances that have survived the onslaught of the secularized
"celebration" of Halloween.
We who observe November 2nd as a day of memory for the dead buy or make sugar sculls, construct altars of remembrance/ofrendas, with pictures of our favorite saints as well as mementos and photos of our friends and family who are now in heaven; we eat their favorite foods; we sing their favorite songs. We visit cemeteries and leave letters at the graves: Just as we send e-mails to friends who have geographically moved away, but hope to see again, we communicate with those who are now with God, asking them to pray for us, and be our guardians, as we are the guardians of their values and their memory here on earth.
As the master of apologetics, Paul's exhortation on the afterlife goes to heart of our concerns and often veiled preoccupation: We needn't be afraid of our own death and we can set aside our grief and be, his words, "consoled": We will all be together in the bye-and-bye, and we needn't be embarrassed or uncomfortable in proclaiming this faith, not only in quickly mumbled formulaic creeds, but in how we live our lives, on November 2nd and the rest of the year.
Kate Kinser is works in Hispanic ministry as an educator, pastoral counselor and public advocate for immigrants. She is a lector and a member of the Peace and Justice Committee at Ascension.
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