Grave Solidarity

A Story for Good Friday

On this Good Friday, I thought to offer a poem about death, but instead I have a short, personal story about our inevitable expiration which grew out of attempting to write a poem. I also owe some of the credit for this to Abigail Austin, for posting this note.

It reminded me of a somewhat frightening experience I had when I was working in a theater troupe. I was the only practicing Christian/Catholic, and I disagreed with almost everyone on nearly all moral, religious, or political beliefs. However, everyone made an effort to get along, and I’ve always been especially grateful for the kindness and generosity of my peers in the troupe. In particular, they were especially loving towards my wife and children. Despite our differences, they were my friends and I was theirs.

But one day revealed something strange. Getting ready for rehearsal, we were warming up on the stage. I was in a particularly good mood, having had a restful night’s sleep and a most excellent cup of coffee. Jumping and leaping around, I was a relentless force of annoyance, vomiting sunshine and enthusiasm with my words and movements.

One of my castmates, in accordance with Newton’s third law, acted as my opposite. She was in a foul mood, had not slept well, and was sipping a subpar cup of coffee.

There were about six of us on the stage at the time, me bouncing around like a less charming tiggr, while my grumbling opposite conversed with others. Everyone was clustered in a small group or stretching alone. The general din of conversation hung on the room.

I started doing jumping jacks and singing. I’m a bad singer. It was the last straw, and my grumpy castmate burst out at me, asking me why I was being so obnoxious. She was not wrong to be annoyed.

I snarkily said something to the effect of, “Live while you can! Death is coming for us!”

Silence hit the room. I stumbled over it and stood for a second, looking at each of my friends in turn. No one was pleased with me. I said, “You know we’re gonna die, right?”

There was a beat, and then Greg shouted back at me, “Yeah, but we don’t talk about it!”

I never realized until that moment that this was how some–probably many–people approached death. In my unseen ignorance, I naively assumed that death held the same level of fear for everyone. I was reminded again of this event when, years later, I watched the series The Good Place. Kristen Bell’s character says something to the effect of, “Humans are always at least a little aware of their death, and that’s why they are always a little sad.” For many people, death is a literal bogeyman, haunting the corners of life.

To be clear, I’m not faulting anyone for fearing death. I still fear it, despite my faith. But, it’s also the only guaranteed thing we all have in common. Death is the ultimate challenge that all of us, to a man, will face. Joseph Campbell talks about this in The Hero With a Thousand Faces: in the adventure of life, the greatest abyss, the most terrifying and conclusive showdown, is death.

This fear was in my friends, and in turn it frightened me. After the awkward realization, and feeling proper shame for my careless glee, we continued into our rehearsal.

Macbeth felt a little different that time through.

While there is no avoiding death, there is a redemption of it. That redemption comes from only one man, The Man. And out of love, he offers us a safe path through that dark gate and into paradise.

Blessings of Good Friday on you and all your loved ones.