Saying Kaddish

On Saturday we buried my grandfather, Bun Bun. I wrote about him earlier this summer - he made the last leg of his earthly journey on Wednesday. Family and friends from far and near gathered to mourn our loss and celebrate his gain.

The service was unlike any I had ever attended. Weeping, yes. Sadness, too. But we had church - and not some boring monologue. Bun Bun loved music, so we sang several songs he loved, including Holy Ground. A friend and community pastor sang He Touched Me, which was his hands-down favorite, and rightfully so - he was a man who had been touched by the Lord and was never the same. We laughed hard as stories were shared. There were amens and clapping punctuating the remarks throughout.

The best part, however, came as Pastor Skaar shared about the last few hours of Bun Bun's life. His long-time cardiologist, Dr. Bode, went by for a visit and asked Bun how he was doing. The answer surprised him: "I'm going to my reward." Later that evening, my uncle noticed him struggling to sit up. As Dan went to his bedside, Bun Bun raised both of his hands in the air, saying "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!" He then entered his eternal rest. I can't imagine a better ending to the life he lived.

Recently I read the book Night by Elie Wiesel. Wiesel speaks toward the end of the book about the Jewish custom of saying Kaddish for the dead.  I know very little about the liturgy of Kaddish and its place in Jewish theology, but what I have read fascinates me.  Here is an English translation of the mourner's Kaddish: 

Glorified and sanctified be God's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon; and say, Amen.

May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity.

Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world; and say, Amen.

May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen.

He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may He create peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen. 

It's noteworthy that the mourner's Kaddish says nothing about the dead! It instead magnifies the character and qualities of our Creator God. What better way to give mourning the appropriate context? Saying Kaddish is a deliberate act in the face of grief, an acknowledgement of God's eternal existence that is so briefly punctuated by a human life, a reorientation much like Habakkuk's determination to praise God whether the fig trees fail or the stalls lie empty. And all of the "amens" call the community to stand with the mourners in agreement.

The next day at church was an extension of the worship begun on Saturday. My grandparents' church has been through hard times lately, including the sudden death of their minister just about a month ago, and now one of their elders. As I stood beside my 91-year old grandmother, with tears streaming down my cheeks, she joined the congregation in singing these words:

So listen to our hearts, hear our spirits sing
A song of praise that flows from those You have redeemed.
We will use the words we know to tell you what an awesome God you are,
But words are not enough to tell you of our love,
So listen to our hearts. 

So, though we are not Jewish, we say Kaddish - for Vernon Jackson, for Larry Keirn, for Dorman Vance, for so many gone before and those yet to come.  May God's great name be blessed forever and to all eternity. Amen and amen.