Skip to main content

And the sky covers those who do not have an urn

 




Today I would like to deal with a rare subject, which certainly is no longer part of the majority's thinking and probably, in many cases, not even belongs to the best and most sympathetic consciences: the importance of the burial of the dead.

A subject so uncommon that only St. Augustine could take charge of it and deal with it. In particular, the benefit that being buried under a saint's memory can bring the deceased.

In fact, St. Augustine speaks of it in DE CURA PRO MORTUIS GERENDA LIBER UNUS (On the care due to the dead), 4,6.

The burial itself could also have no value since coelo tegitur, qui non habet urnam, if the burial were not a μνήμη, a memory, and the memory did not benefit the deceased, and the memory did not find the basis in the affection of he who remembers and prays for the deceased and beloved and entrusts and associates his prayers and remembrance with the name of a holy place or a martyr or a saint. It is in the power of merit, in having deserved the affection of loved ones when one was alive that the μνήμη is founded. And memory has already become a form of election.

And being the deceased buried in a holy place or being remembered by associating it with the name of a saint is a sort of strengthening, enhancing of the μνήμη. But in the absence of that μνήμη, in the absence of the merits acquired in life that earned him the μνήμη, the entire structure that supports all this would decay and it would be then of no value to be buried in a holy place or fictitiously and surreptitiously associated with the name of a saint.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry dwells near the divine light's breath

  The comparison between poetry and divine light that we proposed HERE finds its perfect explanation in Saint Paul, Letters to the Romans I,19: τὸ γνωστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ φανερόν ἐστιν ἐν αὐτοῖς, ὁ ⸂θεὸς γὰρ αὐτοῖς ἐφανέρωσεν , what can be known of God was manifested to them (in men), indeed God manifested to them. Poetry unveils in the human being the need to be human, i.e.the need for Beauty, for feeling the Beauty in itself and with itself, and this feeling is supported by the divine light. As we are influenced by the idea of Saint Augustine of saeculum , we maintain that poetry belongs to the saeculum and therefore stops on the threshold of the divine light [ I] without crossing that threshold, but it senses the light beyond that threshold. We are taken to that threshold by the human feeling of Beauty within us that leads us up to there: up to that door that it is not possible to cross in our being human, but nevertheless, the very dwelling on that threshold is illuminated by the ve...

Similarities between Lithuanian, Sanskrit and Ancient Greek: the sigmatic future

by Fabrizio Ulivieri Lithuanian is the most archaic among all the Indo-European languages spoken today, and as a result it is very useful, indeed, indispensable in the study of Indo-European linguistics. The most important fact is that Lithuanian is not only very archaic, but still very much alive, i. e., it is spoken by about three and a half million people. It has a rich tradition in folklore, in literature, and it is used very successfully in all walks of modern life, including the most advanced scientific research. Forced by our interest for this piece of living archaism, we go deeper in our linguistic survey. One of the most noticeable similarities is the future (- sigmatic future -). Lithuanian has preserved a future tense from prehistoric times: it has one single form, e.g. kalbė-siu 'I will speak', etc. kalbė-si kalbė-s kalbė-sime kalbė-site kalbė-s This form kalbėsiu is made from the stem kalbė-(ti) 'to speak', plus the ancient stem-end...

My world before and after the so-called Pandemic

  Prior to the so-called pandemic, the world was different. I was different.  One of my greatest moments of pleasure was visiting unknown cities, lost in the unknown, following an unknown flux of life surrounded by unknown streets and people.  I felt invisible. No one knew me, and I knew no one. That gave me a strong sense of pleasure. The pleasure of doing things you usually avoid in places where everyday life, routine, and the fear of showing yourself in a way people are not accustomed to expecting from you. I am not sure what I was looking for in doing this. I remember I felt pushed to search for the essence of that world, as I could physically taste that essence. I was looking for an aura of mystery which could rescue me from my nothingness (I called it nothingness, but now I should call it stupidity—because now I realize what an idiot I was). I hoped for goodness from the world, I hoped for a magic of life, I hoped for an encounter which would be my Saviour, the Savi...