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On a day when things are turning out as we wish, we might say that life is good. When frustrations or painful memories oppress us, we might think that life is just one difficulty after another. Both are generalizations, based on the feelings of the moment. Life is surely much more than that.
We did not choose to be born, but each of us becomes responsible for how we live and for how we value life. The two are closely related, since the way we live very often depends upon what we believe about our life, and much of what we believe about life depends upon how we live. If we see life as a gift rather than an impersonal accident of nature, we tend to fully utilize mind, body, and heart in the way we live. And if we reflect with gratitude on what we receive and give in life, our belief in the goodness of life increases.
We also know what it is like when we feel blocked in our intentions and unappreciated for what we do and then wonder if life truly has meaning. Or, when we look too much at the miseries of life, we can almost literally lose heart and find that we have little energy for doing things that bring joy to us and to others.
The greatest perspective about life comes, paradoxically, when we think about what happens after life. That is, when we honestly accept that this life as we know it comes to an end and consider what we believe awaits us in an after-life, we are liable to include God in our reflections about this life, and to more fully appreciate that it does not really end with death. However, if we rarely think of our lives as being related to God, we might not be aware of who we are even in the present, much less who we are called to be after we have finished living in this temporary environment of restricted time and space.
We often perceive life as truly precious when it is threatened, whether because of something affecting our health or due to an external cause for concern. But the most profound experiences of valuing our lives, even if we might be severely limited physically, accompanies our awareness of God as choosing us to be who we are. This radical choice is for now and always, since love, of which God makes us capable, does not end any more than God who is love comes to an end. We are, through no deed of our own, participants in God’s eternal life. We can choose to ignore or even deny our origin and intended after-life, but just as we did not choose to be born, we cannot choose to opt out of living forever.
The radical choice that is ours is whether to love.
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Memorial Day for most people in the U.S. is more a holiday than a reflective memorial of those who died in the country’s military services. Even fewer people remember and pray for the civilians who died during those times of war. Closer to us, perhaps, are memorials for those we know who have died, including loved family members and friends. These occasions are often graced and consoling experiences when we engage in them because of our direct personal connections with those who have died or for the sake of our friendships with those who grieve the loss of their loved ones.
When we attend a memorial, we participate partially according to the kind of gathering, whether formal or informal, or whether more specifically religious or more generic. But the most significant factor affecting us is our personal set of memories, thoughts, and feelings at that time. Our imaginations will spontaneously engage not only with our memories, but also with whatever we hear, see, and observe within the memorial event. Even if we choose to keep our responses as much as possible to ourselves, our bodies will resonate with whatever our minds and hearts perceive, so that then or later, we will receive fully the experience that matches our level of participation in the memorial.
The meaningfulness of any memorial, whether a large service or a small gathering of people, is always personal. No words, images, music, or any aspect of human origin can touch our hearts as much as the truth of our personal relationship with whomever is being memorialized. This is true whether it be at the memorial for an individual or for an extensive group of people. No matter how a memorial is organized, and no matter what our preferences might be for some modes of celebrating rather than others, we can find personal value in any of them if we focus our minds and hearts on the person or persons who have died.
Our reasons for participating in memorials might be mixed, but ultimately, we do so for love, even if the word does not enter our conscious awareness. The underlying reality that binds together the living who celebrate the occasion, and the dead for whose sake we gather, is that love does not come to an end with someone’s death. We are not asked what we believe about life after death when we come to a memorial. But we arrive with implicit and explicit beliefs, and if we reflect on our experiences, we might become aware that any affective movements within us are at least in part the consequences of our love.
Our gift at a memorial is our presence. In return, we receive affirmation that love has not, and does not, come to an end.