I pass several cemeteries on my short drive to work, and the beauty of these places in this season where orange and red leaves blanket the fallen catches my breath. I often am reminded in my work as a pastor that death is part of the continuum and is that it is as natural as life itself. Dust becomes dust and all of that.
It’s autumn. The morning debate is always whether or not to wear a jacket. Baristas have stopped asking if I want my drink hot or cold because we understand each other. It’s sweater weather, and even though each falling leaf subconsciously reminds me of my own mortality, there is a sense of rightness in the air.
My husband insists it is only leaf mould.
The botched execution of Christa Pike and the planned execution of Nidal Hasan (which will thankfully no longer be live-streamed) take up space in my head alongside those gigantic skeletons dotting suburban lawns. This too is death, but it has neither the comic aspects of the Chicken of Death (see picture!) or the commonness of the cemetery.
When death occurs at the hands of the state (our hands) it is an act which actively denies life. It removes from possibility any option of grace as it pretends to solve the challenge of humanity’s total depravity. Sadly, we don’t seem to have a problem with causing death. We refuse to pass sane gun laws, continue to war with other countries over the control of oil, and endorse spending bills that will see countless people die from lack of decent food and medical care.
Of course, death is not just something the living do. Organizations live and die as well.
The United States has been at the same time a representational democracy (our free and fair elections have allowed for ultimate power to reside with the people) but also a constitutional republic (the ultimate guiding law is not a monarch, but the Constitution). In Plato’s Republic he suggests that democracies decay and do not die, but instead become tyrannies. I fear he is right. Our democracy is not dead, but it has become a decayed thing and there are signs that the republic too is falling.
This may just be a season. The Fall, if you will. If so, winter will come and then the Spring. Like many, I will vote with deep and abundant hope and see what comes. Regardless, this time has allowed me to understand just how precious this communal life of ours is.
