Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Big Death, little deaths


Tomorrow, March 21st is the Commemoration of the Death of St Benedict of Nursia. Since he is one of my patrons, I hold this day close to heart. It reminds me in the middle of Lent that we all prepare for death, each in his or her own way.


One of the better preparations we can all make is to suffer little deaths gladly.


These little deaths can be self imposed mortifications, such as denying oneself some small pleasure or activity as a discipline and a reminder. Skip the second cup of coffee. Go out of your way to encounter and be nice to someone you normally avoid. Sometimes these little deaths come to us unbidden, through circumstances forced upon us from outside.


In either case, we ought to welcome the opportunity to crucify our old self and allow the new being of Christ to rise within us. This is what Benedict was headed for. It is the only way his preoccupation with and foreknowledge of his own death makes sense. St. Gregory the Great records it as follows:


"The same year in which he departed this life, Benedict told the day of his holy death to his monks, some of which lived daily with him, and some dwelt far off. He urged those that were present to keep it secret, and revealed to them that were absent by what token they should know that he was dead.


Six days before he left this world, he gave order to have his tomb opened, and forthwith falling into an ague, he began with burning heat to wax faint, and when as the sickness daily increased, on the sixth day he commanded his monks to carry him into the oratory, where he armed himself with receiving the body and blood of our Savior Christ; and having his weak body held up by the hands of his disciples, he stood with his own arms lifted to heaven. As he was praying in that manner, he gave up the ghost.


On that same day two monks, one being in his cell, and the other far distant, had one and the same vision concerning him: they saw all the way from the holy man's cell, towards the east even up to heaven, hung and adorned with tapestry and shining with an infinite number of lamps. At the top a man, reverently attired, stood and demanded if they knew who passed that way, to whom they answered saying, that they knew not. Then he spoke to them: "This is the way by which the beloved servant of God, Benedict, ascended up to heaven."


By this means, as his monks that were present knew of the death of the holy man, so likewise those who were absent, by the token which he foretold them, had intelligence of the same thing. He was buried in the oratory of St. John Baptist which he himself had built when he overthrew the altar of Apollo. That cave in which he first dwelled [at Subiaco], even to this very time, works miracles, if the faith of those that pray there requires the same."

We may not be able to visit the holy man's cave or gravesite today in the flesh. Still, we can honor the memory of Benedict's presence among us and his passing, especially by practicing the little death.

Monday, November 20, 2006

This Dying Year and Our Mother

"Here lies another day during which I had eyes, ears, hands and the great world around me, and tomorrow begins another. Why am I allowed two?
- G. K. Chesterton

As we get closer to the end of the Church Year, I always feel a pull on my heart, resonating with all of the apocalyptic, "end-of-time" scripture readings.


This is not because I believe the Second Coming of Christ is going to happen any time soon. I lived through that 'Hal Lindsey" phase in my teen-age years (the early 1970's if you are counting). I even wanted to go to a Bible School rather than a "real" accredited college because accreditation didn't really matter if the end was nigh.

As I have gotten older I have realized that there is a far more important fact to be faced, and we humans are loathe to do so. Death is inevitable....

No matter what the external world indicates we will all,
all of us without exception, face death and the final reckoning.

I know that statement sounds a little morbid, but this insight is very real to those of us who have known death in our families and among our friends.

And in a supreme irony of fate, the simple recognition of that sobering fact makes the stars shine a little brighter, the frost nip a little nippier on the nose. The recognition that some day all of this will be gone (at least for us) makes us more thankful than ever for what we do have, right now, where we stand in this life.
Do you remember the character Emily in the Thornton Wilder play, Our Town? Every passing Autumn I feel a little more empathy with her anguished, unheard cries from beyond the grave in Grover's Corners, New Hampshire.

"Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?"


Life passes so very quickly, doesn't it?

But I also have a new Companion on my journey this year. She has helped me face my own mortality, because of Her own journey to the Father. I hope you will find Her too. She is a great Companion in Sorrow. Here is a quote about Her from that saint whose doily-laced Holy Card forms the header to this post:

Love Mary! She is loveable, faithful, constant. She will never let herself be outdone in love, but will ever remain supreme. If you are in danger, she will hasten to free you. If you are troubled, she will console you. If you are sick, she will bring you relief. If you are in need, she will help you.

She does not look to see what kind of person you have been. She simply comes to a heart that wants to love her. She comes quickly and opens her merciful heart to you, embraces you and consoles and serves you. She will even be at hand to accompany you on the trip to eternity. -

Saint Gabriel of the Sorrowful Mother