Pastel colors in the dissection lab? Pink, violet, yellow, and green stalks of flowers gently decorated the white sheets covering the human remains. Not the usual landscape for an anatomy class. But then, most of that morning was full of surprises.

When Dr. Schmidt decided to include a memorial service for the cadavers as the last session of the anatomy course -- elegantly, humanistically, renamed “Human Form and Development” -- those of us involved in teaching first-year students did not know what to expect. Certainly, a tone of respect and reflection had been established at the outset of the course by the faculty's personal commitment to the value of the dissection experience and to the inherent dignity of every human being, regardless of form. The course, in fact, opened with a discussion of spirituality and two poems about the body. Then, throughout the semester, along with additional readings about doctoring, a small- web portfolio of images of the body in art accompanied course assignments and lectures, subtly inviting students to consider connections between their own medical orientation and larger contexts.

But how many students would come to the memorial? Competition for student's time is heavy, and attendance at this new memorial service was optional. Those who wanted to express gratitude to the donor always could attend the city-wide memorial held for all medical students, faculty and donor families in May. Scheduling this program expressed our commitment to encouraging responsibility and appreciation among the students, but, we thought, certainly this first time, maybe only twenty, thirty, forty students would appear.

Clearly, however, the occasion spoke to many students' deepest needs. As more than 150 students entered, a somber silence replaced the more characteristic chatter that usually filled the lab. Several students chose to pay homage to the donors as well as their experience with poetic readings: Corinthians I 31-50; Ophelia's funeral speech from Hamlet; Jennifer Best's poem “Freckles”. Others chose music: a moving rendition of “Amazing Grace”; and Celine Dion's “The Prayer” played live on the piano. (One can only imagine what the house staff thought when they received a request to bring a piano to the anatomy lab.)

Concluding with a moment of silence that gave everyone an opportunity to make the moment personal, the memorial had moved into sacred time and the lab had become sacred space. Some students lowered their eyes, while others gazed across the room seeking connection with their class mates. Some looked as if they were meditating or lost in reverie. Yet others openly wept.

The pensive, reverent expressions on the students, faces suggested that they had been on a journey of transformation. What at first seemed grotesque, dissection had become a familiar welcome source of learning. This blatantly physical activity had evoked spiritual reflection on the nature of mortality and the value of life. Strangers at first, the students had created a community, bound by a sense of purpose and skill, by loss and gain, by sorrow and gratitude. From ambitious, sometimes anxious students they were becoming humble healers, attune to the mysterious as well as to the knowable in the art and science of medicine.

Culminating in this brief ceremony, everything the students had done in that room gave death meaning. As they filed out of the lab, many overtly expressing deep appreciation for this opportunity to say “thank you” and “goodbye” to their cadavers, the students seemed as if they were leaving a house of worship. Whatever their religious persuasions, each had experienced a touch of holiness.