Blessed By Rituals of Remembrance

I’ve been experiencing a season of remembrance. It started when Perry family members gathered at my home on Mother’s Day. My sister-in-law Johanne showed up wearing what she wears every year on this occasion: colorful homemade necklaces–gifts created by her four children when they were young. Each time I see those necklaces adorning Johanne’s neck, I get a lump in my throat. This is a ritual of remembrance: a mother remembering her children who honored her with their simple gifts.

We have many rituals of remembrance–acts and traditions that honor people we love who have died or have blessed our lives in some way. From the solemn ceremony of a funeral service, to the quiet but intensely personal tradition of wearing necklaces, these rituals differ from person to person, from family to family, and by religion, culture, or country, but they all serve an important purpose.

Rituals help us acknowledge that the loss of someone dear to us has actually occurred. This is a vital component of the healing process. These traditions may feel painful, bittersweet, or sweet, and those feelings may gradually shift through the years as the passage of time softens the ache. Importantly, these rituals reinforce the truth that our loved ones, or others whose lives have impacted ours for good, will never be forgotten.

Two weeks after my Mother’s Day gathering came Memorial Day, another ritual of remembrance. I strolled with my family through the nearby cemetery where many of my husband’s relatives are buried. We all know the routine by now: We start at the graves of my Brad’s parents and maternal grandparents, placing flowers by the gray headstones as we picture the beloved faces of those who have passed away. By the time we meander south across the long stretch of grass to the graves of my husband’s paternal grandparents, we’re usually joined by many Christofferson siblings and their families.

Continuing our circle around the cemetery grounds, we decorate the gravesites of great- aunts and uncles, and we always make certain to stop at the grave of Margaret Christine Holm Evans, the seventh wife of Brad’s maternal great-great-grandfather. We figure that any seventh wife deserves flowers. Finally, we stand at the headstones of paternal great-grandparents.

This year our walk through the cemetery was particularly poignant, as we visited two new family graves. Last December, we lost a brother-in-law and a newborn great-niece. There was something so sacred about standing over their fresh gravesites and letting the tears flow in this tender ritual of remembrance. I was comforted a few days later to hear someone on my temple shift declare that “Every day is Memorial Day at the temple,” as we perform sacred ordinances for loved ones who have passed away.

During the two weeks following Memorial Day, I attended funerals and viewings for three neighbors and one relative–more rituals of remembrance. Each of these events stirred my heart as I felt both the love and the sorrow of family and friends who honored the lives of those who had died. A few days after the last funeral, my friend Roxanne invited me to go walking in the cemetery where it was shady and quiet. Early on a misty, overcast morning we strolled along the paths surrounding hundreds of marked graves.

It seemed natural to “introduce” my friend to my husband’s relatives as we passed the areas where they are buried. After I had pointed out several headstones and shared tidbits of family history, Roxanne shared a beautiful way her husband’s family remembers their loved ones.

Two years ago, Roxanne’s brother-in-law, Nile, lost his battle with depression. His parents, Taylor and Gail, were out of town at the time of his sudden death, and Nile’s body was cremated before they were able to see him. This was extremely distressing to his parents because they didn’t have the chance to say goodbye–to have closure. Gail later confided to her daughter, Wendy, “I’m not sure what to do with Nile’s box of ashes.” She yearned for a place she could go to mourn and remember her son.

Less than two weeks later, a second tragedy rocked the Thaynes when Taylor and Gail’s grandson, Eli, lost his own battle with depression. The entire family reeled with their double losses. Eli’s mother, Wendy, had a grave for her son, but Gail didn’t have one for hers. Then Wendy had a lovely idea. She suggested that the family could create a memorial garden for Nile in her parents’ yard.

Siblings, in-laws, and grandchildren came together to build a pathway leading from the Thayne home toward the border of the yard where they moved in boulders and trees, erected a small wooden pergola, and planted flowers. In their grief, they experienced a new closeness as they united to create a peaceful space to sit and pray and think of their departed loved ones–a healing ritual of remembrance.

Remembering loved ones we have lost can make us tender.

I was a young missionary serving in Washington D.C. when I first experienced the solemn awe of Arlington National Cemetery. Decades later, I can still feel the profound reverence that flowed through me as I gazed out over acres and acres of green grass dotted with the graves of “more than 400,000 active-duty service members, veterans, and their families.” (1)  Each simple white headstone represented sacrifice and loss–the dreadful price of freedom. Observing the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was a powerful ritual of remembrance.

After I married, the sacrifices made for my freedom felt very personal as my husband shared the story of his uncle, David Wallace Christofferson, who joined the military at age 20, serving in World War II. David was only 22 years old–a gunner on a B29 bomber–when his plane went down over a branch of the Ganges River in India. My father-in-law was just turning 18 when he received the news of his brother’s death. Imagining his family’s shock and grief has deepened my appreciation for those who gave their all, as well as those who must live with the loss. It is a privilege each Memorial Day to place flowers on David’s grave marker.

Remembering those who sacrificed to preserve our freedom can make us grateful.

On the ring finger of my mother’s right hand is a simple gold band. She calls it her CTR ring because it reminds her of her mother and grandmother, the two faithful women who previously wore it. Each time she notices the ring, she is motivated to follow the path of righteousness these stalwart ladies walked before her. It is a small but significant ritual of remembrance.

Whether we have pioneer ancestors or not, we can be inspired as we remember people who have blazed a trail for us through their hard work, sacrifices, and faithful examples. I recently discovered that my neighbor, Irene, is a descendant of Amanda Barnes Smith, a pioneer woman I have admired since I first read her story as a teenager. When I expressed admiration for this woman, Irene told me that she has been strengthened her whole life by stories of Amanda’s courage and faith.

“Amanda Barnes Smith tragically lost a husband and a son in the Haun’s Mill massacre. She [was] miraculously inspired to know how to save another of her sons who had also been a victim of the violent attack. [For five weeks] after the tragic event, the women who remained [at Haun’s Mill] were continually harassed by the Missourians. Still, as illustrated by one of Amanda’s personal accounts, she found strength and courage through Jesus Christ.

One day a mobber came from the mill with the captain’s [decree]: “The captain says if you women don’t stop your d—d praying he will send down a posse to kill every d—d one of you!” And he might as well have done it, as to stop us poor women praying in that hour of our great calamity. Our prayers were hushed in terror. We dared not let our voices be heard in the house in supplication. I could pray in my bed or in silence, but I could not live thus long. This godless silence was more intolerable than had been the night of the massacre.

I could bear it no longer. I pined to hear once more my own voice in petition to my Heavenly Father. I stole down into a cornfield, and crawled into a “stout of corn.” It was the temple of the Lord to me at that moment. I prayed aloud and most fervently.

When I emerged from the corn a voice spoke to me. It was a voice as plain as I ever heard one. It was no silent, strong impression of the spirit, but a voice, repeating a verse of the saint’s hymn:

The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I will not, I cannot desert to its foes;
That soul though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake! (2)

From that moment I had no more fear. I felt that nothing could hurt me.” (3) 

Remembering ancestors/pioneers who have courageously blazed a trail for us can make us brave.

Our most important rituals of remembrance center around Jesus Christ. Partaking of the sacrament is not only a ritual–it is an ordinance, one that we may participate in every seven days; one that has the power to change us as we approach it with sincere intent.

Because this ordinance is available to us so frequently, we run the risk of allowing it to become commonplace–a passive habit, much like tying our shoes or brushing our teeth. We have performed these acts thousands of times, so they require no thought or conscious effort. How tragic if the sacred ordinance of the sacrament becomes so familiar to us that it loses its meaning.

Years ago, I listened to a woman recount her experience of attending the funeral of someone dear to her. The next was Sunday. As she walked into the chapel for sacrament meeting, she glanced up at the sacrament table and was struck by the image of the trays of bread and water carefully covered with a white cloth. It reminded her of a body covered in like manner. Later, as the young priests broke the bread, the congregation sang a familiar hymn–yet the woman felt like she was hearing the words for the first time:

“In mem’ry of the Crucified,
Our Father, we have met this hour.” (4)

She recalled, “With thoughts of yesterday’s funeral fresh in my mind, I suddenly felt as if I were experiencing the funeral of Jesus Christ, who had died for me. The congregation had truly met ‘in memory of the Crucified’.” This forever changed the way she viewed the ordinance of the Sacrament, as her appreciation for the Christ’s atoning sacrifice increased significantly

Those who have been endowed in the temple can participate in a daily ritual of remembrance by wearing the temple garment. When we do it mindfully, paying attention to the tokens on the garment and seeing beyond the symbols, we remember Jesus Christ and our covenants.

Remembering what Jesus Christ has done for us can make us humble.

After many miscarriages, two adoptions, and years of heartache and prayers, Nikki and her husband Spencer were overjoyed last year when Nikki was finally blessed to carry a baby full term. Tragically, there were severe complications during the delivery, and beautiful little Quinn did not survive. The stunning loss of their perfect baby girl was almost more than Nikki and Spencer could bear. I was deeply struck by the words Nikki wrote one hundred days after Quinn’s birth and passing, shared with permission:

“My body still reminds me every day of what is missing… When Jesus rose from the dead He kept the nail prints in His hands and feet. When I was younger, I always thought it was to prove His identity. Now, when I look at my body and I see the stretch marks and the changes… I understand a little more the love that He has for me and maybe why He would want to keep those marks.”

Just as her stretch marks will always remind Nikki of her baby, the nail prints in the Savior’s hands and feet keep us always before His eyes. The words of Isaiah are a powerful reminder that it is impossible that the Savior could forget those for whom He sacrificed everything. “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me…” (Isaiah 49:15-16)

In all of our rituals of remembrance, let us never forget that Jesus Christ will never forget us.

Notes:

1. https://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/Portals/0/Web%20Final%20PDF%20of%20Brochure%20March%202015.pdf
2. Text attr. to Robert Keen, How Firm a Foundation, Hymns, #85, published by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1985.
3. https://www.ldsdaily.com/personal-lds-blog/the-remarkable-true-story-of-an-lds-woman-facing-a-missouri-mob/
4. Text: Frank I. Kooyman, Hymns, #190, published by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1985.

Meridian Magazine

Tags: “Blessed Remembrance Rituals