I continue my slow progress through Brian Doyle’s wonderful book, Eight Whopping Lies. My most recent essay was entitled, “The Viewing.” I have learned that I don’t really know what Doyle is going to do in an essay. Clearly, I know what the word, viewing, means. But I had no idea what I was going to be looking at---viewing. It turns out, we are heading to the chapel.
I appreciate the way Doyle develops a story that usually takes only a couple of pages to establish, embellish and teach me something. Doyle begins this story in a way that makes me feel like I joined the story in the middle. “We walked into the chapel at dusk last night, and there she was, in the casket off to the left, with her son standing sentinel.” It turns out the son is a priest. Again, we are back into the middle of a Catholic story. I like this because it helps me understand all my Catholic friends.
Doyle continues to describe in juicy detail all that one views. He describes how the older men come to view the now dead woman and then approach the priest-son to offer their condolences. The men grasp the priest’s hands differently than the women do. I never thought about that kind of detail. Doyle names this kind of thing a “paternal and protective gesture.”
Once again, the rosary makes the story. All I can conclude is somehow the rosary is an important part of the greater Catholic story for Doyle. As a non-Catholic, the rosary had no significance to me. I am glad to be instructed. Apparently, it is normal for a deceased Catholic to be buried with a rosary. In this case Doyle tells us “A pink glass rosary was wrapped around her hands.” We learn this woman had prayed the rosary from the time she was three years old. It was part of her very soul. Comically, yet seriously I’m sure, Doyle comments, “I believe you can pray the rosary even if you no longer know what the word rosary means.”
The priest-son moves slowly to the casket and then the front of the chapel. He would lead the final service for his mother. This is a touching scene. Doyle develops this part of his story very deliberately. He intersperses the details with Old Testament passages. As the priest moves ever so slowly, Doyle also adds phrases from various Psalms to continue Doyle’s viewing of the whole scene. One such verses says, “We will run and not get weary” comes from Isaiah 40:31.
Doyle talks about how the priest will not be buried with his family. Instead he will be laid to rest among all the other fellow priests. Then Doyle adds his last biblical quotation” “I know you, I will call you each by name,” which comes from Isaiah. And then Doyle shares his last sentence of the essay. “I pray with all my heart that this is so, and bless myself with water from the baptistery, and slip out of the chapel to be with my wife and children while yet we live; while we yet live.”
I was captivated by this last phrase---while yet we live. I am fascinated by his contrasting this phrase with his deliberate narrating the story about a context of death---the death of the woman. Her life is finished; we have time, time while yet we live. The question is obvious: how will we live the time we have left? This could be a way to prompt us to think about our legacy. When our time of living has expired and folks are at our viewing, what will be their conversation? What kind of stories will they be recounting? Will our lives be told with smiles and laughter or will folks remember us as serious and no fun at all? No doubt, for most of us, it will be a combination of many things.
However, I was not moved in this direction as I pondered the four words---while yet we live. I took the first person plural of this phrase---Doyle says, “we,” instead of “I.” As he slips out of the chapel that night, he does not go off to think deep thoughts and philosophize about life. Instead, he mentions his wife and kids. He is off to be with them. To this I probably would add friends and others with whom I want to spend time.
He reminds me that life---real life---is communal. We are not meant to spend our lives in a solitary state. As an introvert, I know how important some alone time is for me. But I don’t want to be alone all the time. We are social beings. We need each other and, I would add, need God. That is where our authentic life will be spent. It is good to gather and remember those among us who have died. But we bury them and then return to the one and only life we have.
We all have some living to do, before we die. Our time is spent with others and not in the casket. That time will come. But don’t squander the precious time you have before that final viewing. Maybe that is Doyle’ real magic in this story. I wonder if there is a role for viewing that comes before the viewing in the casket? Maybe we are supposed to learn to view our lives in their proper place---with and among others.
Perhaps we are to view with care to see if we are loving, attentive and supportive of those in our lives? After all, authentic life is probably more quality than quantity. That is the best way to view it---while yet we live.
I appreciate the way Doyle develops a story that usually takes only a couple of pages to establish, embellish and teach me something. Doyle begins this story in a way that makes me feel like I joined the story in the middle. “We walked into the chapel at dusk last night, and there she was, in the casket off to the left, with her son standing sentinel.” It turns out the son is a priest. Again, we are back into the middle of a Catholic story. I like this because it helps me understand all my Catholic friends.
Doyle continues to describe in juicy detail all that one views. He describes how the older men come to view the now dead woman and then approach the priest-son to offer their condolences. The men grasp the priest’s hands differently than the women do. I never thought about that kind of detail. Doyle names this kind of thing a “paternal and protective gesture.”
Once again, the rosary makes the story. All I can conclude is somehow the rosary is an important part of the greater Catholic story for Doyle. As a non-Catholic, the rosary had no significance to me. I am glad to be instructed. Apparently, it is normal for a deceased Catholic to be buried with a rosary. In this case Doyle tells us “A pink glass rosary was wrapped around her hands.” We learn this woman had prayed the rosary from the time she was three years old. It was part of her very soul. Comically, yet seriously I’m sure, Doyle comments, “I believe you can pray the rosary even if you no longer know what the word rosary means.”
The priest-son moves slowly to the casket and then the front of the chapel. He would lead the final service for his mother. This is a touching scene. Doyle develops this part of his story very deliberately. He intersperses the details with Old Testament passages. As the priest moves ever so slowly, Doyle also adds phrases from various Psalms to continue Doyle’s viewing of the whole scene. One such verses says, “We will run and not get weary” comes from Isaiah 40:31.
Doyle talks about how the priest will not be buried with his family. Instead he will be laid to rest among all the other fellow priests. Then Doyle adds his last biblical quotation” “I know you, I will call you each by name,” which comes from Isaiah. And then Doyle shares his last sentence of the essay. “I pray with all my heart that this is so, and bless myself with water from the baptistery, and slip out of the chapel to be with my wife and children while yet we live; while we yet live.”
I was captivated by this last phrase---while yet we live. I am fascinated by his contrasting this phrase with his deliberate narrating the story about a context of death---the death of the woman. Her life is finished; we have time, time while yet we live. The question is obvious: how will we live the time we have left? This could be a way to prompt us to think about our legacy. When our time of living has expired and folks are at our viewing, what will be their conversation? What kind of stories will they be recounting? Will our lives be told with smiles and laughter or will folks remember us as serious and no fun at all? No doubt, for most of us, it will be a combination of many things.
However, I was not moved in this direction as I pondered the four words---while yet we live. I took the first person plural of this phrase---Doyle says, “we,” instead of “I.” As he slips out of the chapel that night, he does not go off to think deep thoughts and philosophize about life. Instead, he mentions his wife and kids. He is off to be with them. To this I probably would add friends and others with whom I want to spend time.
He reminds me that life---real life---is communal. We are not meant to spend our lives in a solitary state. As an introvert, I know how important some alone time is for me. But I don’t want to be alone all the time. We are social beings. We need each other and, I would add, need God. That is where our authentic life will be spent. It is good to gather and remember those among us who have died. But we bury them and then return to the one and only life we have.
We all have some living to do, before we die. Our time is spent with others and not in the casket. That time will come. But don’t squander the precious time you have before that final viewing. Maybe that is Doyle’ real magic in this story. I wonder if there is a role for viewing that comes before the viewing in the casket? Maybe we are supposed to learn to view our lives in their proper place---with and among others.
Perhaps we are to view with care to see if we are loving, attentive and supportive of those in our lives? After all, authentic life is probably more quality than quantity. That is the best way to view it---while yet we live.
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