Rector's Blog: Scared of Death

On my 30th birthday I attended an autopsy.

I should explain.

It was the summer of 2009 and I was working in a chaplaincy program at Washington Hospital Center in D.C. There were a group of us chaplains – all people training to become clergy in our respective traditions – participating in this program called Clinical Pastoral Education. On our first day together that summer they gave us a tour of the hospital and they started in the morgue.

This was not the autopsy. This was just them trying to haze us. They told us as much: We’ll start you in the morgue just to shake you up. We actually had to walk through a freezer lined with bagged corpses in order to see the room in which autopsies were performed. Chilling. “Any questions?” our tour guide asked. My hand shot up: “Would it be possible to witness an autopsy?”

This question was not expected.

After the tour of the hospital had concluded, our chaplain cohort gathered together back in our room to debrief. Our supervisor wasted no time. “Chaplain DeVaul, why did you ask if you could witness an autopsy?” Fair enough.

“Because I’m scared of death,” I responded. Her face told me this was not enough of an answer, so I continued: “Look, I’m going to spend the rest of my life proclaiming the Resurrection, and I believe in Jesus and in Heaven, but I’m still scared of death. I feel like a hypocrite.”

“And You think seeing an autopsy will help with that?”

“Well…yeah.”

In my mind, my idea wasn’t baseless. Just a little over two years prior to this moment I had watched my father die in front of me. He died suddenly, he died quite unexpectedly, and he died very literally in my arms. I remember a lot about that day, but one of the things I remember most clearly is how in the moments and days that followed, I was not scared of death. It was not an intellectual decision to renounce fear, or some sort of philosophical conclusion: It was visceral, experiential. When I was that close to it, the fear was gone.

But in the intervening years, I had distanced myself from death as much as possible – like most of us do. Our culture is one that shies away from every aspect of death. We abhor aging. We avoid things and people that remind us of our mortality. We even use our own faith as a way to avoid thinking of the inevitability of dying.

This isn’t new. The Earliest writing in the New Testament is a letter from Paul to a community that doesn’t understand why people in their church are dying. They believe in Jesus, after all: Shouldn’t they be saved from death? And of course, Jesus’ own disciples could not be convinced that death does not have the final say until they witnessed his resurrection. He even tells them that there is no resurrection without death, but they can’t hear it. Death is big and scary and feels very final. The best thing we can hope to say to Death is “Not today,” and then place it in the back of our minds for as long as possible.

One of my mentors is fond of saying the church is in the resurrection business, but all we’re interested in is resuscitation. Incidentally, when I was working at the hospital, I learned that resuscitation of a dead body is successful roughly 11% of the time. Maybe it’s time we take resurrection seriously.

I am a Christian who is scared of death.

And back in 2009 I thought maybe seeing an autopsy would help. When I gave my explanation, two other chaplains raised their hands and said, “Actually, that makes sense. We would like to do this too if possible.” Our supervisor rolled her eyes, and reluctantly gave us permission to ask. My friend Wiley took on the responsibility of setting it up. I remember this because of what the morgue workers said when he spoke with them. They said they’d arrange for this to happen on one condition.

“What’s that?” Wiley asked.

“Pray for us,” these bastions of modern medical science requested.

“Well of course we’ll pray for you, but why?” Wiley asked.

“Because we’re all alone down here. We’re the morgue. Nobody wants to be around us or interact with us.” That blew us away. Even in the hospital, among professionals, the ones closest to death are avoided like death itself. We prayed for them every day. They told my friend they’d call us when a viewing was allowed. Several weeks passed, and I all but forgot the request. On my 30th birthday the call came, and down to the morgue we went.

I will not write about what I saw. It was too holy, and it wouldn’t feel right to describe it to you. But I will tell you that I was right there, and I will tell you that in the moments and days that followed, I was not scared of death. I felt this again several years later while holding my grandmother’s hand as she died. And again, and again as I’ve interacted with the dying and the dead in my profession as a parish priest. I still avoid it at all costs, and yet, without fail, the nearness of death dispels the fear. Somehow, I believe more and more in God each time. Again, this is not intellectual or philosophical: I experience belief more palpably in these deathly places I keep trying to avoid.

I have a friend named Toni. She is a member of Church of the Redeemer, and she is a death doula. Like the birth doulas who tend to the needs and comfort of the laboring mother, death doulas partner with someone who is dying, tending to their specific needs and recognizing the inherent dignity and beauty of their unavoidable death. How beautiful is that?

On Sunday, August 21 at 7pm she’s going to be hosting a Death Café at our church. This will be an opportunity for us to gather together and talk about death. You are probably thinking of how to avoid this. I don’t blame you. But I invite you to join us just the same: Because if you’re willing to stay put when death comes near, you will be surprised by how the fear dissipates. You will be surprised by joy as you reflect on the life you have, the life you love, the life that is to come. You may be a Christian who is scared of death, but deep down you know there’s more to life than resuscitation. You’re a resurrection person after all.