February 2009 Archives

There's an old Latin phrase that Catholics use to keep themselves grounded: "memento mori". It's English translation is (roughly) "remember you are mortal". We're going to die. Be ready. It has temporal and spiritual implications. On Earthly matters, you should have life insurance and a will, or you will dump your estate into someone else's hands; Secularist Thomas Hobbes described life as "nasty, brutish and short", which I think is a fitting admonition to us all that we should keep our business in order. For Heavenly matters, have your soul ready to meet your maker, go to confession and lead a decent life; when you go before the Pearly Gates and stand for judgment on our lives, will you be ready? It's going to happen, gentle reader. You are dust and unto dust you shall return (Ash Wednesday is Feb 25, by the way).

One of the best blogs on the internets, Conversion Diary, tells a story of watching a TV documentary about Death Row. She writes:

A couple weeks ago I was half paying attention to a documentary about a maximum security prison while folding laundry. They were interviewing a 25-year-old "lifer," and he mentioned that he used to be on death row but his sentence was commuted to life without parole. The producer asked him to describe what it was like to be released from death row.

He gazed into the distance and responded, "You can't imagine. When you're on death row, it's like you're already dead. You try to play cards, but you hear that clock ticking in your head, knowing that the date of your extinction has already been set, and now it's just a matter of days and minutes. You could read a book, watch some TV, but why? You're gonna die soon and can't take none of that stuff with you, so it doesn't really matter anyway." He got choked up as he added, "I got my whole life back when I got off of death row."

As I folded a t-shirt I nodded knowingly, subconsciously reacting to his description in a spirit of camaraderie. I instinctively viewed him as someone with whom I had a shared, rare experience, knowing that the producer and the viewers of the show could never imagine what it was like because they hadn't been there like we had.

I stopped cold with a shirt half folded in my hand when I became aware of my reaction. Where did that come from? How on earth could I, a middle-class girl who's never even been to the county jail, have the faintest idea what a former death row penitentiary inmate was talking about?

And then I realized: because when I was an atheist, I lived on death row.

I first realized the gravity of my sentence when I was around 11 years old. One night the thought of death randomly popped to mind, and for the first time I fully internalized the reality that I would one day die. Though of course I already knew that nobody lives forever, this was the first time that that veil that blocks unpleasant truths from our conciousness was pierced and I understood down to my bones that it was only a matter of time before a coffin lid closed on top of my body. The weight of that reality was too much for my intellect to bear; it's like I thought about it more in my racing heart than in my head. My whole being was aware that everything I thought of as "me" -- my body, my feelings, my loves, my thoughts, all my hopes and dreams -- were nothing more than the products of random chemical reactions that would one day cease, and "I" would disappear.

SNIP

The date of our extinction was coming up soon, getting closer by the second. The only difference between a death row inmate and anyone else, in my eyes, was that the prisoner knew the date. I had those same questions that inmate expressed: Why play cards? Why watch TV? Why read a book? Sure, you might have momentary pleasure or gain some knowledge, but it was all fleeting, and it would all disappear -- along with you -- upon your impending extermination. And the clock was ticking. We were all dead men walking.

It felt wrong -- deeply, uncomfortably wrong -- to think about all of this. And upon my conversion to Christianity I realized why:

That crushing despair I experienced when I would absorb the implications of my worldview was the feeling of a precious, eternal soul railing against the injustice of being denied. Somewhere in that part of my mind where primal truths too important for words reside was the knowledge that "I" was something more than just randomly evolved chemical reactions, that "I" was both body and eternal soul, that "I" had the opportunity to spend eternity in a place of perfect peace, and that to believe otherwise was the biggest mistake a person could ever make.

Go read the whole thing.

She goes on to say how when she discovered God, her whole life changed; her sentence had been commuted. She was allowed to live and live for something other than her own self. Funny--I think a lot of people feel liberated when they confidently say that God does not exist. I think they feel that they have been unshackled and unchained, that they are able to just live and let live. Maybe I'm in too deep with this religion thingy, but I don't see that as a liberation at all. It's a death sentence. Really--why bother? Why wake up and get dressed and go to work? Why try and meet people or build snowmen or play music or plant flowers or comfort a crying baby or call your friends on the telephone just to chat? It's all petty distraction until the inevitable moment where your heart and brain stops, when your carcass is tossed underground and your life is probably soon forgotten.

If that's liberation, then bring me the chains.

Good thing that's not the way it is.

If you are a committed atheist, there's probably not much that I am going to say or type that will convince you otherwise. To one who does not believe, no proof is sufficient; to one who believes, no proof is necessary. Anyway, that's not my goal here. When I flirted with atheism for a year or two, it was this thing that brought me back. I couldn't stand the thought that all of creation was some cosmic accident; that big bangs were the random happenstance of physics; that if the Earth was just a little closer to the sun, it'd be an unlivable ball of fire and if it was any farther away, it would be an uninhabitable ball of ice; that the reason that dinosaurs crawled the earth and the reason I run barefoot in the grass and the reason that my grandchildren's grandchildren can run barefoot in their grass is just because some random bolt of lightning struck some random patch of carbon and generated the genesis of amoeba life... and it all is a cosmic accident. I couldn't take that. Maybe I am weak and naive. Fine. I don't care. Call me weak. It shouldn't matter to you anyway--if you're right, then all I'm doing is distracting myself before I'm worm food.

Momento mori.

I have a friend whom I have never met that makes rosaries by hand. The style that garners the most interest is the "momento mori" rosary, where the beads are the shape of small human skulls carved from wood and bone. They're gorgeous; one day I'm going to order one from him (but they're relatively expensive-- around $70 each-- and I'm relatively poor). I am enthralled with the idea of one--to be reminded of my own mortal life and failings while meditating on the supernatural life and perfection of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

When a deceased person is given a Catholic funeral, there is usually a time before the funeral for people to gather together and pray the rosary, called the "vigil" or the "wake". From Fisheaters:

The Vigil, which may last from a few hours to two days, has the very specific purpose of attending to the soul of the dead one. At the Vigil, therefore, prayer for the dead is central, and you should ask your priest to lead the mourners in the Rosary (Glorious Mysteries) for the soul of the departed (if no priest is available, you can, of course, pray the Rosary yourself as a group). Note that the following prayer, the "Eternal Rest" prayer, is prayed for the dead after each decade of the Rosary (where the Fatima Prayer is usually prayed):

Eternal rest grant unto him/her (them), O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him/her (them). May he/she (they) rest in peace. Amen.

Latin version: Réquiem ætérnam:
Réquiem ætérnam dona ei (eis) Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei (eis). Requiéscat (Requiéscant) in pace. Amen.

(The Eternal Rest Prayer is a good prayer to pray when thoughts of the dead person come to mind in the years to come; many Catholics also pray this prayer when passing a cemetery, and also on All Souls Day, and add it to their Rosaries during the month of November, which is dedicated to the Holy Souls in Purgatory.)

Praying the rosary at a funeral vigil is a merciful act: we're praying for God to have mercy on the soul of the departed and let them into heaven. Remember: Catholics believe in Purgatory, a place where souls bound for heaven are purged of their imperfections before they are fit for perfect life with the Lord in heaven. Friends, when I die, pray for my soul. If I am heaven bound, I will certainly spend a lot of time in purgatory. I'm likely not going "straight up". Pray for me, and if I outlast you, I'll pray for your soul. Deal? (You might have to let me know that you've died. Somehow. We'll work that out later.)

I'd like to have one of those momento mori rosaries to pray with during a funeral vigil.

I like the idea of holding a reminder of mortality while I'm praying for eternity. Because as a Christian and as a Catholic I confidently know that this is not all there is. I am not a cosmic accident. I am not on Death Row. Christ said "He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath everlasting life: and I will raise him up in the last day" and I'm not going to call Him a liar.

But I am human. I will perish. "In all thy works remember thy last end".

Momento mori.

Your death sentence can be commuted.