I have an uneasy relationship with death.<\/p>\n
I live across the street from the cemetery, so death stares at me as soon as I open my blinds each morning. And, of course, some people have up and died on me–mostly older people, which I found difficult but acceptable; four people my own age, which I found quite upsetting, no doubt because of some harmful over-identification; and a small handful of children or babies, which I found utterly tragic and almost intolerable. It was probably the last set that sparked my interest in nineteenth-century LDS women\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s death poetry.<\/p>\n
I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know what I expected to find in Exponent<\/em> poetry, but whatever I expected to find wasn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t what I did. Scholars have typically argued that LDS theology and the LDS community were quite reconciled to death from Joseph Smith\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s time onward. With our all-encompassing belief in eternal life, eternal families and the continuation of relationships, there seems to be little room for mourning and grief. Desperation equates with lack of faith.<\/p>\n One nineteenth-century anonymous poet mirrors such sentiments in tactless but straightforward terms. To those who have \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Loved and Loss,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the author says: That sounds harsh to me. It goes right along with Margaret A. White\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s address to Isabel Hamilton (and yes, the author names her friend explicitly): \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sister give thy baby up,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d because, after all, there is no need to \u00e2\u20ac\u0153mourn to lay him down\/When he his work hath done.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d <\/p>\n Such poems match\u00e2\u20ac\u201din more insensitive words than I ever hope to use\u00e2\u20ac\u201dthe doctrine I know and love. Death is a mere stepping stone to another life, where (if I and they are worthy) I will continue all my relationships, where I will be myself but better, and where sorrow and hardship and the stupid things of life will be left behind. What is to mourn in that?<\/p>\n Ah, but then there is reality. I have watched people crumple to the ground and sob by a fresh grave for hours on end. I have seen those who have no more tears simply kneel and stare, and then come back day after day to do the same. Since I live in Provo, I can assume with over 90% accuracy that I am watching a weeping member of my own religion.<\/p>\n I was surprised to find such grief expressed openly by 1870s LDS women in published poetry. One author found comfort in the \u00e2\u20ac\u0153House of the Lord,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d but only after confessing: Others expressed suicidal devastation in more veiled terms and still others simply lived on in an agonized present: I find myself both caught and comforted by LDS doctrine. We are hopefully more sensitized to feelings than those of an earlier era, but the doctrine is the same. Is there room in LDS doctrine for mourning? Devastation? Even desperation? We are obviously supposed to have charity for others, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153to mourn with those that mourn.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d How is that reconciled with faith and testimony?<\/p>\n When a friend\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s baby died a few weeks before his due date, I did find hope in believing he was alive somewhere, waiting to be Matt and Joy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s baby in the millennium. But I also found great comfort in knowing that even Eliza R. Snow, that paragon of strength, recognized the almost unendurable pain caused by death: Jesus wept when Lazarus died. I guess my question is why. Was he mourning with those who mourned? Weeping for Mary and Martha and those left behind? Could he have been weeping for himself? Even if He knew perfectly that He would raise Lazarus from the dead in a mere moment? Can those with faith mourn?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I have an uneasy relationship with death.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":109,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17,54,20,32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4686","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-church-history","category-mormon-life","category-philosophy-and-theology","category-women-in-the-church"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4686","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/109"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4686"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4686\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6282,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4686\/revisions\/6282"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4686"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4686"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/timesandseasons.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4686"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And this we call a loss! O selfish sorrow
\nOf selfish hearts! O we of little faith.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I felt the grave was a haven
\nA refuge from grief and despair . . .
\nO how I wished I was there.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153The years go by, the years go by,
\nI see them pass without a sigh. . . .
\nWhat now is all this world to me
\nBut tasteless, dull monotony?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve had a taste of mortal suffering:
\nI\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve seen my fellows drink its cup fill\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d to
\nThe brim and running o\u00e2\u20ac\u2122er, until the pulse
\nOf life was clogg\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d in every wheel\u00e2\u20ac\u201duntil
\nNature\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s deep agonies, outweigh\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d the love
\nOf Life, and yet the throbbing pulse beat on.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n