A Eulogy for 2023
By Rev. Daniel Gregoire
Unitarian Universalist Society of Grafton and Upton
Sunday, January 28, 2024
Eulogy:
The past few years have acquainted us with our mortality in more ways than one. The pandemic, the dislocations in our society, for some, migration across international borders has brought us into contact with the shocking finitude of life.
You see before now, most of us have been unaccustomed to death, we were strangers to this inevitable part of the continuum of life.
Death is shocking to us mostly because of accidents of age, class, access to advanced medical technologies and treatments that have prolonged life in ways that would seem miraculous to those generations before us, who lived harsher and shorter lives. And, because we are fortunate enough to live in a society where the rule of law is effective, and where we are a military and economic superpower, the age of Pax Americana still has more hours before its imperial sunset, sometimes it seems that we should have vanquished death too.
We can now outrun the inevitable for longer and longer distances of time, and no matter what we have achieved, in life: in the arts or sciences, or in our careers, we cannot change what it means to be mortal.
We are powerful, but we cannot change, change.
I can remember learning about a strange practice in seminary in New York, in my Christian New Testament classes, where we explored the sacred literature with an Empire Critical lens of biblical interpretation.
In that class we heard about the ancient Roman practice of having victorious generals, at the very peak of their military careers, having just subdued vast new areas for the empire, then on parade through streets of Rome, with an enslaved person, as their charioteer.
These ancient generals were the Douglas MacArthurs, Dwight D Eisenhowers, Norman Schwarzkopfs and David Petraeus’ of their day. Generals at the pinnacle of their careers.
What a strange sight it must have been to have these two together, before the adoring crowds on either side, one person dressed in splendor, the other in rags as they went their way to the senate house. It was the job of the slave to whisper in the general’s ear, the whole time, remember, (that you have) to die, or Memento Mori during this triumphal victory march.
This was an important reminder to be in the present moment, because the past is gone, and the future is not promised.
Remember to die is a call to action to “Be here now.”
To come down to earth, and live a meaningful and mortal life.
Remember to die is a sobering call to action, reminding us to go forward, with humility, gratitude and hope.
This whisper that we all hear, from our own constant, though often unacknowledged, companion, our friend, death, is remembering to us what we do have control over.
What we do have control over is how we live our lives, and how we use the time, whatever time that we have been given.
And in this funeral for the passing year, 2023 I hope we might consider how we heard those whispers, in the parade of the dying year, most importantly did we remember our own mortality and live more fully, more gratefully?
2023 will always stand out for me, because it was the year that my daughter Grace was born. Grace who is now walking, sharing her cheerios, and playing with Emma, the cat.
It was also the year where in a manner of speaking, the person I was before Grace had died, rather suddenly.
It was the year when I declared to myself, and now to you, that henceforth, whether my life is long or short, it is devoted to this baby and the person she is becoming.
Meeting Grace for the first time was a bewildering encounter with the awesome power, presence and ultimate fragility of life, and a summons to do everything in my power to protect this being, and to do this together with her mother, Kate.
Everyday together with my family is a reminder that everything is fleeting, and yet everything is holy and nothing should be taken for granted.
Of course, 2023 was a year of wars, famines, disease, political upheavals, mass migrations, a refugee crisis of truly biblical proportions, widespread economic uncertainty, ideological battles, personal calamities, quiet desperations, but it was also a year of wonder, beauty, rites of passage, the changing seasons and celebrations and a year of new life.
We were all transformed by 2023, through it all, she brought us closer to our collective destiny, she brought us to this point of presence and understanding.
She taught us that in remembering to die, we can live again in the present moment more beautifully, more powerfully.
The life of 2023 best exemplifies this quote from the 19th century Transcendentalist writer Henry David Thorou, in the introduction to his book Walden:
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms...”
The funeral service, however, euphemistically, or playfully described, is always an unwelcome visit to a strange and foreign land.
But, I’m afraid that we must pass through this bizarre and surreal landscape at some point or another, so we might as well do it together.
But we do it best, this transit, when we must remember that we are companioned on this journey and we have been given all the supplies we need on this journey.
These strange places, where we are confronted by unrelenting change, where we encounter the death of a cherished and complex loved one,
These are the places where we grow into the fullness of life, the fullness of our souls.
May this place where we find ourselves now, the present moment, give us an occasion to remember what matters most, and to hear the whisper “Memento Mori, Remember to Die, which really means remember to live in the present moment.
May the memory of 2023 be a blessing forever.
By Rev. Daniel Gregoire
Unitarian Universalist Society of Grafton and Upton
Sunday, January 28, 2024
Eulogy:
The past few years have acquainted us with our mortality in more ways than one. The pandemic, the dislocations in our society, for some, migration across international borders has brought us into contact with the shocking finitude of life.
You see before now, most of us have been unaccustomed to death, we were strangers to this inevitable part of the continuum of life.
Death is shocking to us mostly because of accidents of age, class, access to advanced medical technologies and treatments that have prolonged life in ways that would seem miraculous to those generations before us, who lived harsher and shorter lives. And, because we are fortunate enough to live in a society where the rule of law is effective, and where we are a military and economic superpower, the age of Pax Americana still has more hours before its imperial sunset, sometimes it seems that we should have vanquished death too.
We can now outrun the inevitable for longer and longer distances of time, and no matter what we have achieved, in life: in the arts or sciences, or in our careers, we cannot change what it means to be mortal.
We are powerful, but we cannot change, change.
I can remember learning about a strange practice in seminary in New York, in my Christian New Testament classes, where we explored the sacred literature with an Empire Critical lens of biblical interpretation.
In that class we heard about the ancient Roman practice of having victorious generals, at the very peak of their military careers, having just subdued vast new areas for the empire, then on parade through streets of Rome, with an enslaved person, as their charioteer.
These ancient generals were the Douglas MacArthurs, Dwight D Eisenhowers, Norman Schwarzkopfs and David Petraeus’ of their day. Generals at the pinnacle of their careers.
What a strange sight it must have been to have these two together, before the adoring crowds on either side, one person dressed in splendor, the other in rags as they went their way to the senate house. It was the job of the slave to whisper in the general’s ear, the whole time, remember, (that you have) to die, or Memento Mori during this triumphal victory march.
This was an important reminder to be in the present moment, because the past is gone, and the future is not promised.
Remember to die is a call to action to “Be here now.”
To come down to earth, and live a meaningful and mortal life.
Remember to die is a sobering call to action, reminding us to go forward, with humility, gratitude and hope.
This whisper that we all hear, from our own constant, though often unacknowledged, companion, our friend, death, is remembering to us what we do have control over.
What we do have control over is how we live our lives, and how we use the time, whatever time that we have been given.
And in this funeral for the passing year, 2023 I hope we might consider how we heard those whispers, in the parade of the dying year, most importantly did we remember our own mortality and live more fully, more gratefully?
2023 will always stand out for me, because it was the year that my daughter Grace was born. Grace who is now walking, sharing her cheerios, and playing with Emma, the cat.
It was also the year where in a manner of speaking, the person I was before Grace had died, rather suddenly.
It was the year when I declared to myself, and now to you, that henceforth, whether my life is long or short, it is devoted to this baby and the person she is becoming.
Meeting Grace for the first time was a bewildering encounter with the awesome power, presence and ultimate fragility of life, and a summons to do everything in my power to protect this being, and to do this together with her mother, Kate.
Everyday together with my family is a reminder that everything is fleeting, and yet everything is holy and nothing should be taken for granted.
Of course, 2023 was a year of wars, famines, disease, political upheavals, mass migrations, a refugee crisis of truly biblical proportions, widespread economic uncertainty, ideological battles, personal calamities, quiet desperations, but it was also a year of wonder, beauty, rites of passage, the changing seasons and celebrations and a year of new life.
We were all transformed by 2023, through it all, she brought us closer to our collective destiny, she brought us to this point of presence and understanding.
She taught us that in remembering to die, we can live again in the present moment more beautifully, more powerfully.
The life of 2023 best exemplifies this quote from the 19th century Transcendentalist writer Henry David Thorou, in the introduction to his book Walden:
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms...”
The funeral service, however, euphemistically, or playfully described, is always an unwelcome visit to a strange and foreign land.
But, I’m afraid that we must pass through this bizarre and surreal landscape at some point or another, so we might as well do it together.
But we do it best, this transit, when we must remember that we are companioned on this journey and we have been given all the supplies we need on this journey.
These strange places, where we are confronted by unrelenting change, where we encounter the death of a cherished and complex loved one,
These are the places where we grow into the fullness of life, the fullness of our souls.
May this place where we find ourselves now, the present moment, give us an occasion to remember what matters most, and to hear the whisper “Memento Mori, Remember to Die, which really means remember to live in the present moment.
May the memory of 2023 be a blessing forever.