Blessing the Dead

When I lived in China, I saw a man at night sitting cross-legged in the middle of a city street, in front of a pile of burning play-money. He head was bowed, his eyes were downcast. It was explained to me that Chinese people sometimes do this when they miss loved-ones who have died. They burn play-money in the hope that it will bring to the dead a measure of luxury in the world to which they have passed.

Maybe God blesses those actions like prayers, done with love and longing.

Because the Bible shows that ministry to the dead is possible. In 1 Corinthians 15:29, Paul talks about receiving baptism on behalf of the dead. In 1 Peter 3:18-20, Peter talks about Jesus preaching to the dead, to those who "in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah." (NRSV.)

1. An overlooked ministry?

I wonder if ministry to the dead is an overlooked ministry. There might be a couple of reasons for this.

It might be because of a sense of helplessness after death: the dead are gone, beyond help. And, in fact, the story of poor Lazarus and the rich man adds to that sense of helplessness. The rich man enjoyed luxury while he lived. But after his death, in Hades, he pleads with Abraham to let blessed Lazarus to dip his fingers in water and put a few drops on the rich man’s tongue to help his suffering. Abraham says that it cannot be done, because they are separated by a chasm that cannot be crossed. (Luke 16:19-30.) Like many parts of the Bible, I don’t know how to reconcile the story of Lazarus and the rich man with 1 Corinthians and 1 Peter.

But more and more, I don’t try. 1 Corinthians and 1 Peter give me hope that when I pray for my parents twice a day, those prayers have an effect. And I hope that I have fruitful prayers for my grandparents, and for my Danish aunt, and for my Wisconsin aunt’s departed husband, and for others who have passed from life.

To some, ministry to the dead makes no sense because of the modern preaching about almost universal salvation, at least among Christians. The idea is that when someone dies, of course they are welcomed into heaven. It’s not that the dead are beyond help; it’s that they don’t need help.

2. A ministry of grace.

But I don’t subscribe to this recent trend in thinking about God. In my wiser moments, I have no sense of any guarantee of my spot in the New Jerusalem. I have a hope, not a irrevocable entry-visa into heaven. Likewise, I don’t take salvation for granted for those who have died.

I think that judgment will come; I hope in God’s grace for myself, which I will need if I am to live forever in the presence of God. Also, I knew my parents; I know something of their faults and of their need for grace. My parents and I are not unlike others.

I also have a dim understanding of the vastness of God’s grace. It may be that when I pray, I bring this grace to bear upon those whom I pray for. So when I pray for the dead, I participate in God’s mercy. It might be that my prayers for the dead are prayers to carry out God’s will. That’s a good thing.

If prayer itself, which we are directed to persist in, has any effect, I cannot see why this kind of prayer would not be pleasing to God. I cannot see why God would not want me to dedicate some daily time to help to bring about the salvation of those who no longer have the power to add to the story of their lives: my family, my friends, strangers, and enemies.

3. The rightness of this ministry.

With respect to my parents and my grandparents and my ancestors generally, it seems right for me to pray for them. I live and have a hope of eternal joy because of them. They gave me life, they and God. If my grandparents took care of my parents when my parents were helpless and could not care for themselves, and if my parents took care of me when I was helpless and could not care for myself, it’s right for me to minister to them now that they are beyond, it seems, helping themselves. It’s a way that I can return love for love, care for care, duty for duty.

Certainly, we serve God in our occupations and in our actions toward family and friends. And many have other ministries: ministries to the homeless; ministries of evangelism; infinite ministries to serve an infinite God.

But certainly ministry to the dead counts with God. And it gives us a sense of being able to help those who otherwise are beyond our love, those with whom we might in some way have had broken relationships, those whom we might have wounded in their time of life.

4. Prayers for the dead at Riverside National Cemetery.

I’ve felt moved to pray for the dead at the Riverside National Cemetery. I remember them, or I try to, like my parents, twice a day. It is not a long prayer.

Sometimes I’ve gone to the cemetery to pray.

It’s a new ministry. I find that my prayers evolve, so I don’t know the shape that my prayers will take in the future. Now, I pray for all of the dead at Riverside National Cemetery collectively. At one time I asked God to focus my prayers on those who had no-one else to pray for them; but I don’t do that any more.

I have wondered whether I should each week find a grave and pray particularly for that person. Or whether I should find one grave, and make it my ministry to pray for him or her long term. Like I say, my prayer ministry for the dead is evolving.

5. Feelings in common, common fates.

I wish comfort and peace on the Chinese who burn play-money for their departed loved-ones. We share in our common humanity a longing for the welfare of those we miss.

I hope in my salvation and in the salvation of those that I pray for. In this ministry, our salvations have become, or continue to be, bound together.