“Someday You Will Throw Dirt on Me.”

I am an Orthodox Christian. Not a good one, though, but I digress. In the past week I’ve been asked by three different people what religion I am. After telling them I’m an Orthodox Christian, the following question they’ve all asked can be reduced to a one-word response, “Why?”

It’s a great question, and one I ponder often; not because I don’t know why I’m an Orthodox Christian, but because I think everybody is expecting to hear something honest, vulnerable, and relatable. When speaking about my faith, I try to be thoughtful and careful with my words. After all, the faith I am part of should not be measured by me and my abundant shortcomings as a frail human being who happens to be Orthodox, but rather, be measured by the perfect completeness the ‘Faith which has established the universe’ offers creation, specifically, the crown jewel of creation: humanity. And recently, the ‘perfect completeness’ was manifested in the most unique and beautiful way.

Last weekend my parish family buried a local pillar of Orthodoxy; June Bagby. There are many things I could say about June, and many stories to share. Like me, June was not a perfect soul, but she loved the Lord with all her heart and wasn’t shy about encouraging those around her to love Him too, especially children. In my opinion, she had the gift of tears, both in the spirit of repentance, and in the joy of the resurrection. This may sound odd to many, but her funeral was so joyful. Certainly, tears were shed losing a loved one so abruptly. Though I heard many say something along the lines of, “June lived for her death.” In Orthodoxy, death isn’t anything to be feared, because we have the hope and faith in Jesus Christ and His crushing of death.

Just as my parents did with me, I took my daughter Zoë to the funeral; it was her second funeral to attend in her short little life, but her first Orthodox funeral. I can imagine the concept of death is damn near impossible to make sense of for a four-year-old. During the service I was met with questions like, “Is she sleeping?” and “Will she wake up?” I even received feedback from Zoë about the “special bed” being nice because it had a lid. Standing there in the Church with my daughter, singing the hymns of Divine Liturgy, followed by the Funeral was so grace filled, so healing, and so necessary.

In the West, and in our secularized society, funerals are often sad, hopeless affairs. Many opt for cremation and “celebrations of life,” rather than funerals. Death has become sterile, avoided and taboo. It has become selfish and prideful.

Not in Orthodoxy. Orthodoxy looks death in the face and deals with it. We don’t sterilize it and ignore it. The Orthodox funeral service is so therapeutic; so sobering, and so inspiring. The focus is not the eulogy, just like the focus of the Divine Liturgy is not the sermon. Zoë and I stood there singing and praying.

Throughout the service, I’d bend down and do my best to explain to Zoë what is going on; what’s being said, and what it means. And as per usual, I gently directed her when to make the sign of the cross, when to bow her head when a blessing was given and giving her a heads up when we could respond “Amen.”

At the end of the funeral in the Orthodox Church, every person has the opportunity to pay final respects – in Orthodoxy, however, we give the last kiss. That’s right. We kiss the deceased with our lips, to venerate him or her for the last time. After the final kiss, more prayers are said, the body is blessed, and the casket is closed. The casket is then reverently escorted out of the Church while the congregation sings, “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal; Have mercy on us.” How profound! We pray for mercy, which, in greek is a VERY BIG word, encompassing great meaning. Mercy is healing, renewal, grace, compassion, charity, comfort, etc. How profound to pray such a prayer while our deceased loved one is being taken from the Church to the cemetery! How healing! How appropriate!

When we arrived at the cemetery, the closed casket was presented to all. Zoë pointed to the casket and asked, “Is June still in there?” I knelt in the grass to get to her level and responded, “Yes sweetheart, she is. Now we just have a few more things to do to help her rest until Christ comes again.” More prayers were said, and the casket and burial plot were blessed. After the graveside service concluded, the casket was carried to and placed into the vault. The vault was then transported to the plot where it was lowered into the ground. I wanted Zoë to witness all of it; She observed patiently, quietly, and with great attention, soaking it all in. As I knelt behind her, with my arms wrapped around her for comfort and security, I could only wonder what was happening in that beautiful mind of hers.

As is the Orthodox custom, after the body is put into the ground, the faithful gather around, grab a handful of dirt, and toss it into the plot where the person lay, as if to begin the process of burial. That’s exactly what Zoë and I did – we grabbed some dirt and threw it into the hole in the ground. I gave Zoë a big hug and said, “My sweetheart, I’m so proud of you. You did so well and have been so helpful. This is what we do as Orthodox Christians. This is how we show our love one last time.”

She looked at me and asked, “Daddy, will you die?” I looked her in the eyes, took a deep breath, and gently said, “Yes. Everybody will die someday. And someday you will throw dirt on me just like we did for June, and for many others who we love.” We held hands and walked to the car.

Immediately following the funeral was a baptism back at the Church. Talk about a shift! That’s right, a baptism of an adorable little baby being enlisted as a warrior for Christ. Now, Zoë was very much looking forward to the baptism, because she absolutely LOVES babies, and loves Church. Combine the two and Zoë is there. The baptism was beautiful. Like the funeral, the Baptism is very honest about the reality of life, death, and salvation; the services are honest about the reality of good and evil, of light and of darkness; they acknowledge, candidly, the battlefield of life on earth and the need for Christ yesterday, today, and forever. Because the fact is: we cannot do it on our own. I cannot. Plain and simple.

As I reflect on the dynamic of the day, I can’t help but find the absolute normality of it all. Where there’s death, there’s life. Where there’s a funeral, there’s a baptism. In both instances the Church militant and triumphant celebrated a victory. In both instances, mercy was being prayed for. In the same day, two different people crossed a threshold from the material to the immaterial; and met Christ face to face.

As Saint John Chrysostom says in his Paschal Homily, which is read during every Pascha (Easter) service, “O Death, where is your sting? O Hell, where is your victory? Christ is risen, and you are overthrown. Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen. Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice. Christ is risen, and life reigns. Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in the grave. For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep.”

These words of hope and celebration ring in my ear as I consider what I told my daughter in the cemetery, “Someday you will throw dirt on me.” And because of that reality, I’m an Orthodox Christian. I am an Orthodox Christian because the Orthodox Church teaches us how to pray, how to grieve, how to heal, and how to hope; it teaches us, and gives us wholeness; it possesses, understands, and pours out insane amounts of Grace and Mercy. Whether you are in the womb or in the tomb, and at every moment in between, the Church is there praying, “Kyrie Eleison” / “Lord, Have Mercy.” How comforting. How healing. How beautiful.

I’m Michael. I am an Orthodox Christian. And someday, you will throw dirt on me.