Murder as the Anti-Miracle
A reflection on life and birth, death and burial, Ecclesiastes, and our awareness of these.
This week the pendulum swung heavily in both directions, more weighty than the Wonder Woman Lasso of Truth thrill ride at Six Flags. Life and death visited the family in extreme forms this past week. One life was taken and another entered the world. It was an outward expression of Ecclesiastes 3:2, and I could hear the Byrds singing it throughout that time.
עֵת לָלֶדֶת, וְעֵת לָמוּת, “a time to be born, a time to die…” - Ecclesiastes 3:2
We are reminded of what a miracle life is when a new one enters the world. What wasn’t there nine months prior now is here among us. This is indeed something miraculous. In theological terms, it is a mystery. By the term mystery, I do not mean a puzzle to be solved by Sherlock Homes or in the game Clue; by mystery, I mean how that which we do not know is nonetheless experienced by us. Sure, we know of the biological processes that go into life formation—the so-called birds and the bees and all that—but the fact that this process happens and results in a world of personality, relationship, emotions, and marks the course of our collective history is a powerful joy to contemplate and experience.
Then of course there is death. Death signals the end of the physical process of life. It is the build-in end to the cycle of life that begins at conception and proceeds until its end, ceasing in its motion until the body decays. Even the end of the natural cycle is a reminder of the miracle of life. And yet, not all deaths occur within their own natural order.
Murder is an enterprise that humans have engaged in since our beginning. But it is an affront to life. It is a reprehensible act where one disregards the image and likeness of God in one’s neighbor and destroys it. Murder is an anti-miracle. The suffering those endure who are left behind is the inverse of the blessed joy celebrated at birth.
Yesterday the family laid the body of one life to rest and welcomed another into the world. Somewhere in between on this journey we direct less attention to the miracle of life and our own mortality. Maybe we should be more reverent of the mysteries we encounter. In that way, maybe we can more easily celebrate our natural end than grieve when when it is taken.
Much love and prayer to all those who read this, whether I know you or not. And may I, a weak and sinful servant be helped and spared by your prayers. Pray for me, always.