Since we are travellers and pilgrims in the world, let us ever ponder on the end of the road, that is of our life, for the end of our roadway is our home (St Columban, 8th sermon).
One of the most beautiful passages on death that I have ever read is from Pope Benedict's encyclical letter on hope, Spe Salvi, No 48. I have often quoted from this passage at funerals.
Spe Salvi,
48. Pope Benedict
In hope we were saved (Romans, 8:24).
The belief that love can reach into the
afterlife, that reciprocal giving and receiving is possible, in which our
affection for one another continues beyond the limits of death—this has been a
fundamental conviction of Christianity throughout the ages and it remains a
source of comfort today. Who would not feel the need to convey to their
departed loved ones a sign of kindness, a gesture of gratitude or even a
request for pardon?
. . . We should recall that no man is an island,
entire of itself. Our lives are involved with one another . . . The lives of
others continually spill over into mine: in what I think, say, do and achieve.
And conversely, my life spills over into that of others: for better and for
worse. So my prayer for another is not something extraneous to that person,
something external, not even after death. In the interconnectedness of Being,
my gratitude to the other—my prayer for him—can play a small part in his
purification. And for that there is no need to convert earthly time into God's time:
in the communion of souls simple terrestrial time is superseded. It is never
too late to touch the heart of another, nor is it ever in vain. In this way we
further clarify an important element of the Christian concept of hope. Our hope
is always essentially also hope for others; only thus is it truly hope for me
too.
Pope Benedict quotes above the opening line of a poem by English poet John Donne (1572-1631), No man is an island, entire of itself. Here where I live we have three funerals of Columban priests this week, those of Fr Austin McGuinness, ordained in 1965, Fr Michael Doohan, ordained in 1952 and Fr Jeremiah Cotter, ordained in 1954. The deaths of these men whom I knew, along with that of Pope Emeritus Benedict whom I greatly admired, speak to me through the words of John Donne's poem.
Read by Peter Baker
Pope Benedict loved the music of Mozart and often played it on the piano. He would have been very familiar with Mozart's Requiem, a setting of the Requiem Mass in Latin.
At the end of a performance of this work in Lucerne conductor Claudio Abbado, below, remained in prayerful silence for forty seconds before turning to the audience and allowing applause.
Benedict XVI on Silence
Here there is a first important aspect for us: we live in a society in which it seems that every space, every moment must be 'filled' with projects, activities and noise; there is often no time even to listen or to converse. Dear brothers and sisters, let us not fear to create silence, within and outside ourselves, if we wish to be able not only to become aware of God's voice but also to make out the voice of the person beside us, the voices of others.
These words are from the homily of Pope Benedict XVI in Sulmona, Italy, on 4 July 2010 marking the 800th anniversary of the birth of Pope Celestine V who resigned from the papacy in 1294 and was canonized in 1313.
Readings(Jerusalem Bible: Australia, England &
Wales, India [optional], Ireland, New Zealand, Pakistan, Scotland, South Africa)
GospelJohn 14:15-21 (New
Revised Standard Version, Anglicised Catholic Edition, Canada)
Jesus said to his disciples:
‘If you love me, you
will keep my commandments. And I will ask the
Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you for ever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive,
because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with
you, and he will be in you.
‘I will not
leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the
world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will
live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you
in me, and I in you. They who have my
commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be
loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.’
I have shared this story, or parts of it, a number of times here, maybe even recently. But it is an event in which I see the call of Jesus to intimacy with him and with the Father in the Last Supper Discourse from which today's Gospel is taken.
In the summer of 1982 when I worked for a month or
so in an American parish after a year's study in Toronto I went to visit a
friend who had turned 29 earlier that year. I first met 'Gina', as I'll call my
Italian-American friend, when she was a mixed-up 16-year-old with a generous
and honest heart. Over the years I was a mentor in the faith to her, mostly by letter, as we met only every few years. Gina was a wonderful
letter-writer, hence the painting by Vermeer above, though I used to gently
tease her on occasion about misspellings - she was a teacher.
I had seen Gina grow strong in the faith over the
years and when she graduated she chose to teach in a Catholic school, with a
lower salary, than in the public school system, because of her commitment. She
also took time out at one stage to spend a year working with a charismatic
group.
When we met in 1982, shortly after she had spent
some time in the ICU, Gina told me that she felt she didn't have long to live.
It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me and I had the grace to
take her at her word. I knew that she didn't enjoy robust health and I was also
aware of two attempts to take her own life.
The first was when she was around 17. She slit her
wrist. Fortunately, her parents found her and took her straight to hospital.
During her recovery, which was a kind of 'resurrection' experience for her, she
saw clearly that her parents loved her, despite the infidelity of her father
that she had been aware of since she was about six, knowledge she had tried to
protect her younger brother from.
But in the summer of 1981, before I went to
Toronto, I spent a month in the parish where I found myself again the following
year. Not long after going there I did something that I rarely did - make a
phone call late at night. I normally don't phone someone unless there's some
business to discuss and I don't call people when they might already be in bed.
I was shocked when Gina answered. She sounded drunk. I discovered that she had
taken an overdose of a high-risk medicine that the doctor had prescribed for
her multiple sclerosis (MS). I told her I would come over immediately. She said
that she would't let me in. She lived in an apartment on her own, not far from
her parents' house. I asked another priest to come with me. And when we arrived
she didn't carry out her threat not to let me in.
After a couple of hours we were satisfied that Gina
hadn't taken enough to kill herself and that she wouldn't do anything drastic
during the night. I promised to return in the morning and I was to spend most
of the next two days with her.
I knew that at that particular time I was the only
person whom Gina could trust and open her heart to. The breakthrough came on
the second morning. What had triggered off her attempted suicide was something
her mother had said indicating that Gina wasn't living up to her expectations.
Gina, who felt deep shame at the state she was in in my presence, asked
me, What are your expectations of me? I answered, I
don't have any, only hopes.
That was when Gina made a clear decision to live.
St Peter tells us in today's Second Reading: Always be ready to make
your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting of the hope that is
in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence (1 Peter 3:15-16).
When I went back to the parish later I had no
worries. A few days later Gina came to Mass there, as serene and happy as could
be. For the second time in her life she had truly experienced a 'resurrection'
but this time understanding it clearly from the vantage of her deep
faith.
And a day or two later I received a letter from
Gina that I still treasure that was an expression of her Catholic Christian
faith and of her reverence for the grace that the priesthood is for God's
people and specifically for her. And she got her 'revenge' on me for my teasing
about her occasional misspellings by deliberately misspelling almost every word
in the opening paragraph and promising to say a Hail Mary for each
misspelled word I might find in the rest of the letter - and binding me to say
a certain number of Hail Marys for her if I didn't find any.
(I found one - years later on one of the many occasions I have re-read Gina's
letter!)
One
thing I learned from the experience in 1982 was that a person may have a deep
and strong faith and yet be very fragile. I also learned, as I've learned from
many other situation down the years, that you don't have to have experienced
the specific pain of the person you are listening to in order to understand or
for that person to know that he or she is truly heard and understood.
When
Gina then told me the following summer that she thought she didn't have long to
live I took her seriously and knew that she was probably right. When I had
heard after arriving in her area that she was in the ICU I didn't want to
face the possible consequences of that.
We
spoke to each other for maybe two or three hours about what her death would mean to her
and to me. There was nothing morbid about this. We were sharing at the deepest level of our Catholic Christian faith. Gina truly believed in the
reality of the Resurrection. And she had discovered that God is a loving and
merciful God, particularly the previous summer.
During
these Sundays and weekdays the Gospel is from the Last Supper Discourse in St
John's Gospel (John 14-17). Jesus knows he is to suffer an ignominious and
utterly painful death. Yet there is nothing morbid about his words. He is
calling his closest companions into the intimacy of the Holy Trinity. On
that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.
And telling them of the Holy Spirit whom he will send Jesus says, You
know him, because he will abide with you, and he will be in you. Gina and I
at that moment shared in the intimacy of the Holy Trinity through the presence
of Jesus the Risen Lord, the kind of intimacy captured by Terbrugghen in his
painting above, Supper at Emmaus.
After
talking through all of this Gina and I went to a restaurant for lunch where we
were joking and laughing. Deep in our hearts we experienced something of what Jesus promised
the Twelve - and all of us - at the Last Supper: So you have pain now; but I
will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy
from you (John 16:22).
I
never saw Gina again. She died a few months later, very peacefully. And I know
that her parish priest celebrated Mass in her apartment, with her family and
some friends present, a day or two before her death.
Because
I live, you also will live.
If ye love me
Composed by Thomas Tallis, sung by Cantate Boys' Choir. St John Paul II was born on 18 May 1920.
Antiphona
ad Communionem Communion
Antiphon John 14:15-16
Si diligitis me, mandata mea servate, dicit
Dominus.
If you love me, keep my commandments, says the
Lord,
Et ego rogabo Patrem et alium Paraclitmum dabit
vobis,
and I will ask the Father and he will send you
another Paraclete,
ut maneat vobiscum in aeternum, alleluia.
to abide with you for ever, alleluia.
Translation used by Tallis
If ye love me, keep my commandments,
and I will pray the Father,and he shall give you another comforter,
that he may 'bide with you forever, e'en the spirit of truth.
Easter Music
Venite,
exsultemus Domino. Psalm 94[95]:1.
Come,
ring out our joy to the Lord.
Téanam
agus canaimís don Tiarna. Hosanna
A friend in the Philippines sent me the link to Hosanna and told me that it is often sung at international meetings of Faith and Light. The music was written by Carl Tuttle, an American, who leads the song in this video. Here are the lyrics.
Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest;
Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest.
Lord, we lift up your name with hearts full of praise;
be exalted, O Lord, My God; Hosanna in the highest.
Glory, Glory, Glory to the King of Kings;
Glory, Glory, Glory to the King of Kings.
Lord, we lift up your name with hearts full of praise;
be exalted, O Lord, my God; Glory to the King of Kings.
Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest;
Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest.
Lord, we lift up your name with hearts full of praise;
be exalted, O Lord, My God; Hosanna in the highest.
It is interesting that a hymn of praise coming out of an American Protestant tradition has become a multi-lingual one during the Covid-19 pandemic with a 'virtual' international choir led from Međugorje in Bosnia and Herzegovina, where the Blessed Mother is especially venerated. And it has become an anthem for Faith and Light which has its origins in Lourdes in 1971 and, while Catholic-inspired, is also ecumenical and inter-faith in its celebration of the lives of persons with learning disabilities.
Interesting too that while the soloists of the 'virtual' choir sing in their own languages, they sing Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in excelsis together in Latin, the language that is the heritage of all Catholics of the Latin or Roman Rite, who are the vast majority of Catholics.
Readings(Jerusalem Bible: Australia,
England & Wales, India [optional], Ireland, New Zealand, Pakistan,
Scotland, SouthAfrica)
GospelLuke 12:32-48 [or 35-40] (New
Revised Standard Version, Anglicised Catholic Edition, Canada)
Jesus said to his disciples:
‘Do
not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you
the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for
yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no
thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your
treasure is, there your heart will be also.
‘Be dressed for
action and have your lamps lit;be
like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet,
so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when
he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to
eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the
middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.
‘But
know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was
coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You
also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.’
Peter said, ‘Lord, are you telling this parable for us or
for everyone?’ And the Lord said, ‘Who then is the faithful and prudent
manager whom his master will put in charge of his slaves, to give them their
allowance of food at the proper time? Blessed is that slave
whom his master will find at work when he arrives. Truly I tell you, he will put that one in charge of all his
possessions. But if that slave says to himself, “My master is delayed in
coming”, and if he begins to beat the other slaves, men and women, and to eat
and drink and get drunk, the master of that
slave will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour that he
does not know, and will cut him in pieces,and put him with the unfaithful. That slave who knew what his master wanted, but did not
prepare himself or do what was wanted, will receive a severe beating. But one who did not know and did what deserved a beating
will receive a light beating. From everyone to whom much has been given, much
will be required; and from one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will
be demanded.
‘Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return
from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he
comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when
he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to
eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the
middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.
‘But
know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was
coming, he would not
have let his house be broken into. You also must be
ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.’
On
the evening of 24 July I got word that my oldest friend, Philip O'Brien, had been
admitted to the Palliative Care of Our Lady's Hospice in Harold’s Cross,
Dublin and that he wanted to see me. When I went the following day the first
thing he asked of me was to give him the Last Rites. I was prepared for this
and celebrated the sacrament of confession and the sacrament of the sick with a
dear friend with whom I had started off in school at the age of four in 1947. Philip
specifically referred to the sacrament of the sick by its old name, ‘Extreme
Unction’, the final anointing. He was well aware that in his situation that
that is what it was. When we were finished Philip, who rarely spoke about his
faith, said to me, ‘I have always trusted in Jesus. May he trust in me now.’
Philip’s
final illness had come as a shock to his family and to his friends. His wife
Barbara - I had officiated at their wedding in 1968 - and their three sons Ciaran, Rory and Alan were fully aware of the
situation and prepared for the end. Most importantly, Philip was prepared,
filled with the hope that our faith in the Risen Lord Jesus gives us. He died
peacefully two days after I had anointed him and I celebrated his funeral Mass
on 1 August.
The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass that day was not a celebration of Philip’s life but a celebration of the
life, death and Resurrection of Jesus in which we commended Philip’s soul to
the mercy of God.
I think that the words of Pope Benedict from his encyclical Spe Salvi [acti sumus—in hope we were saved], No 47, and quoted in the homily, touched the hearts of those present and reminded us that our death is not the end but, in God's plan when we cooperate with it, is the beginning of eternal life.
The belief
that love can reach into the afterlife, that reciprocal giving and receiving is
possible, in which our affection for one another continues beyond the limits of
death—this has been a fundamental conviction of Christianity throughout the
ages and it remains a source of comfort today. Who would not feel the need to
convey to their departed loved ones a sign of kindness, a gesture of gratitude
or even a request for pardon?
. . . We
should recall that no man is an island, entire of itself. Our lives are
involved with one another . . . The lives of others continually spill over into
mine: in what I think, say, do and achieve. And conversely, my life spills over
into that of others: for better and for worse. So my prayer for another is not
something extraneous to that person, something external, not even after death.
In the interconnectedness of Being, my gratitude to the other—my prayer for
him—can play a small part in his purification. And for that there is no need to
convert earthly time into God's time: in the communion of souls simple
terrestrial time is superseded. It is never too late to touch the heart of
another, nor is it ever in vain. In this way we further clarify an important
element of the Christian concept of hope. Our hope is always essentially also
hope for others; only thus is it truly hope for me too.
There are a number of prayers in the Irish language for a happy death. Here is one:
Glór na n-aingeal ós mo chionn,
ola Chríosta ar mo chorp,
Dia go raibh romham agus liom.
Is duitse, a Chríosta, m’anam bocht.
The voice
of the angels over me,
the
anointing of Christ on my body,
may God be before me and with me.
And my poor soul is yours, O Christ.
A Naomh-Mhuire,
a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh, anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Amen.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
“If you love me, you will keepmy commandments.And I will ask the
Father, and he will give you another Advocate,to be with you forever.This is the Spirit of truth,
whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You
know him, because he abides with you, and he will be inyou.
“I
will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.In a
little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I
live, you also will live.On that day you
will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.They
who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who
love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to
them.”
Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window (detail), Vermeer, 1657
In the summer of 1982 when I worked for a month or so in an American parish after a year's study in Toronto I went to visit a friend who had turned 29 earlier that year. I first met 'Gina', as I'll call my Italian-American friend, when she was a mixed-up 16-year-old with a generous and honest heart. Over the years I was a mentor in the faith to her, mostly by correspondence, as we met only every few years. Gina was a wonderful letter-writer, hence the painting by Vermeer above, though I used to gently tease her on occasion about misspellings - she was a teacher.
I had seen Gina grow strong in the faith over the years and when she graduated she chose to teach in a Catholic school, with a lower salary, than in the public school system, because of her commitment. She also took time out at one stage to spend a year working with a charismatic group.
When we met in 1982, shortly after she had spent some time in the ICU, Gina told me that she felt she didn't have long to live. It was the first time anyone had ever said that to me and I had the grace to take her at her word. I knew that she didn't enjoy robust health and I was also aware of two attempts to take her own life.
The first was when she was around 17. She slit her wrist. Fortunately, her parents found her and took her straight to hospital. During her recovery, which was a kind of 'resurrection' experience for her, she saw clearly that her parents loved her, despite the infidelity of her father that she had been aware of since she was about six, knowledge she had tried to protect her younger brother from.
But in the summer of 1981, before I went to Toronto, I spent a month in the parish where I found myself again the following year. Not long after going there I did something that I rarely did - make a phone call late at night. I normally don't phone someone unless there's some business to discuss and I don't call people when they might already be in bed. I was shocked when Gina answered. She sounded drunk. I discovered that she had taken an overdose of a high-risk medicine that the doctor had prescribed for her multiple sclerosis (MS). I told her I would come over immediately. She said that she would't let me in. She lived in an apartment on her own, not far from her parents' house. I asked another priest to come with me. And when we arrived she didn't carry out her threat not to let me in.
After a couple of hours we were satisfied that Gina hadn't taken enough to kill herself and that she wouldn't do anything drastic during the night. I promised to return in the morning and I was to spend most of the next two days with her.
I knew that at that particular time I was the only person whom Gina could trust and open her heart to. The breakthrough came on the second morning. What had triggered off her attempted suicide was something her mother had said indicating that Gina wasn't living up to her expectations. Gina, who felt deep shame at the state she was in in my presence, asked me, What are your expectations of me? I answered, I don't have any, only hopes.
That was when Gina made a clear decision to live. St Peter tells us in today's Second Reading: Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence (1 Peter 3:15-16).
When I went back to the parish later I had no worries. A few days later Gina came to Mass there, as serene and happy as could be. For the second time in her life she had truly experienced a 'resurrection' but this time understanding it clearly from the vantage of her deep faith.
And a day or two later I received a letter from Gina that I still treasure that was an expression of her Catholic Christian faith and of her reverence for the grace that the priesthood is for God's people and specifically for her. And she got her 'revenge' on me for my teasing about her occasional misspellings by deliberately misspelling almost every word in the opening paragraph and promising to say a Hail Mary for each misspelled word I might find in the rest of the letter - and binding me to say a certain number of Hail Marys for her if I didn't find any. (I found one - years later on one of the many occasions I have re-read Gina's letter!)
One thing I learned from the experience in 1982 was that a person may have a deep and strong faith and yet be very fragile. I also learned, as I've learned from many other situation down the years, that you don't have to have experienced the specific pain of the person you are listening to in order to understand or for that person to know that he or she is truly heard and understood.
When Gina then told me the following summer that she thought she didn't have long to live I took her seriously and knew that she was probably right. When I had heard after arriving in her area that she was in the ICU I didn't want to face the possible consequences of that.
We spoke to each other for maybe two hours about what her death would mean to her and to me. There was nothing morbid about this. Gina truly believed in the reality of the Resurrection. And she had discovered that God is a loving and merciful God, particularly the previous summer.
During these Sundays and weekdays the Gospel is from the Last Supper Discourse in St John's Gospel (John 14-17). Jesus knows he is to suffer an ignominious and utterly painful death. Yet there is nothing morbid about his words. He is calling his closest companions into the intimacy of the Holy Trinity. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. And telling them of the Holy Spirit whom he will send Jesus says, You know him, because he will abide with you, and he will be in you. Gina and I at that moment shared in the intimacy of the Holy Trinity through the presence of Jesus the Risen Lord, the kind of intimacy captured by Terbrugghen in his painting above, Supper at Emmaus.
After talking through all of this Gina and I went to a restaurant for lunch where we were joking and laughing, deep in our hearts something of what Jesus promised the Twelve - and us - at the Last Supper: So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you (John 16:22).
I never saw Gina again. She died a few months later, very peacefully. And I know that her parish priest celebrated Mass in her apartment, with her family and some friends present, a day or two before her death.
Because I live, you also will live.
If ye love me, Thomas Tallis
Antiphona ad Communionem Communion Antiphon John 14:15-16
Si diligitis me, mandata mea servate, dicit Dominus.
If you love me, keep my commandments, says the Lord,
Et ego rogabo Patrem et alium Paraclitmum dabit vobis,
and I will ask the Father and he will send you another Paraclete,
ut maneat vobiscum in aeternum, alleluia.
to abide with you for ever, alleluia.
Translation used by Tallis
If ye love me, keep my commandments, and I will pray the Father,and he shall give you another comforter, that he may 'bide with you forever, e'en the spirit of truth.
Benedict XVI, Zagreb, Croatia, 5
June 2011
