STEWARDSHIP—LIVING CHRISTIANITY [ RADICALLY]

New World Articles

The Dead Among Us
By Rich Goode
Contributor

Remember that scary movie a few years ago where that little kid said hauntingly “I see dead people.” Well, I can’t say I see dead people walking around but, in this month of ghosts and goblins, I will say that my life is populated by dead people. The dead have shaped me and continue to do so. I interact with them on a daily basis and it’s not the least bit creepy. In fact, acknowledging their “living” influence in my life seems totally natural.

We live in a culture that tries to ignore death and pretend it doesn’t exist. Often, old world cultures seem much closer to their dead. In poor, less technological cultures, death is more a part of every day life. On the Day of the Dead, without a trace of morbidity, Mexicans call their ancestors to mind and share stories of them. As odd as this sounds, while not taking death lightly in general, they have fun with death on this day. Special foods like pan de muerto (bread decorated with meringue to look like bones) and sweets shaped like skulls are shared. Marigolds and paper mache skeletons adorn the town. Satirical obituaries for those who are still living (calaveras) are put up on placards. It is not so much a day about death as a celebration of the continuity of life.

Old houses are great places to encounter the dead. My 1903 Chicago greystone is definitely haunted. For example, the people who built my house in 1903 are no longer with us. Their craftsmanship is a great gift to me everyday, however. Many souls who have lived in the house are gone too. I think of those who lived their lives and raised their families in the same rooms where my family now lives and eats and sleeps. They probably shared many of the same worries, hopes, joys and sorrows of family life that we experience. Reminders of those who walked our creaky hardwood floors many years ago are all around. Rocco, the former owner’s late husband, certainly left his mark. I never met him, he died 24 years before we bought the place, but every once in a while I come upon his handiwork. Rocco was a fixer and he did what was needed with the materials on hand. I can tell that Rocco loved the old house like I do. I feel a kinship with him. He left his mark there as we are leaving our mark.

I feel a debt of gratitude to the dead, our precursors in faith. One fun, interesting aspect of Catholicism is that, through the Communion of Saints, we affirm our mysterious, wonderful relationship to our forbears as well as those who will come after us. We take part in the dynamic exchange between the living, the dead and those yet born as we collaborate to form our always-evolving Church.

Most Chicago schools and parishes were established by folks who have since joined the vast community of the dead. They may be dead but their faith lives and is built upon. What an incredible mark they made. Look closely at the amazing churches they built; their hopes and dreams are almost as tangible as the bricks they laid. Like a stained glass window filters the sunlight, the dead and their stories color and inform our experience of the holy.

Every day, God still touches lives in those old buildings. Our children grow in faith, mind and body in the same rooms where their children learned, occasionally day dreamed, wrote notes, formed values, noticed the opposite sex for the first time, struggled with math and tried to get their minds around Jesus. In our imperfect attempts to live in God, we honor them, carry the faith forward and add to their legacy.

A great myth of modern culture is that we are “self made.” Not true. Countless souls, either dead or heading that direction, both known to me and unknown, have made me who I am. My life is, in part, an ongoing conversation with the dead. The dead are all around me. I thank them.