Death is a strange thing. It's inevitable, yet no one wants to
dwell on it-- that'd be morose. You aren't supposed to mention it in casual
conversation, or talk about it lightly-- especially in the presence of
children.
Ryan learned this
on Christmas Day when he was trying to get his little niece to go see her
granddad in the hospital. "He might not be around much longer," he
added. Everyone in the room grew silent. His sister quietly reprimanded,
"That's not the way to talk."
Ryan was right--
his father didn't live much longer. But so was his sister-- death is a grave
matter, not to be flung around flippantly.
Here's why it's
such a sacred time. When confronted with death:
a) one revisits
their history
b) one takes stock
of their relationships
c) one comes to
grips with their existential situation
d) one even exercises
their will, hopefully in abandonment to His
We have to respect
this process, both for the one who is dying, and those who love him. It is a
process of making sense out of suffering, death, and life.
THE BEREAVEMENT
PROCESS
Last weekend Ryan and I were listening to audio lectures on St.
Augustine's Confessions. The presenters came to the part in the text where
Augustine recalls the death of his friend. Augustine's reaction of grief was
very dramatic, but he says it was more about him than it was his friend. In
fact, the commentators found it noteworthy that Augustine doesn't even mention
the name of the deceased-- only that it was his friend.
This led me to
reflect on the distinction between one's external, visible, reactions and their
internal disposition. One cannot tell the latter from the former. We consider a
person cold and aloof should they not shed a tear at the death of a loved one.
But as Augustine shows us, sadness is not necessarily nobler.
Each person will
grieve differently. God alone knows the heart.
THE DYING PROCESS
Ryan's father,
John, had heart problems. He we was going to have surgery, but changed his
mind. "I thought [surgery] was my only option if I wanted to live" he
told me. "Well," I reluctantly replied, "I think it kind of
is."
John wanted to
live. He also wanted to live without unnecessary complications and hardships. I
think, somehow, over the course of those next two weeks, he came to terms with
what his decision not to have surgery meant for him.
Last night, surrounded
by all five of his daughters, John took his last breath. It was the day the Church
celebrates the feast of the Baptism of the Lord.
OBEDIENCE TO THE FATHER’S WILL
Yesterday I read
an Angelus address for this feast in which Pope Benedict asked: "What is
the meaning of this act that Jesus wishes to fulfill - overcoming the Baptist's
resistance - in order to obey the Father's will (cf. Mt 3: 14-15)?" He
continues:
The profound
sense emerges only at the end of Christ's earthly existence, in his death and
Resurrection. Being baptized by John together with sinners, Jesus began to take
upon himself the weight of all of humanity's sin, like the Lamb of God who
"takes away" the sin of the world (cf. Jn 1: 29): an act which he
brought to fulfillment on the Cross when he also received his "baptism"
(cf. Lk 12: 50). In fact, by dying he is "immersed" in the Father's
love and the Holy Spirit comes forth, so that those who believe in him could be
reborn by that inexhaustible font of new and eternal life. Christ's entire
mission is summed up in this: to baptize us in the Holy Spirit, to free us from
the slavery of death and "to open heaven to us", that is, access to
the true and full life that will be "a plunging ever anew into the
vastness of being, in which we are simply overwhelmed with joy" (Spe
Salvi, n. 12).
The baptism of the
Lord is about obedience to God's will. I find it fitting that my father-in-law
went to God on this feast day, in obedience to the Father's will.
Our Lord took on
John Brady's sins, and died for him, so as to open heaven for him. John gave
his assent, coaxed by his daughters who encouraged him in his final moments to
"go to God," in fulfillment of God's plan. This is a victory of
humility: accepting even death[1], that God may grant eternal life.
THE CHURCH &
HER LITURGY
And so I rejoice today in John's participation in the victory of
Christ over sin and death.[2]
And we pray for
the repose of his soul, for that is what Scripture asks of us.[3]
We will pray in
trusting supplication: "Out of the depths, I cry to you, O LORD."[4]
We will
remember in what consists John's viaticum, his food for the journey, as we
celebrate the Eucharist. "Whoever eats my Flesh and drinks my Blood has
eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day."[5]
And we'll
follow John's example of humble and persevering faith, with thanksgiving for
his life, prayers for his salvation, and hope for the resurrection- when
"we will all be changed."[6]
In paradisum deducant te Angeli; in tuo adventu suscipiant te
martyres, et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Ierusalem. Chorus angelorum te
suscipiat, et cum Lazaro quondam paupere æternam habeas requiem.
"May the angels lead you into
paradise; may the martyrs receive you at your arrival and lead you to the holy
city Jerusalem. May choirs of angels receive you and with Lazarus, once (a)
poor (man), may you have eternal rest."
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