Early on Easter morning, some women from Galilee went to the tomb where they had left Jesus. They came because they had been up all night, as people in grief often are, and because it is somehow easier to grieve at the grave site.
This is how the Easter story starts—not with everybody jumping to their feet to sing the “Hallelujah Chorus,” but with some women bringing spices to a tomb in order to keep Jesus’ dead, decaying body from smelling bad. It isn’t a very pretty image. Death never is.
My grandmother and her generation talked about death all the time, but they never mentioned sex in polite society. Now we talk about sex all the time but never mention death. If you want to bring a dinner party to a grinding halt, just try to get a good conversation going on death and dying. Soon guests will look at their watches and start talking about the babysitter’s curfew.