Sacraments
In theological school, we studied the history and meaning of so many religious terms. Forgiveness, karma, ahimsa (do no harm), ubuntu (I am a person only through other persons), redemption, contemplation, and my favourite ‘dark nights of the soul.’ (It’s a great help when you’re feeling low; you’re not depressed, you’re having a “dark night of the soul!”) Each one tried to convey in humanly understandable terms an ineffable idea about a spiritual mystery. Each tried to help us understand how to live well in a world which we only partly understand, one where, as the Little Prince said “What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
One originating in Catholic theology that was much debated in religious history was sacrament (or sacred mysteries in the Orthodox faiths.) St. Augustine’s definition as “an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace” occasioned storms of controversy during the Reformation. Did baptism, for example, recognize or confer God’s grace upon a newborn baby? Did it mark a blessing that was inherently there or did the act itself bestow the blessing? Incredibly, lives were lost and whole religions were born over such questions.
Today, few of us engage in these kinds of religious debates. But at its heart, the question of sacraments names a very real question inherent in human nature. For we are meaning-making creatures who are drawn to ritual, symbols and “outward and visible signs” of things we feel inside, those “inward and invisible graces.”
Indeed, our human history is a story of trying to make manifest our deepest yearnings. From prehistoric cave paintings to tattoos, from ancient religious rituals to the computer shrine or the fridge door, we have a need to express what we feel on the inside by making it present and visible on the outside. Buffeted about by fate and caprice, we strive to order and understand our world and one of the ways we do this is to create tangible symbols of intangible things. This is the origin of so much – religion, art, music and poetry (to name just a few) – to make real things that we feel and believe but can barely express.
As a minister, I understand inherently that the rituals (and sacraments) around death, loss, bereavement and healing exist for a reason and as a person, I am simply wired that way.
Yet as I sorted through the decisions I had to make about Peter’s memorial, our home and habits and life going forward*, I began to think about the effect of these choices on my grieving. And I realized that there is a mutually connected, symbiotic relationship between the rituals and symbols that we choose and the way they make us feel and how they help us.
The summer after he died, I decided to plant a little memorial garden in Peter’s honour at the cottage we built together. I love Day Lilies (and they’re easy to grow in harsh climates) so I researched and found some with names that spoke to speak to Peter’s and my love story. A dear friend gifted them to me, so we ordered these lilies from a mail order nursery:
Hey Good Looking
No-One But You
Glorious Dream
Together Forever
Ganaraska Glory (named after his favourite fishing river)
Daddy’s Beard
Save the Last Dance
Mystic Rainbow
That first summer as I planted the garden, it was dig and cry, plant and cry, cover and cry; repeat. I felt hopeless trying to memorialize the story of a love that I had known for almost 20 years, as if a bunch of tiny lilies could really begin to symbolize the depth and beauty of what we had or offer me any comfort. None of them bloomed that first summer.
Yet the following year, I was touched and amazed when one at a time, they began to grow and thrive. The first to send up a single flower was No-One But You, followed by Together Forever on our wedding anniversary! Each spring as I did my seasonal cleanup, in the summer when I pulled weeds or the fall as I mulched leaves around each lily, I felt the story of our love unfold in front of me. As the blossoms opened and closed, the memories welled up and it became so much more than a garden. It was planted because I wanted to honour my husband and our life together, yet the garden itself helped me do that.
An early creative project for the girls and I did the same thing. We talked about all the qualities that Peter/Baba had and everything that he did for us and decided to paint those messages onto stones one rainy day. Everything from ‘cuddle me’ to ‘spider removal,’ from ‘quiet times’ to ‘believe in me’ found its way onto a stone.
Then we decided that we could place a stone with something we missed about him onto someone else’s plate if we thought that person might be able to help. I got ‘spider removal’ all too often, but I did notice that my girls asked each other to ‘read with me’ or ‘make good food’ and of course, a whole lot ended up on my plate! These ‘touchstones’ became our way of remembering and embodying Peter. We felt his presence when we did the things he used to do, and over time, we also grew those qualities more abundantly in ourselves.
So, the question is – Which came first? The healing gesture or the healing that arises from the gesture? The need to paint some touchstones or the way those touchstones help us, comfort us and remind us of what stays? This is the ‘sacramental’ question faced by all who grieve. Can the rituals and symbols we use choose to remember those we love both recognize and confer healing, blessing and meaning?
And does it really matter which came first? We’ve all heard the expression “Fake it ‘til you make it.” Sometimes just ‘going through the motions’ actually helps us get where we want to go. Silly things like you feel better when you shower, get dressed and have good hair. Deeply meaningful examples of those who endure tragedy like the loss of a child and turn their grief into education about mental health, suicide prevention or advocacy against gun violence.
At the beginning, such actions may seem small and futile against the tide of grief that envelops you. But still, they work their magic, giving you the strength to get out of bed or seek help, surprising you with beauty or inspiring you to action. In the face of death, they remind you of the life that was given, and over time, the possibility that you might prevent others’ suffering gives meaning to your own loss.
There are a thousand ways that the signs and symbols, the actions and choices – the ‘sacraments’ that we choose to mark and remember the lives of those we love – help us.
It’s wrapping yourself in a blanket you both used to cuddle under.|
It’s planting a tree, a flower or a garden that brings you peace and beauty.
It’s the memorial fund that honours their life or sheds light on their struggle
It’s creating something of beauty, made by your own hands, to remember someone
It’s the gift in their name to a worthy cause for those who will come after
It’s the rainbows dancing around your room from the suncatcher given by a friend
It’s the cup of tea that your darling used to bring you that you make for yourself on early mornings when you miss him the most
What ‘outward and visible signs’ of the one you love might help you remember, celebrate, and honour their life? What symbols of their love will help to sustain you as you grieve and slowly grow stronger? What lasting ‘sacraments’ will bring you comfort and remind you of the enduring nature of love and the eternal promise of life, even after death?
I wish you courage as you find your own way, with a little help from the world around you.
* (see also “Things” for a deeper discussion about the tender topic of what to do with your beloved’s possessions)
