A Theology of Death based on "Death Takes a Holiday"

Now a bit more than a week after doing the show, Death Takes a Holiday, I have continued to reflect theologically on the show. And this week, as I prepare for a sermon on the raising of Lazarus (and of course, Holy Week and Easter shortly thereafter), it seemed as good a week as any to share some of those reflections with you.

First, allow me to tell you the basic plot of the story. *spoiler alert*

It begins in the 1920s, when an aristocratic Italian family is driving in the car, having just celebrated their 21-year-old daughter Grazia's engagement. They get in an accident and Grazia is thrown from the car. Death, the Grim Reaper himself, comes onto the scene to do his job, only to be so taken with this beautiful young woman that he can't do his eternal duty. He leaves her, and the family returns home, shaken, but grateful. Meanwhile, Death begins to wonder: Why do all men fear me? Cling to life so dearly? What is it they fear they'd lose? He decides that, for the first time "since the dawn of time," he will take a holiday, taking on human form for a weekend, and spending the time with this very family, learning from them what is so great about LIFE. He takes the form of a "not unhandsome" Russian prince named Sirki, telling only the master of the house of his plan. Meanwhile, Grazia, having had a near-death experience, begins to re-evaluate her life, and doubts her engagement to her childhood love is what she is meant to do. When Sirki comes to town, all the girls fawn over his charms and good looks, but Sirki only has eyes for Grazia (and at first, I will note, the sexy maid, aka yours truly, who brings him towels his first morning!). The two fall madly in love, much to the privy father's distress. Most of the show is taken up by Sirki learning about the various aspects of life (and is of course replete with death puns, to the delight of the audience!). In the final scene, Sirki tells Grazia that he must go, and, knowing how in love with each other they are, she insists he take her with him. He says he can't, and she insists all the more. As the clock tolls midnight, he disappears and returns as Death, saying, "This is who I really am." Grazia says she still loves him and wants to go with him, even if it means leaving her family and what she has known, saying, "Love is greater than death!" And so she does. The end. Happy ending? No one is sure.

The second night of the show, the pre-show talk was offered by one of the ministers of the Unitarian church that was our host. I didn't hear it, but chatted about it with some folks who did following the show. He said, "He talked about the Unitarian perspective on death." I said, "And that is?" and he couldn't quite articulate it - which was probably pretty accurate, which I'm sure there are as many perspectives on death there as there are members of that church! He asked me the Lutheran perspective. I said that for a lot of Christians, you live a good life so that you can go to heaven, but I don't believe that. I live a good life because I am a loved, graced, forgiven person, and living the best life I can is out of gratitude for that fact ("springs spontaneously from it," Luther would say), and enabled by the Spirit. Death, then, becomes a sort of "going home" - though that language is a bit simplistic. But it isn't a failure to me; even as it is often a time of sadness because we on earth will miss that person, it is also an occasion for joy and thanksgiving, because it is in death that we enter the everlasting joy of basking in the love and light of God. I don't fear death for myself (though I do fear losing those dear to me), because when I am dead, I know I will be living in Love forever and ever, Amen. The Unitarian gentleman then surprised me by saying, "That sort of fits with the ending of this show, huh?"

It had not occurred to me that this show, which I would categorize as a comedy, actually did align pretty well with my theology. I had rolled my eyes at Grazia, giving up her life so young to spend eternity with Death, whom she presumed to love. But framed a different way, she wanted to spend eternity with Love, just as I do. Granted, a different sort of love. The Love I crave is divine, while hers is presumably romantic. Ironically, her desire for Death is what, in my faith, I would call Life.

Or is it ironic? It is significant that in this scene in which Grazia decides to follow Death into eternity, she is wearing a white gown. In Christian theology, white garments are baptismal garments. I, for example, wear a white robe to lead worship, because it hearkens that my call came in the moment of my baptism, like it does for all the baptized - that is, my call to love and serve God's people, the call I share with all Christians, and my particular pastoral call became the way I live that out. In Christian baptismal theology, we believe baptism is a sort of death - as St. Paul says, we are baptized into a death like Christ's, and so we are also baptized into a resurrection like Christ's. Said another way, we die to sin and rise with Christ. The font becomes a watery tomb, and in full immersion baptisms (which I wish we did more of!), that first breath after coming out of the watery death is the breath of the Spirit, a new life, a new creation.

Is the direction that Grazia wear a white dress in this scene meant to evoke baptismal theology? Perhaps; perhaps not. But I'm going to say: yes, because that suddenly makes her much less a flighty 20-something who follows her every whim, and instead she becomes symbolic of the hugeness and life-changing-ness of baptism, in which we truly die and then re-enter life in a new way. In Grazia, we see that to bask in Love's glow for eternity is indeed the deepest satisfaction we can have.

Death and Grazia prepare to exit life on earth...

It isn't completely sound theology, I know, and the metaphor eventually breaks down, like most metaphors. But, I rather like it. Maybe I can turn it into an Easter sermon...?