Let us Gaze Openly at the Graves

I went to a funeral earlier today at The Church of the Annunciation, which is a "sister" Church for us at Holy Apostles. I didn't know Harold, the man who had died, but I had seen him many times during services because as a sub-deacon he was always there. Most of the time, he was helping young boys learn their duties as acolytes. I would sometimes just stand and watch the interactions he would have with the boys. He cared for them. That was always evident. Like a kindly grandfather, he would whisper (rather loudly since he was hard of hearing) and point them in the right direction and/or put the right thing in their hands, etc. I never saw him roll his eyes, sigh, turn red in the face or appear flustered - the way most of us react when distractions get the better of those little ones in our charge. He was just present with them, bringing them back to reality when their minds inevitably wandered far away during the long services of Holy Week and Pascha. It was a joy to behold, and even though I didn't know him I will miss that scene playing out in the Sanctuary.

When all is said and done and we are lying motionless in a coffin like Harold was today, it is only those small acts of kindness, patience, and love that will linger like a sweet fragrance. Memory eternal Harold! Your death, and the services of the Holy Orthodox Church, were a sobering reminder to me today of what is important and what is silly.

I could write much about an Orthodox Funeral - but I won't tire you with many words. I'm so grateful to be guided through the rest of my life by the wise council and strong arms of this tender Mother, the holy Orthodox Church. My soul is comforted with the loving way in which she baptizes her children, marries her young couples, blesses her virgins who are seeking "that one thing needful" in the ranks of the monastics, and buries her dead.

With what can we compare our life?
In very truth unto a flower, smoke and the morning dew.
Come, therefore, let us gaze openly at the graves.
Where is the beauty of the body, where is its youth?
Where are the eyes and the fleshly form?
All are consumed like the grass, all have been destroyed.
Come, let us fall down before Christ with tears.

-from the Stichera of the last kiss