Ash Wednesday arrives late this year - frequently we're into Lent by now, giving up chocolate or meat or shopping (my challenge!).  But there's no avoiding it altogether. On March 9 we hope most parishioners will make it to church for one of our services (7 am, 12 noon, 7 pm) and hear those fateful words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

            Not that it's easy to return to dust - most caskets today are impervious to all elements, a condition reinforced by their being placed into a cement vault at the cemetery (vaults are required in NY, to prevent soil shifting and cave-ins). It's a far cry from what the Bible imagined, I'm sure, but it is the modern condition. (Personally I'll probably choose to speed things up through cremation.)

            The combination of a recent funeral and a conversation with my father-in-law, who has been arranging end-of-life matters for his wife but not for himself, put me in mind of such things a little ahead of my Ash Wednesday sermon. It doesn't make sense to ignore the inevitability of death, and how to meet it well.  Even the NY legislature seems to agree on this topic, passing a new section of public health law (section 2997) that just kicked into effect last week:

If a patient is diagnosed with a terminal illness or condition [defined as six months or less to live], the patient's attending health care practitioner shall offer to provide the patient with information and counseling regarding palliative care and end-of-life options appropriate to the patient...

If the patient is not able to make decisions, the health-care proxy has the conversation. If the attending doctor doesn't want to talk about it (!), she or he must refer the discussion to a colleague.  There's no avoiding it.

            New York is ahead of the curve in making this discussion mandatory; however, it doesn't provide oversight or disciplinary measures for failing to comply.  Hopefully all our local doctors know about the law and are comfortable with what it intends: discussing the dignity of life and of death, in time to make plans with loved ones, Hospice, and others who can influence a peaceful passage.

            Next issue, I'll review some of the ways you can get ready, well in advance of having that conversation with your doctor.  Dustiness is our condition, friends. It must be dealt with eventually - but some ways are a whole lot better than others.  Celebrate each of the dusty days we are given, with Alleluias to the last. Even in Lent.

            Yours in Christ's eternity - Mother Susan