We are just over halfway through the season of Lent. Some people profess to enjoy Lent—if you don’t believe me, do a Google search for “enjoy Lent” and see all the sermons and blogs and devotionals extolling or encouraging enjoyment of this season. Many others would say they appreciate Lent, whether as a time of theological reflection or liturgical discipline or personal restraint or meditative quiet. I don’t doubt their enjoyment or appreciation, but my own experience of this Lenten season has been haphazard and resistant. My woeful attempts at fasting fell apart almost immediately. I have not felt inclined toward restraint and reflection after living through nearly a year of restraint and limitation. I have been very bad at Lent.
But I do have one Lenten practice this year that has brought me immense joy and that I highly commend: I bought a lair!
If you are unfamiliar with a Scottish lair, it is a plot in the graveyard where you can be buried. These are managed by the local councils, and you purchase a certificate that entitles you to be buried in the plot that you’ve chosen. I am endlessly delighted that it is called a lair, and I have enjoyed saying “I bought a lair!” while rubbing my hands together and cackling like a cartoon villain.
There are practical reasons to purchase a lair, if you want one. First, geography: this island is not getting any larger, and many graveyards are at full capacity. Second, mortality: it’s a question of when, not if, you will need a final resting place. Third, generosity: this is something you can have settled now so that it’s not left to your family and loved ones to manage after your death.
I knew I wanted a lair in this particular place from the moment I first saw it, long before I was given the kind of diagnosis that accelerates your thinking about postmortem plans. Dunino Church is a beautiful church situated in the rolling Fife fields above the Dunino Den, a magical site of ancient stone steps and carvings along a wooded burn. When I first walked the path through the churchyard on the way to explore the den, it was a sunny day and people were playing with their dogs and having picnics with their children on the grass. It was vibrant and warm and full of life and I loved it.
When I called Fife Council a few weeks ago to enquire about a lair at Dunino, they told me the churchyard itself was full, but there were still lairs available in the extension—and I could meet with Jim to pick out exactly which one I liked. On a gloriously sunny Tuesday, I met Jim at the church. Jim grew up across the street from where I live now, and he manages dozens of cemeteries and graveyards in northeast Fife. “This is one of the two prettiest graveyards in all of Fife,” he says. He steers me away from one plot I’m considering. “That area tends to get too much damp. The places over here are nicer.” He had been weeding when I arrived, and it’s clear from the tidy edging of the grass and the careful mowing around small pots of flowers that he takes care with this place.
I select my plot, and Jim calls the council office to make sure it’s available. While we’re waiting, he says, “I love being here when you can hear the birds singing. Last week we had a funeral and a robin came and sat on the coffin during the whole graveside service. Just sat there! And when we started to leave, it flew up into the tree and started chirping. It was really something.”
My plot secured, Jim and I head up to the parking lot, where several groups of hikers are tightening the laces on their boots and deciding how many layers they’ll need to walk down in the den and along the burn. I love my new lair. I love how beautiful and spiritual the place is. I love how full of life it is, with hikers and picnickers and wedding parties and spiritual seekers. I love knowing Jim, the person who cares for this physical space. I love that I can enjoy it now, and I pray for many years, before I need it to hold a coffin.
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. My Lenten practice was making plans for that return to dust.
What better time than during Lent to make sure that you have made some practical preparations for your death? What do you want to happen to your body after death? I understand the impulse a) to not want to think about it and b) to avoid thinking about it by saying, “I don’t care! I won’t know anyway!” But that just defers that decision to your loved ones, adding to the burden they will already shoulder during that time. Communicate your preferences about a funeral or memorial service. Do your estate planning. (I can recommend wonderful estate planners in Fife and in North Carolina—ask me if you want recommendations!) I failed at fasting this Lent, but I did get my Scottish will and powers of attorney settled.
Perhaps this was the Lenten preparation I needed this year, and it has brought a measure of joy at having these things sorted and settled, a sense of relief at removing this strain of decision-making for my loved ones in the future, a dose of gratitude for getting the lair I want. Perhaps I can appreciate Lent after all.
The Terrifying Yes
Friday, March 25 was the Feast of the Annunciation. I have been a Baptist (or Baptist-adjacent) my entire life, but I have to say to my fellow Baptist (and Baptist-adjacent) friends that we are missing out on some great stuff in the Christian tradition, and the Feast of the Annunciation might be at the top of that list.
I won’t do a crash course here on this feast day, which commemorates the appearance of the Angel Gabriel to Mary to announce (hence “annunciation”) that God had chosen her to be the mother of Jesus. I am of course familiar with this story—we Baptists might not do a good job with the liturgical calendar, but we did a good job teaching Bible stories! But we have tended to situate the telling of the story closer to Christmas, as if the entire sequence of events from Gabriel’s appearance through the flight to Egypt took place over a few weeks. By moving the story of the annunciation to March, we are forced to focus on this discrete part of the story of Jesus’ birth: The call of his mother and her acceptance of that call.
Facebook called the feast to my attention this year. My friend Amy Peeler posted, “Today is the Feast of the Annunciation. Celebrate the yes that changed everything!” That sentence has hung in the air around me since I saw it. Mary’s yes does not feel warm and fuzzy to me. As readers, we know what will happen because she says yes to God’s call—her fiancé will consider breaking off the engagement, she will have to give birth far from home in less-than-glamorous conditions, she will flee a murderous dictator as a refugee to another country, she will watch her son die. This is a terrifying yes.
We need the Feast of the Annunciation as part of our spiritual practice. We need reminders that women are still fleeing murderous dictators as refugees. Women are still giving birth in unsafe conditions without adequate maternal care. Too many women bury their sons who have died from violence. Mary’s yes should stir us to care and act for these women.
I admit to feeling small and scared in the face of Mary’s yes. And so here is the other reminder I need from this feast: Mary’s terrifying yes is in response to God who is with her. She trusts that strained relationships can be restored (even if it requires God to dispatch an angel to set Joseph straight). She believes that a baby born in a stable can be celebrated by an angelic choir. She accepts that a flight by night can be the path of safety for her child. She knows that her son’s violent death is not the end of the story. She says yes, in confidence that God is with her.
God is with her. God is with us. That is how and why we, like Mary, can say yes.
Some General Notes
Prayer Requests:
I won’t have additional targeted therapy, scans, or tumor marker checks for several weeks. In the meantime, pray that the treatment continues to work. Pray that my strength, balance, and mobility continue to improve. And pray for our upcoming travel to the U.S. in just over a week.
Housekeeping Notes:
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This was wonderful. When every new post arrives, I consider it my favorite . . . until the next one. Thanks for helping us remember the practicalities of being dust. Love you!
Heather, thank you for adding the appropriate weight to Mary's "yes." A powerful reflection of God's presence and our action that is possible because of that divine grace. Amen, sister!