Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo,
to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho,
and the Lord showed him the whole land:
Gilead as far as Dan, all
Naphtali,
the land
of Ephraim and
Manasseh,
all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea,
the Negeb, and the Plain—that is, the valley of Jericho,
the city of palm trees—as far as Zoar.
The Lord said to him,
“This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and
to Jacob, saying,
‘I will give it to your descendants’;
I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not
cross over there.”
Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab,
at the Lord’s command.
He was buried in a valley in the land of Moab,
opposite Beth-peor,
but no one knows his burial place to this day.
Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died;
his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated.
The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty
days;
then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.
Joshua son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom,
because Moses had laid his hands on him;
and the Israelites obeyed him,
doing as the Lord had commanded Moses.
Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like
Moses,
whom the Lord knew face to face.
He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders
that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt,
against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire
land,
and for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays
of power
that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel.
***
There are those of us who orchestrate these rituals, at
weddings they are the servers and the band, and at funerals the clergy and the
undertaker. If you ask them, they will know how they want it done on their day,
writing their own vows and a simple champagne toast, taps on a bugle and a time
worn congregational hymn, Amazing Grace, How Great Thou Art. Even more, they
will know what they don’t want, that poem, “Do not stand on my grave and weep,’
or the microphone passed around for Remembrances, or a picture from some cruise
posed uncharacteristically - like elderly school-picture-day, or any sort of
canned music - death is natural and may the sound and photographs be so too. Instead
may you pick a picture of me that captures who I was even if it harkens back
twenty years to my arms outstretched on the beach. I want that poem/prayer,
about the shadows lengthening and the evening comes, and the busy world is
hushed;’ it is perfect. I know the obituary is both an announcement and a
genealogy, but put in something that tells a spark of me, say it well and be
brief, like that simple toast, or a rote benediction. But leave a little room,
to do what you want, Lord You Have Come to the Lakeshore, or an embarrassing
story. Be honest, by God be honest, no one is perfect, even in death, and to
pretend so has no one fooled and misses out on the redemption part. There is
more, much more, but I will spare you. Its only that after enough of these, you
know how you want it done, and I tell you Moses’ is done well.
“Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo,
to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho,
and the Lord showed him the whole land:
Gilead as far as Dan, all
Naphtali,
the land
of Ephraim and
Manasseh,
all the land of Judah as far as the Western Sea,
the Negeb, and the Plain—that is, the valley of Jericho,
the city of palm trees—as far as Zoar.”
If you notice, the last hours, days, and weeks are always
remembered, be it Elvis in the tub or the way they past with their children by
their side, be it the last family vacation to the coast or the holiday
gathering at the old house, be it that tough last conversation that holds more
meaning than intended or the one that was never had that holds more, be it that
knowing, without being told, that somewhere, hours away, your loved one has
just died and you find yourself in that moment reading their favorite story to
your children or the ever so common experience of just stepping out of the
hospital room for moment and their passing, like a cat, preferring to be alone
or just not wanting their loved one to witness them crossing over. Though I
believe God does not plan death, there is a way in which during those last
hours, days, and weeks, the Lord seems to come a little closer, seems to to be
showing us glimpses of the promised land, that in looking back over their last
moments our loved one seems to have never been as close since the time they
were wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a basket by the Nile, both
foreshadowing the destiny of God’s promise.
“The Lord said to Moses,
“This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and
to Jacob, saying,
‘I will give it to your descendants’;
I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not
cross over there.”
Then Moses, the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab,”
There is a saying, ‘All good people die in the fall,’ and
its reasoning is, ‘because then the community does not have to bear them through
the winter.’ It seems as good a reason as any, and I like to think of Moses and
the Exodus story that way too, that even in death Moses lifts the people’s
burden that they might not have to carry him on through the winter and into the
spring of the promised land. Though it has been interpreted that Moses
disobeyed the Lord and therefore he never crossed over into the promised land,
I like to reframe the Lord into something a little more gracious than punitive,
and I like to think God can use even the death’s of the greatest of leaders to
teach us something. This scripture was the last Martin Luther King ever
preached, and he talked about being able to see the promised land of civil
rights. He talked that he might not make it there, but that it was coming for
the people. Now I don’t think God chose MLK or Moses’ death, but I think in
their dying God’s purposes of leading us to a promised land became more clear
and more fervent, that when a leader dies the people must find within
themselves the will and the way to move forward. That even when the quietest of
us passes that there still something to be learned about the larger narrative
of God’s people. I have witnessed many in their last years become gravely
concerned with issues of war, or genocide, or AIDS, or the environment, as if
with their death all possibility is lost, or at least the hope of seeing such a
witness in their lifetime. There is a grief of not making it out of our Exodus
into the promised land before death. Yet, I think of the ever present promise
of spring, that just as leaves fall so to will they burst forth again, or I
think of the way as a hospital chaplain, after gathering with a family around
the shrouded deceased and reciting the Lord’s Prayer, I would walk down two
floors, and see pink and light blue beanies on tiny faces swaddled in white
cloth. These white cloths of shroud and swaddle both images of a present God
wrapping around us proclaiming from the dust we came and to dust we shall
return, proclaiming God’s present both in life and in death and beyond them
both.
“at the Lord’s command.
He was buried in a valley in the land of Moab,
opposite Beth-peor,
but no one knows his burial place to this day.”
I imagine the Lord could have created a sandstorm or great
flood to take Moses’ body away, but somehow I like to think of it as a cold and
rainy day with an old shovel and the Lord doing it right, skimping on neither
depth nor height, the sides being straight and the dirt being dark and deep. I
imagine the Lord with heaviness of arms, pall-bearing Moses’ body with those
same careful tiny ritual toe first steps, and lowering him in the grave this
worldly returning dust to dust, but the promise that nothing, even death can
separate us from the Lord. I imagine these words a comfort to the family, as
they try to write the obituary,
“Moses was one hundred twenty years old when he died;
his sight was unimpaired and his vigor had not abated.
The Israelites wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty
days;
then the period of mourning for Moses was ended.”
One hundred and twenty and still playing jokes, one hundred
and twenty and still serving at the senior center, one hundred and twenty and
still working on an old car, one hundred and twenty and still could remember
his wife’s name though nothing else, one hundred and twenty and still the
people will weep - the softest of tissues placed in the first few pews, and God
heard closely in the soloist, or the reciting of Psalm 23, until sometimes
hours, sometimes days, often times months and years, the period of mourning
ends, and ends by in part, with a looking forward that honors the past, with a
looking forward that honors the Lord’s on going promise and presence.
“Joshua son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom,
because Moses had laid his hands on him;
and the Israelites obeyed him,
doing as the Lord had commanded Moses.”
New leaders will emerge and people will remark, how they
were like the former, the family roles will adjust and change for better or
worse, you are like your grandmother in the way you are visiting and caring for
your grandfather, the family has become more distant as he was the one who
brought them together, you carry your father’s sense of humor, or you look just
like her when you smile. The deceased’s traits becoming fuller, not merely
positive, or negative, but just becoming who that person was, unique. With time
too the cliches will round out, the poems and pictures that make little sense
outside of the throws of grief will become part of a larger narrative, the
laments of the Exodus. Likewise, God too moves from directly beside, placing in
the grave, and weeping with the mourning, to a little more distant, the
storyteller, the chapter keeper. This storytelling is role of the minister, and
the ones who orchestrate these rituals, to tell a life fully enough, to tell it
straight, to tell it with care, but also to tell the of it in a way that points
to the promised land.
“Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like
Moses,
whom the Lord knew face to face.
He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders
that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt,
against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire
land,
and for all the mighty deeds
and all the terrifying displays of power
that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel.”
This minister of Exodus tells it just right. A good eulogy
is one where the work of the Lord can be seen in life of the deceased, that in
every life there are signs and wonders, mighty deeds, and also, if we are
honest, terrifying displays of power, but that we are all brought forth into
this world by the Lord, and sent to the in-between place of Exodus, to journey
together toward the promised land. If it’s told right, we can not only see our
loved one’s journey as part of the path toward the promised land, but we can
better find ourselves and our own place in the larger narrative. Most
importantly, we can see God’s presence from Alpha to Omega, from beginning to
end, from death to life forever and ever, and life toward the spring of the
promised land. If it’s done right, and for Moses, it was.
