By Sarah Haug | FāVS News Columnist
“He died.”
When talking about my father’s death 14 years ago this week, I tend to say this truth flat out, which can be startling to people accustomed to hearing “He passed on” or “He’s no longer with us.”
My father is still with us, however. Just as God is. In the Baha’i Faith, someone who dies isn’t gone. They have simply abandoned the physical garment and ascended to the spiritual world.
It’s an uplifting message, but not one we often think of as uplifting.
Do not fear death
That’s a shame because death isn’t something to fear. It means moving on to the world for which this world has been a training ground. To consider that after the death of the body the spirit perishes is like imagining that a bird in a cage will be destroyed if the cage is broken, though the bird has nothing to fear from the destruction of the cage. Our body is like the cage, and the spirit is like the bird.
What the spiritual world is like or holds for us isn’t something we can understand, any more than a child in the womb can understand the world outside. While it’s very real, it’s hidden behind a veil. We can’t touch it. We can sense it: in prayer, in nature, in a baby’s smile and any time we love another person.
George Lucas in “Star Wars” called that invisible power the Force, but we might as well call it love. Like God, it’s in everything, touches everything, binds us together and transcends the change from life to death. We can’t quantify it, hard as we try, though we can see its results.
Talking about death
Prior to becoming a Baha’i, I didn’t feel that my culture dealt with death in a particularly healthy way — and possibly endeavored never to deal with it beyond the necessary minimum. We held funerals and gave lip service to death being part of life, but people died somewhere else: in nursing homes or in hospitals, having spent their last days — or maybe years — separated from their loved ones. Death was spoken of in low voices and seen almost as the deceased’s fault, as if by living a physically pure life, it could be put off almost indefinitely.
I’m going to give a pitch for hospice here, which allowed both my parents to die at home, with family beside them. My sister was with my father in that last moment, and I was holding my mother’s hand when her soul was released from its cage and flew away.
“I have made death a messenger of joy to thee. Wherefore dost thou grieve? I made the light to shed on thee its splendor. Why dost thou veil thyself therefrom?”
Hidden Words, Arabic No. 32
The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.
This is a lovely, hopeful essay, Sara. Thank you for writing it!