TIME & MORTALITY

My father, Sherry Bell, Sheridan Watson Bell, Jr., died twenty-six years ago this October 30 --about seven weeks before his 74^th birthday. His funeral was on November 1, 1982... All Saints Day.

Late this morning I attended the funeral of a twenty-eight year old co-worker, who died of liver failure. Her age made it particularly sad, more so than Adam K’s grandmother's funeral the week before. Of course, in the larger scheme of things – in geological time— there’s not really much difference between 28 years, 82 years, or two months.

I recall an incident regarding time when I was six. I went with Daddy on a call to the Dauphin County Home. I stayed in the car. He said he would be a ‘minute.’ It was probably closer to half an hour. The next week I was walking to school with my sister Cynthia. As we passed the McFarland Rose Garden, she said to hurry up or we'd be late. We had only two minutes. I said we had plenty of time.

What is time? What is life? ……What is death?

We spend our days and minutes, indeed our lives, reflecting constant past, projecting constant future-- the present never really is. But in another sense, all that really is, is Eternal Now.

As a P.K. (Preacher's Kid) son and grandson of Methodist ministers, and great-great-great grandson of an 18th Century Methodist circuit rider on my mother's side, I grew up in the Church. But as some of my Jewish friends consider themselves atheist or at least agnostic— and real Jews; so it was with me as a "cultural Christian." For years I spent more time in church than the rest of my family. That was because I was a professional singer— a music mercenary. I loved the liturgy and music for its own sake. I wasn't certain there was any substance. Oh sure, religion attempted to answer some questions and to provide meaning for existence, but I had doubts about the ability of organized religion to address these issues in any authentic way. I was still left with the question: "How do you explain God?"

My Father was a wise man. He knew I was searching--that was all that mattered.

After exploration of other traditions--especially Buddhist and Vedantic— I have let myself be open to experience the validity of my own western religious background. The basic problem with religion is that it is essentially non-verbal. As soon as I attempt to describe religious experience, I face the limitations of language itself. Yet I have come to believe that the great religions of the world are repositories of religious truth— it isn't on the surface-- most people never find it— and those who do are usually rejected by society at large. It is the task and the joy of some in each generation to peal away the layers of the onion. As some have said, "All paths lead to the top of the mountain." Or others," All wells—if deep enough— reach the under-ground spring." The important task is to choose a path and follow it, or start digging a well. I believe (in the Greek sense of the verb in the creed— I have let myself be still in order to experience) that there is a God, a Creator of all life, who loves his Creation. In time all Creation (vegetable, mineral as well as animal) will be redeemed.

This acceptance has been an evolution for me. At one time I was convinced that life was but a cruel joke and that it would be far better to get over with it. (When I was a child I became extremely agitated by suspense in TV or movies. Over the years my reactions have been a source of amusement for my friends. Even today, with a rented video [or now with DVDs], I sometimes fast-forward during the suspenseful parts. When I know what's going to happen, I can look at it without embarrassing myself. It is a fear of the unknown. Perhaps that same fear played an element in my junior year college crisis. While I fancied myself a nihilist, I was afraid of death; but, as it was the only certainty, why not embrace it?)

The idea that spiritual consciousness might evolve— that my consciousness evolves— that Jesus' (Joshua ben Joseph's) spiritual consciousness evolved was a concept that opened possibilities for religious faith. The very aspects about the movie and book The Last Temptation of Christ that were so offensive to some Fundamentalists are the very ones which appeal to me. That Jesus at the outset of the movie screamed he was a sinner, and heard voices (depicted a little like Jeanne d'Arc's voices) suggested that there was an evolution in Jesus' consciousness. (Can you imagine anything more blasphemous to a devout Jew of the First Century than voices proclaiming you to be the Son of God? No wonder he thought he was a sinner in the context of the film. Perhaps some voices were temptation in the wilderness; but others traditionally were valid). This depiction of evolution in Jesus' consciousness resonates with me. If his consciousness did not evolve, then Jesus knew in Mary's womb that he was the third part of the Trinity, Creator of the world. If he knew how things would turn out— could run the video forward, as it were, and know, really know that he would rise from the dead on the Third Day— then the Crucifixion is meaningless: no worse than going to the Dentist. Jesus had to surrender— to risk. He had to believe, but not fully know how events would resolve. He had to trust. Only then can he be a model for us: otherwise, a sovereign, perhaps; but not a model.

I have come to experience continuity. I cannot intellectually conceive of life beyond death; but as St. Paul said: "Now we see through a glass darkly, but then, face to face." I am confident that I shall. Dad related to me that he had experienced an extraordinary sense of ease at his own Father’s death. All was right. All…….is right.