This week Rhoda interviews Kent and his other research partner and co-author, Dr. Beth Hoeltke, about their book Lay me in God’s Good Earth. The authors discuss how they got drawn into the topic of natural burial, the Christian lens of the book, and the expansive approach of the book, which encourages pastors and lay Christians to think proactively about end-of-life decisions as well as funeral practices.
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In addition to seven chapters, the book includes numerous resources for those interested in exploring the various facets of natural burial:
A burial planning guide
Cost comparisons for natural burial, conventional burial, and cremation
Resources about caring for the body at home and for burying naturally
A list of state funeral boards and licensing agencies for the District of Columbia and 48 states; Alaska and Hawaii are listed with “No state funeral board.”
++++ Banner image: Modern mosaic depicting Jesus’ mother, Mary Magdalene, and other women preparing Jesus’ body for burial as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus look on. Wall mounted inside the entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem.
Today we wrap up the Formational Reading of Scripture Series by reviewing briefly each of the three “methods” of Scripture study commonly used in adult faith formation settings—African, Luther’s Four Strand Garland, and Visualization. Drawing on Understanding Faith Formation: Theological, Congregational, and Global Dimensions by Maddix, Kim, and Estep, Kent introduced this series by highlighting key aspects of “formational reading” (95-96). These goals described in Understanding Faith Formation are worth repeating; such reading …
Allows the biblical text to master the reader
Forms a humble, receptive approach to the Scriptures
Expects an openness to mystery (especially of God) as encountered in the text
The African Method of Scripture Study
This method works particularly well in the first two stages of the catechumenal process, the stages of Inquiry and the Catechumenate. Kent wrote that the African method “exposes inquirers and catechumens to the Word of God in a non-threatening and inviting way. It facilitates an encounter with the Word in which becoming familiar with God’s self-revelation in Christ Jesus is at the center.”
The biblical text is read three times with a different question/prompt for reflection and sharing in the group. These prompts are designed to lead the participants to “ponder in their hearts” the words of Scripture; to hear God speaking to them through Scripture; and to see Jesus in light of their daily concerns and needs. Blog readers can review the method with the “prompts” for reflection and sharing here.
Luther’s Four-Strand Garland Method
Kent wrote: “In contrast with the African method, this method begins to expand more fully into the life of prayer and into the discipled life of the Christian.” Thus, it would be most fitting to use this method in the second or third stages of a catechumenal process, the states of the Catechumenate and Enlightenment (or intense preparation).
The four strands of the garland are instruction, thanksgiving, wholeness/confession, and presence. I wrote, “The first and fourth strands, instruction and presence, begin and end the study by listening for God’s voice and resting in the assurance of God’s presence. These strands anchor the entire method in God’s grace, God’s initiative toward us—God is speaking to us, calling to us; God is present with us always, whether we realize it or not. The inner strands call us to respond to God’s grace, first by inviting us to be thankful for what God has done, and then by training us to examine ourselves, identifying our ‘woundedness’ and ‘sinfulness’ brought forth by the biblical text; the confession … [draws] us toward wholeness and healing, toward dying to self and rising in Christ, and into a closer relationship with God. To review the complete description, click here.
The Visualization Method
As Go Make Disciples indicates, “The point of visualizing a passage is to help members of a group see the word of God as it is: lively, active, and speaking to their lives here and now. They might find themselves in a character of the story or in several characters. They might picture truths about their own lives that are illuminated by the acting out of the story” (141-2). Because this method works best when there is some knowledge and awareness of the Scriptures and a sense of community is taking shape in the catechumenal cohort, it functions particularly well in the stages of Enlightenment and Mystagogy. This method recognizes that the creative process can make a deep impact on learning for many people. As the “riskiest” of the three methods, it calls for the leaders to trust the creative work of the Spirit through the power of the proclaimed Word. To review the steps in the visualization method, click here.
To close, consider these words of St. Paul, “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17 ESV). Each of the three methods is anchored in hearing the Scriptures and are designed so that the biblical text masters the reader (not vice versa), forms a humble, receptive approach to the Scriptures, and expects an openness to mystery (especially of God) as encountered in the text.
Last week Kent wrote: “Personally, I find this method the most fun and engaging,” a statement that highlights our differences. While wesharea desire to spark interest into the possibilities of adult faith formation for congregational renewal, a love of graceful, Christocentric liturgy, and a loyalty to our respective baseball teams (neither of which made post-season play this year), unlike Kent, I am not a big fan of the visualization method. It is not my thing, and frankly, the last time I was at a conference where the speaker gave the small groups a similar kind of “hands on,” creative task, I was a non-compliant, onery, and passive aggressive participant. I’d rather read and analyze texts than work creatively with markers, colored pencils, and random craft items heaped on a central table. But I do know enough about different learning styles to appreciate the fact that the creative process can make a deep impact on learning for many people.
In a blog post last summer, this Doubting Thomas ‘fessed up to a change of heart and mind after witnessing the creative work of the Spirit within the participants in one of workshops on the adult catechumenate. (I will note that I was not myself a participant.) Anna, one of the participants, noted that the activity involves multiple learning styles, and that the creative process is the apex of Bloom’s taxonomy of educational goals.
Theologically, the creative process is associated most closely with the third Person of the Trinity, as expressed in this ancient hymn:
Creator Spirit, by whose aid The world’s foundations first were laid, Come, visit ev’ry humble mind; come, pour your joys on humankind; From sin and sorrow set us free; may we your living temples be.
O Source of uncreated light, The bearer of God gracious might, Thrice-holy fount, thrice-holy fire, Our hearts with heav’nly love inspire; Your sacred, healing message bring To sanctify us as we sing.
Giver of grace, descend from high; Your sevenfold gifts to us supply; Help us eternal truths receive and practice all that we believe; Give us yourself that we see the glory of the Trinity.
Immortal honor, endless fame, attend th’almighty Father’s name; the Savior-Son be glorified, Who for all humankind has died; To you, O Paraclete we raise Unending songs of thanks and praise.
(LSB #500; text att. Rabanus Maurus, 776-856)
Yes, one can see in the creative efforts of participants at our 2023 workshop various levels of Bloom’s Taxonomy at work to produce an “original work, use information in new situations, and draw connections among ideas.” But more importantly, one can see that the Spirit was at work in these examples. See also how the Spirit set these participants free to be living temples; inspired their hearts with heavenly love for all humanity; and has led them to practice the eternal truths they believe. And so, I too can join unending songs of thanks and praise for the diversity of learning styles and tools that deepen our faith in the Triune God. +++ Banner Image: Oil on canvas; Doubting Thomas, Caravaggio (1571-1610) ca. 1600; This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published (or registered with the U.S. Copyright Office) before January 1, 1929. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Caravaggio_Doubting_Thomas.jpg
As with the other two methods, the African study method meets the inquirer where they are at, not where the church wants them to be. In other words, the focus is not on discursive, propositional study of the Scriptures. It is not the downloading of all the catechetical and doctrinal knowledge that we believe the catechumen needs to have. With these methods we … have to let the Spirit lead through the Word in this encounter. But that doesn’t mean this approach isn’t catechetical. The catechesis arises from and out of the encounter with the Word.
Quote from last week’s post by Kent Burreson
Kent’s words are a challenge to our readers. Embracing the role of the Spirit in these methods of Scripture study can be difficult for church leaders trained in traditional forms of pedagogy that focus on delivering content about a subject. The lack of biblical literacy among inquirers also drives those of us who teach to address that lack with lesson plans about content. But, as Kent points out, the goal is not mastery of content but an “encounter” that comes “through the Word.” The Spirit not only leads “through the Word” (Scripture) but also leads to “the Word”—that is, to an encounter with the “Word made flesh,” Jesus Christ, full of grace and truth.
As a former skeptic of these methods of Scripture study, I offer this testimony from a woman who was part of the faith formation process at St. Mary’s Lutheran Church, one of our research congregations.[1] Betty, who was eager to start the process because she “had so many questions,” was surprised that rather than asking questions, the members of the group were directed to answer questions! At one point in our conversation, she said, “I don’t think I found St. Mary’s; I think St. Mary’s found me.” With these words, she is implicitly acknowledging the work of the Spirit in the congregation’s faith formation process; one that, by posing questions for reflection, drew her more deeply into a relationship with Christ.
As the sample questions provided by Kent in last week’s post show, the African study method meets the inquirers where they are at, asking what “word, phrase, or image” captured their attention; how “God is speaking to you in this story”; and, if possible, a question based on the particular text, such as “What burdens are you carrying now?” in response to Jesus’s words about his “yoke” that is “easy” and “burden is light” (Matt 11:25-30). The goal is to lead the participants to “ponder in their hearts” the words of Scripture; to hear God speaking to them through Scripture; and to see Jesus in light of their daily concerns and needs. As Martin Luther wrote in his Preface to the Old Testament (1523),
… think of the Scriptures as the loftiest and noblest of holy things, as the richest of mines which can never be sufficiently explored, in order that you may find that divine wisdom which God here lays before in such simple guise as to quench all pride. Here you will find the swaddling cloths and the manger in which Christ lies, and to which the angel points the shepherds [Luke 2:12]. Simple and lowly are these swaddling cloths, but dear is the treasure, Christ, who lies in them. (Luther’s Works, vol. 35, p. 236).
Luther’s words are a warning to those teachers of the faith (like me!) who are tempted to impart a plethora of knowledge about a given text and its context. The African study method sees Scripture as the swaddling cloths and manger that hold what is “dear … the treasure, Christ,” and aims to lead participants to encounter that most priceless treasure, Jesus.
[1] Both the person’s and congregation’s names are pseudonyms.
The package arrived a couple of weeks ago; clearly, it was a book, but I had no recollection of ordering a book from IVP. It was with great delight that I discovered I had received a pre-publication copy of Lay Me in God’s Good Earth: A Christian Approach to Death and Burial, by Kent Burreson and Beth Hoeltke. I took a photo and texted it to Kent, saying “It just arrived!!”
The authors write, “With this book, we hope you will consider the route of natural burial, which can provide intimate care of your body both before and after death” (3); they conclude the introduction lamenting that “the church has largely lost its ability to teach the art or theology of dying” (5). Both theological and practical, this book seeks to do both. Chapter 2 lays the theological foundation for natural burial by emphasizing the Christ’s resurrection as the foundation of Christian hope and linking the resurrection of the body to God’s promise to renew creation.
Kent and Beth critique both the commercialization of the funeral industry and the move toward “the spiritualization of Christian funerals and burials”; the antidote is recovering “a living eschatology and faith in the hope of the resurrection and eternal life” (61).
They provide a clear articulation of the four “core practices” of natural burial (21-22):
Elimination of embalming
Burial in a biodegradable casket or covering
No use of vault in the burial
Burial in ground that encourages natural decomposition and return to the earth
Most helpful are these encouraging words: “Engaging even just one of the four core practices … moves toward practices that reflect a Christian understanding of death and resurrection” (24).
Later chapters discuss appropriate Christian funeral practices, encourages family involvement with the body after death, and lays out options for “walking alongside our loved ones in the final journey that leads to death” (115). A lengthy appendix provides “A Burial Planning Guide” (161-179).
Lay Me in God’s Good Earth is accessible to lay readers and is written to break down the barriers in our culture that has made open discussions of death, dying, and funeral wishes verboten topics.
Banner Image: Fresco depiction the resurrection of Christ, Sv. Sava, Serbian Orthodox Church
When I was in Germany 37 years ago the wall dividing West and East Berlin had not yet come down. We visited East Berlin, going through Checkpoint Charlie. One of the things I remember about East Berlin was the drabness of East German and Soviet construction: bland, grey building after bland, grey building. When I entered Berlin this time, I realized as we rode the train from the airport to the central train station that we were passing through the former East Berlin. And my jaw dropped. There were still some of the old drab buildings. But next to them were colorful, innovative new buildings clearly constructed since 1990. Startling juxtapositions.
In many ways that was my experience on this trip to Germany: A series of juxtapositions. This was a spiritual pilgrimage for our family. None of us had ever visited the Luther sights in East Germany, so going to Wittenberg, the Wartburg, Erfurt, and Leipzig immersed us in the promises of God’s Word into which we were submersed in our baptisms (represented by the font in the Roman Catholic cathedral, St. Mary’s, in Erfurt).
We stayed in Berlin, the capitol of a united Germany. But juxtaposed to that unity are the signs of a formerly divided Germany. We walked the length of the Berlin Wall Memorial, parts of the wall still intact, to remind subsequent generations of the conflict, separations, divisions, and death that the Cold War created.
There are of course other juxtapositions to the sights of faith and hope. The remnants of Hitler’s Nazi regime cannot be avoided (nor should they be). The moving Memorial to Murdered Jews, near the Brandenburg Gate and Hitler’s former bunker that is now a parking lot, juxtaposes the evil that humans can inflict on one another and the whole creation with the call to trust in the God of creation. Entire cities can be juxtapositions. We visited Nuremburg and stood in the cathedral church of St. Lorenz—which survived but was damaged—aware that outside of that core historic part of the city, 90% of the remainder of the city was destroyed during World War II. Juxtapositions abound in the land of the Reformation: peace and conflict, unity and division, life and death, despair and hope.
Museums manifest those juxtapositions in abundance. For example, Van Gogh’s lilies just down the hall from Albrecht Dürer’s self portrait.
And that self-portrait is itself a juxtaposition. Dürer painted himself according to the model medieval paintings of the head of Christ. Dürer juxtaposing himself to Christ.
Creating such juxtapositions is at the heart of the catechumenate. The woman at the well juxtaposed to where we find our identity and hope. The young rich man asking Jesus what he must do to attain eternal life juxtaposed to those things we are chasing after. The entire story of God in Christ juxtaposed to the sin, conflict, division, evil, and death we perpetrate and experience.
And out of those juxtapositions we should envision the world and ourselves in line with Dürer’s own vision of himself: conformed to Christ. As Paul says in Ephesians 5:1-2, “Therefore be imitators of God as dear children. And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.”
The Berlin Wall Memorial led to this sculpture, “Reconciliation.” There, juxtaposed to the no-man’s land between the wall’s divisions, it lies encouraging us to strive toward the vision of peace overcoming conflict. That is the imitation toward which the juxtapositions of the catechumenate should lead. “Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself (2 Corinthians 5:18-19).
Last week Rhoda presented us with a picture of her standing in an ancient Ethiopian cruciform font, that, as she noted, is still in use! It was clearly a deep enough font for submersion, that is, the complete submersing of the body under the water during baptism. As with Rhoda, I was recently traveling, but in my case to Germany. I studied in Germany 37 years ago and this was my first opportunity to return since then. 37 years ago the wall was still up and we didn’t visit any of the Luther sites in Wittenberg or other places. This trip afforded the opportunity to do so. Like Rhoda I have an abiding interest in fonts (go figure!).
Here are four fonts or depictions of fonts from Luther sites:
This first is a 12th Century font that is part of the museum at Wartburg Castle.
The second is of course the famous Cranach altar triptych in the city church in Wittenberg which shows Melanchthon baptizing.
This third is the font in the city church, St. Mary’s, in Wittenberg.
The fourth is the font in the castle church in Wittenberg. These latter two date after the 16th century.
What is noticeable about these fonts extending from the Ethiopian font to the font in the castle church is the shrinking size of the fonts. Over time the symbolic imagery or sign value of baptism has eroded. It looks less and less like a washing into the death and resurrection of Christ, as a drowning. While the promise of baptism still holds no matter what the nature of the washing’s symbolism, still the loss of the full symbolic value chips away at the recognition of the comprehensive nature of the promise: “Therefore we were buried with Him through baptism into death, that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4).
As Luther himself says in Babylonian Captivity, “It is therefore indeed correct to say that baptism is a washing away of sins, but the expression is too mild and weak to bring out the full significance of baptism, which is rather a symbol of death and resurrection. For this reason I would have those who are to be baptized completely immersed in the water, as the word says and as the mystery indicates. Not because I deem this necessary, but because it would be well to give to a thing so perfect and complete a sign that is also complete and perfect. And this is doubtless the way in which it was instituted by Christ. The sinner does not so much need to be washed as he needs to die, in order to be wholly renewed and made another creature, and to be conformed to the death and resurrection of Christ, with whom he dies and rises again through baptism. Although you may say that when Christ died and rose again he was washed clean of mortality, that is a less forceful way of putting it than if you said that he was completely changed and renewed. Similarly it is far more forceful to say that baptism signifies that we die in every way and rise to eternal life, than to say that it signifies merely that we are washed clean of sins” (Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, Vol. 36: Word and Sacrament II, ed. Jaroslav Jan Pelikan, Hilton C. Oswald, and Helmut T. Lehmann, vol. 36 (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1999), 68.)
I have become convinced that the fullness of the baptismal sign—a complete washing and drowning in a substantive amount of water such as through immersion or submersion—is central to the conversion experience of the catechumenate. Through the catechumenate we come to die and live in Christ alone. The fullness of the baptismal sign reveals that to the newly baptized and to the entire Christian community.
Last week’s blog featured the Church of St. George, part of the monolithic churches in Lalibela. Also of interest are the churches and monasteries on the islands and peninsula of Lake Tana, the largest lake in Ethiopia and source of the Blue Nile River. The churches, said to be built on “earlier religious sites,” date from the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries and introduce “a new church architecture … based [on] the designs of regular round houses with conical thatched roofs.” Today’s banner photo is an example of this architecture. The interiors of these churches have three parts: an “outer ambulatory,” which pilgrims may enter; an “inner ambulatory” where worshipers gather, and “the inner sanctuary,” which only priests may enter.
As one enters the outer ambulatory, the exterior side of the inner ambulatory walls are covered with Ethiopian iconography of biblical stories and the lives of the saints. The diptych is easily recognizable as Jesus praying in Gethsemane (top) and carrying his cross to Golgotha (bottom panel). Characteristic of Ethiopian Orthodox art is the contrast between those who are part of the household of faith, shown with full, frontal view of their faces (Jesus, the sleeping Peter, James, and John) in contrast to those outside the faith, shown in profile, as the Roman soldier is depicted in the lower panel.
If our guide shared the story of these two saints with a snake in the basket, I do not recall the details; but I can say with confidence that both are followers of Jesus by their full-on frontal faces.
For the past 25 years of traveling to Christian pilgrimage sites as a liturgy geek, I have rarely missed an opportunity to hop into ancient baptismal font for a photo. What struck me as posed in this font from Lalibela was the realization that this font is still being used by an active Christian community. Though we may have theological differences, I share with those baptized her a faith in Christ Jesus, whose death and resurrection raises us to new life and bring us into the household of the Triune God.
The long history of Christianity in Ethiopia begins with the account of Philip and the Ethiopia eunuch (Acts 8:26-40). Ethiopian Orthodox Christians claim to be one of the earliest nations to embrace Christianity when King Ezana, leader of the Kingdom of Aksum (located in the northern part of the modern state of Ethiopia), embraced the Christian faith in the fourth century. The church was strengthened by the arrival of “the nine saints” from Syria (frequently depicted in churches’ iconography) in the 5th century.
Today’s banner photo is a baptismal font from Bete Amanuel (House or Church of Immanuel), one of numerous monolithic churches in Lalibela, Ethiopia, named for King Lalibela (r. ca. 1181-1221). According to legend, after a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, King Lalibela received a vision to build a “new Jerusalem,” and this complex of churches, carved out of mountains, was the work of the king with assistance of angels. While twenty-first-century Christians may approach this hagiography of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church with skepticism, one can say that King Lalibela’s decision to create these amazing structures indicts strong devotion to the Christian faith.
The most spectacular of the Lalibela churches is the Church of St. George, which, like the baptismal font, has a cruciform structure. Again, putting aside one’s skepticism about the story of their origins, the structures themselves communicate the core witness of the Christian faith—that Christ’s death on the cross has accomplished the salvation of the world, and a person is assured of that salvation by being joined to Christ’s death and resurrection in baptism (Romans 6).
++++++++ Sources used: “Ethiopian Church” in The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, 3rd edition “Ethiopia” in Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity “The Rock-hewn Churches of Lalibela,” https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/lali/hd_lali.htm Photos by Rhoda Schuler, June 2024
Notre Dame de Reims Cathedral has a rich history of martyrs, bishops, and royals. As part of the Roman Empire, there is evidence of a Christian presence in Riems in the middle of the third century. The first church on the present site of the cathedral was built around 400 by St. Nicasius (Nicaise), a bishop who died by the hands of invaders (likely Huns, according to one source) when they plundered the city.[1] The statue of him on the north entrance of the church depicts him holding his head with its bishop mitre, indicating a tradition of beheading for his death (photo, right).
But more famous than Bishop Nicaise (French spelling) is Bishop Rémi or Remigius (c. 443 – 533), who is partially visible on the far right in today’s banner photo. In the center is Clovis (c. 466 – 511), King of the Franks, standing in the baptismal font. To the left of Clovis, holding his crown, is St. Coltilde (474 – 545), a Burgundian princess married to Clovis; she was a devout Catholic at a time when Arians were the majority. Clovis was not Christian, but when he appealed to his wife’s God in battle and won, he consented to be baptized (between 496 and 508), and “became the only Catholic sovereign in Christendom.”[2] Gregory of Tours wrote of the event (quoted in Butler’s Lives of the Saints):
Among clouds of incense … “like a new Constantine he moved forward to the water, to blot out the former leprosy, to wash away in this new stream the foul stains from old days.”
But it is Queen Clotilde (not Clovis) whose life can inspire us 1500 years later. Like many couples today, she was the devout partner whose faith was an instrument of the Spirit, drawing her beloved toward Christ and his redemptive work. In our research on the adult catechumenate, Kent and I have encountered similar stories (without the baggage of royalty), such as that of Gail and George. George was the devout one, and Gail, with little connection to and knowledge of Christianity, recognized early in their relationship that attending church was important to George, and so she started coming with him. When I interviewed them, they had been married about two years and were attending the adult catechumenal sessions together; Gail related that she had many questions and doubts. But when she had consented to the baptism of her own child and understood that meant raising the child as a Christian, she realized that she, too, had to be claimed by Christ in this initiation ritual, and so she, like Clovis, moved into “this new stream” of cleansing water.
[1]Butler’s Lives of the Saints, St. Nicasius, 14 December.
[2]Butler’s Lives of the Saints, St. Clodilda, 3 June.
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Photos of Riems cathedral by Rhoda Schuler, June 2024