Memento Mori from 40,000 Feet
The First Friday Five
Every time I step foot on an airplane I assume it’s the last thing I’m going to do. Yep, I just assume that flying tin can is going to nosedive into the earth.
I know that’s dark.
I don’t like flying. It’s just not… natural. If God wanted us flying around the skies like maniacs he would have given us wings. Yes, yes, I know that when that logic is applied to all sorts of other things my argument becomes absurd. Whatever.
I’m not even a nervous flyer; I just get anxious about flying. Once I’m in my seat, I really don’t think about much of anything else other than my in-flight activities, which today includes getting some work done, a little writing, and (hopefully) watching Tottenham beat Fulham in the second round of the Carabao Cup.
Update: They lost.
And don’t go on thinking that I’m a pessimist—I also think I’ve bought the winning lottery ticket every time I play.
Not sure what that says about me.
“Nothing good,” my cousin Daniel joked as I explained this to him.
He’s probably right.
Anyways, the gift of flying is that it has become a sort of memento mori activity (latin: remember you must die).
I vividly remember the moment I became aware of my mortality. I couldn’t have been more than 5, and we lived in an old house on the edge of a cemetery in Sycamore, Illinois. I’m not quite sure what brought about this sudden realization that I and all the people I knew would someday die, but it felt like it hit me all at once. What I do remember is that I sat sobbing at the bottom of the stairs as my mom tried to comfort me. She told me about heaven, and I told her that whenever death does come, I hope it comes quickly.
In adulthood, and especially since having kids, my view of death and suffering has changed quite a bit. I don’t necessarily hope for a long, agonizing death—that would be rather dark, I think—but I do hope that I’m prepared. I’d much rather have a sense that it was coming than for it happen suddenly. My mother died of cancer while I was in high school. While I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, I am grateful for the letters she was able to write me during the year she was receiving treatment. My dad gave them to me over the next few years on important occasions, and I have really come to see the gift that it was to receive some wisdom that my mom was able to distill before she passed. It has inspired me to write letters to Jack and Bennett each week in my journal.
The reality is that we generally don’t have much control over how we go out; thus, memento mori activities that call to mind our own death become important. It’s overwhelming to think about our own utter contingency, but it also brings a sense of clarity, too. What’s important suddenly rises to the surface, and all those daily anxieties seem to sink away. It makes it easier to forgive and ask for forgiveness, and it’s a good reminder to say out loud those things you think you’ll have time to say later.
The Friday Five…
So that brings me to my first Friday Five. Oftentimes, I come across articles or links or other resources that I’d like to share, but don’t fit within any of my planned posts. This is an outlet to share those resources and shorter, less developed reflections.
Let me know what you think…
1. Memento mori activity: Visiting cemeteries to wash old gravestones and pray for the dead.
A friend recently told me that growing up his dad would take him to clean old tombstones and pray for the dead at cemeteries.
Now that’s a memento mori activity.
There’s something really beautiful about not knowing the person whose tombstone you’re cleaning. What a great way to teach a child about serving others no matter whether you think they’re deserving of it.
2. Understanding the Dog-Headed Icon of St-Christopher by Jonathan Pageau.
I wear a St. Christopher medallion necklace since he was my confirmation saint (a helpful patron saint for one nervous about flying). Jack recently asked me about this so we went to Google for some more information.
Jack was immediately drawn to the icons of St. Christopher that portray him as having a dog’s head. Not quite remembering why he’s portrayed this way, we searched a bit more and came across this Jonathan Pageau article. I don’t know much about Pageau, but the stuff I have read has been very interesting.
3. August has been for angels. Next month we’re hosting dinner for some friends from church on the Feast day of the Archangels St. Michael, St. Gabriel, and St. Raphael (September 29th). Then a few days later is the Memorial of the Guardian Angels (October 2nd). Our goal is to celebrate at least one feast day each month as a family to stay tuned-in to the liturgical calendar and teach our children about the various saints, church history, etc. etc.
If you’re interested in what I’ve been reading and listening to as I prepare for this feast day (and the corresponding post)…
Angels and Their Mission: According to the Fathers of the Church by Jean Danielou. S/o to Steve Knepper for the recommendation. The chapter on guardian angels is worth the price of the book.
A quick note about those podcast episodes: They had interesting parts, but I found them frustrating. One of the hosts argued for naming your guardian angel (or discerning your guardian angel’s name) as a means for greater devotion or something. Terrible idea. There’s a pretty strong tradition (and very good reasons) for not naming one’s guardian angels. Just don’t do it. Fortunately one of the other hosts challenged him on this, but I wish they had edited it out altogether.
4. P.S. 51 to the End by Paul Hundt in the latest issue of The Lamp.
It’s a moving article about loneliness and friendship that nearly brought me to tears on the plane.
As an aside: Turns out that getting emotional and then writing a post about planes nosediving is a great way to make those around you nervous.
Unfortunately, you have to be a subscriber to read the article—personally, I think it’s worth it.
5. This passage from Dante’s Inferno as Dante advances into the 5th circle of hell and encounters “the souls of those whom anger overthrew” (Canto 7, 115)…
So, stuck there fast in slime, they hum: “Mournful
we were. Sunlight rejoices in the balmy air.
We, though, within ourselves nursed sullen fumes,
and come to misery in this black ooze.”
That is the hymn each gurgles in his gorge, unable to articulate a single phrase.’
Canto 7, 121-126
It’s one of those passages I just can’t shake—probably because anger is something I’ve wrestled with for most of my life. What an intense visual of what anger and wrath does to one’s soul!
So, I’ve arrived back home safely.
Let me know what you think of this new series. If you end up finding one of the resources helpful, let me know!