We Are All Cooked
ASH WEDNESDAY, the first day of Lent, is a day devoted to the certain knowledge that we will die. Someday, somehow, we are all going to be gone. Someday no one on earth will think of us or remember us. It helps to know. "Dear soul, from what peril and fear you could free yourself, if you lived in holy fear, mindful of your death," Thomas à Kempis said. From Fish Eaters: In Genesis 3:19 we hear God tell us "for dust thou art, and into dust thou shalt return," but nowadays, when someone dies, they are rushed from deathbed to funeral home to be embalmed and to be worked over by a make-up artist so that that "dusty reality" is hidden from us. Their deaths are spoken of as almost an embarrassment; "he passed," they say, or "he is no longer with us." These comforting but sterile luxuries weren't an option in the past when plagues felled so many people that there weren't enough survivors to bury them, when bodies had to be stored all winter until the ground was soft enough to dig, when most of the children a woman bore died before they were able to grow up. In our culture, with our medicines and "funeral sciences," we are afraid to look at death, and we are a poorer people because of it. No matter how long science can prolong life, no matter how much embalming fluid is pumped…





