Heaven Bound

The Viewing

Mourners sat among the flowers. So, many in color and number that it was almost impossible to know if the dabbing at eyes and blowing of noses was from bereavement or from a reaction to the stifling sweet smell hanging like a fog over the densely packed room. Overhead two fans hummed in a lazy kind of harmony as children twisted and turned on heavily padded seats intended to imply a comfort on which they could not deliver.

I wasn’t quite sure how I got here. I didn’t seem to know anyone in the room let alone the deceased. The speaker at the podium seemed to know them well – who ever they were. A female, I presume as he (the speaker) kept going on and on about her cooking and judging from his girth I imagine he had some first hand knowledge on the subject. In fact, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place when he mentioned her prize winning pickled beets – and how she had placed first at the county fair over ten years running. Mopping his brow with an oversized handkerchief he turned the microphone over to a slim young woman who started a slide show to the somewhat tinny strains of “Take Me Home Country Roads” in which the dearly departed could be seen in photos depicting the various stages of her life.

Why was I here? And more than that – how did I get here? And strangely, I was no more noticed than one of the many pink and yellow roses that filled the room. I have to say they had done a lovely job on the deceased. And while I had only the photos from the slide show for reference I couldn’t help but think how good she looked – almost life like as she lay there in that casket. As good a job on cosmetics as I had ever seen … on the deceased anyway – which up until now hadn’t really been that many so maybe I wasn’t the best judge of that after all.

And then the service was over and people began to file out. One woman could be overheard saying “Henry, will be so happy to see her” to which the woman next to her replied “he did so love her pickled beets ::sigh:: I’m sure she’ll be making them again for him soon”. Heads bobbing together in agreement they walked out in to the bright sunshine overcome with the thought of Ethel cooking once again for her beloved husband Henry.

When the room had emptied and the coffin loaded into the hearse for transportation to the Cemetery I thought I would look at the guest book which sat near a hallway at the entrance to the room. Maybe there would be a name I would recognize which might provide some clue as to why I was here. Flipping through the pages I couldn’t see one name that seemed the least bit familiar and I wondered if I hadn’t ought to sign it myself … out of respect, you know … an effort to lend some dignity to the situation I found myself in. So, I signed the guest book with a flourish thinking how odd it will be when family members review the guest book commenting to one other “Do you know a Samuel K. Peabody? I can’t seem to place him.” “No, can’t say that I do. Perhaps, he was one of mothers piano students from when she was teaching.” “Yes, that must be it”. And that would be the end of the subject with no further thought to Samuel K. Peabody and who he was or why he had attended the service.

I sat the pen back in its holder. A fancy golden pen with the words Sunset Memorial Gardens -“see the Sunset with us” inscribed along its side. I was just about to leave when I noticed an open doorway. Well, not quite open … just three or four inches as if someone had not closed it properly. I really shouldn’t have done it but curiosity got the best of me and I wondered if it was an office or perhaps a back room for storage. What did I care but then again I hadn’t ask to be here so maybe a little further investigation would provide some clue as to why I was here and how I ended up in this place.

THE BACK ROOM

Walking towards the door I could see that whatever was inside was dimly lit. A short staircase of cold hard cement led in to the interior. Most likely this was a storage room. Cold damp air seeped out from the space sending a chill throughout my body in spite of the afternoon heat. I can’t explain why but instead of closing the door and walking away I took a step forward stopping just short of descending the stairs.

Squinting my eyes I could barely make out what appeared to be a cavernous space which seemed to go on forever. Shockingly, it was filled with coffins – some very, very old and some nearly new. Some were small; some large. Some were ornate while others were just pine boxes. Nothing was organized- not even close – and it seemed impossible to me how they could have ended up this way.

Some were sideways, others upside down, and others end upon end in a chaotic display of madness. Tons of metal with curliqued trim glinted off one another and it seemed as if the earth itself had violently expelled them from their resting place – if indeed there had ever been one.

Some of the lids had popped open exposing skeletal bodies in various stages of decay – who they were no one knew. Stripped of all dignity they were now nothing more than a stinking rotting mass – devoid of any meaning or purpose their lives had once held.

I felt as if I was choking. My throat seized up at what my eyes refused to comprehend and I sank to my knees in horror at what I saw next. There on the top of the heap was the coffin from the funeral I had just attended. But how could that be? I myself had seen it loaded in to the hearse for transport to the Cemetery not more than ten minutes ago yet here it was tossed away like so much rubbish. It didn’t make sense. It felt like a nightmare I should be waking from but instead it was very, very real – too real. How could things end up this way? It didn’t make sense and was completely incomprehensible to everything I had previously known or thought. It didn’t seem right – couldn’t be right; and, yet it was. Overwhelmed by what I had seen I grasped my head with both my hands and wept and wept.

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Thank you for reading my story. It’s actually based on a dream my husband had a few nights ago. He seldom dreams so this was a big deal. In fact, it was so disturbing that once he woke up from it he could not go back to sleep.

We talked about it for the next few days and he felt strongly that the dream was intended to show the contrast between the reality of death and how it is viewed today by our current modern culture.

People today rarely see death outside of a controlled environment – where everything is sanitized and made pretty. And while we’re thankful not to see death in a way people did just a few generations ago it also allows people to live in a state of denial. Hence, the propensity for the bereaved to assign attributes from the lives of their loved ones from this life to the next.

If the deceased loved golfing here they’ll be golfing there … if they were known for their cooking here they’ll be known for their cooking there and so forth. I think the reason for this is that hobbies are a way of expressing our identity in a way that is important to us – and yet as we see in the story death is actually quite impersonal – once the flowers and accolades are over and everyone has gone home – the fate of Kings and paupers are one and the same. Doesn’t matter how you lived, your station in life or the many goals you achieved. Rich or poor its all the same.

I’ve taken some liberty with the dream in order to create a story. I hope it makes sense.

The back room in this story is allegory for the tomb. And in the back room there is no respect for the dead whatsoever. There they are counted as nothing …less than nothing. Without name, or status – they will never depart that wretched place – with one exception – when they are called to the Great White Throne for judgment. Aside from that they will continue to be nameless and faceless for all eternity – locked in a dark and lonely existence from which there is no escape. I can’t think of anything much more terrible than that.

But for believers this is not the case – because Jesus walked out from the tomb, so too shall we! It was not by accident that Jesus called Lazarus forth by name. Consider the following quote by Spurgeon and thank God he has rescued us from an existence more terrible than we could ever imagine.

Jesus said,

” …I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me though he were dead, yet shall he live” John 11:25

“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem they shall prosper who love thee” Psalm 122:6

Watching and waiting with YOU for the soon return of Jesus! Cindy