Please Don't Post My #death

 I've made three requests of my wife for when my time comes to pass from this world to the next--whether that is tomorrow or fifty years from now. I haven't gotten around to drafting my death wish in writing, but she knows the following are my three requests when it comes time:

-Requiem Latin Mass (a given)

-No eulogy (will probably be contested, but I won't be there to fight her on it)

-No sharing of my passing on social media or any kind (a non-negotiable)

The window of death is one of the most sacred portals we can pass through. It is the anti-opus; everything in your life culminates in that moment, but at the same time it amounts to but a drop in the ocean of eternity. What you lived for, what you died for, what you worked all your life for--all of it will be revealed and judged. But the only one whose judgment matters is the one who sits on the Throne of Judgement.

Having Masses said for the dead is a supreme act of charity and is the most valued currency in the spiritual economy. If you've ever been to a requiem TLM, it is a fitting send off--solemn, reverent, a good visual reminder, and everything the dead deserve. I can't say the same for other funerals I have attended, because they are quite the opposite. 

On the second point, my request for no eulogy should not be controversial, as this practice has no place in the context of a Catholic Mass. Eulogy is Greek for "words of praise," and if anyone is going to be praised at the Holy Sacrifice for how he lived, what he taught and how he died, that man is Christ. I would even prefer were there a homily given, it doesn't involve me at all, but perhaps an allowance could be made for the things I held to in this life as they reflect back to the glory of Christ in the context of the Gospel--discipleship, forgiveness, prayer, charity. The poor are blessed not only because they hold company with Lazarus who was welcome into blessed repose, but also because they die in obscurity and with little fanfare. They are remembered in Heaven, because they never had the consolation of remembrance or praise in this life. 

On the final point--my wife has mentioned that social media is "cheap." I think she means it in the way Bonhoeffer referred to the "cheap grace" that so many Christians seek. And so she has agreed to honor this wish because she knows the nature of it and that I'm serious about it. To be scrolling through and see a post on the horrors of war, followed by a funny cat video and then an advertisement for bathrobes or whatever elevates the frivolous and cheapens the elevated until everything is content and nothing is worth anything. We've all bought into and fallen prey to this, and people are starting to wake up and extricate themselves from this experiment of exploitation-gone-wrong. The more people the better, in my opinion. 

I'm not exactly a public figure, but I've put myself out there in this digital landscape like a fisherman to pay back my debt to Christ under obligation in the hopes that "some might be saved." This is my cross, and I bear it gladly. 

But I also know that the wise man knows the true nature of things, as he says

"For the living know that they die, and the dead do not know anything, and there is no more reward to them, for their remembrance has been forgotten" (Ecc 9:5)

and

"For neither the wise nor the fool will be long remembered, since in days to come everything will be forgotten" (Ecc 2:16)

And so it is inevitable that we will be forgotten, and quicker than we might think; if we live knowing the footprints we leave in this life will not be cast in bronze, the sooner we can get to the work of laboring in charity and obscurity for the things which moth will not destroy, and no one will want to steal. We will be more apt to give with our right hand while our left hand is left in the dark; we will not seek our names on stadiums or auditoriums. Our memory will be safely embalmed in the minds of those who matter, those whom we loved, not in cheap digital posts to be scrolled through and forgotten.   

After Confession last night, my penance was to pray the prayer of St. Francis three times. It is fitting that the good St. Francis wanted to die naked, eschewing even his beloved ragged and patched habit; he only put it on under obedience. I've prayed it before, but never paid much attention to the words:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:

where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury, pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

where there is sadness, joy.

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Death for the Christian is the ultimate sentence and the ultimate gift. When we are caught unaware like foolish virgins, we should tremble; but as St. Robert Bellarmine said, "he who lives well, dies well" and so I look forward to the day when the Lord will call me home and loose me from my debt I've incurred and tried to repay in this life. When He calls is His good judgment. I know He is the only one I have to answer to. For He has promised me, “Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee" (Is 49:15).

Confess Your Sins While You Still Can

 

One of the worst tragedies of the modern Church is the downplaying of sin--both its reality and its effects. The number of ignorant Catholics who have not been taught the necessity of repentance through the Sacrament of Penance to rejoin the chasm between our Creator and creature severed by mortal sin are legion. Even if one is not in mortal sin, but guilty of venial sin and imperfections, the Sacrament is a great grace to strengthen one's spiritual life and encourage compunction that should not be taken for granted.

Though individuals must answer to their Maker for every idle word spoken at the Judgement (Mt 12:36), there is also a great and terrible judgement reserved for those priests and bishops who did not do all they could to preach the message of the Baptist, the harbinger of the Christ: "Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand" (Mt 3:2). And likewise the words of St. Peter, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit" (Acts 2:38). And our Lord to St. John: "Remember, then, what you received and heard. Keep it, and repent. If you will not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come against you" (Rev 3:3)

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die (Ecc 3:1), and we do not know when that hour comes (Mt 24:42). 

So for those who lay sick and dying, who have been baptized as Catholics, one would think they would be desirous to confess their sins out of compunction and receive the grace of being washed clean. But alas, we often die as we live. Thankfully the Church in Christ's mercy is given the sacrament of Extreme Unction/Last Rites, otherwise known in the new Catechism as Anointing of the Sick. From the 1992 Catechism:

“The special grace of the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick has as its effects: the uniting of the sick person to the passion of Christ, for his own good and that of the whole Church; the strengthening, peace, and courage to endure in a Christian manner the sufferings of illness or old age; the forgiveness of sins, if the sick person was not able to obtain it through the sacrament of penance; the restoration of health, if it is conducive to the salvation of his soul; the preparation for passing over to eternal life” (CCC 1532)

And from the Catechism of Trent: 

"As all care should be taken that nothing impede the grace of the Sacrament, and as nothing is more opposed to it than the consciousness of mortal guilt, the constant practice of the Catholic Church must be observed of administering the Sacrament of Penance and the Eucharist before Extreme Unction."

And yet if we die as we live, it is not uncommon for modern Catholics today to 

a) either brazenly or ignorantly receive Holy Communion in a state of mortal sin

b) have gone for years without confessing their sins in the sacrament of Penance

c) feel no need to confess, either due to ignorance, faulty catechesis, or their culpability or willful refusal to make use of the Sacrament

So, when it comes to the hour of death, we are fortunate to have the grace of Extreme Unction/Anointing of the Sick to prepare us for our Judgment and final repose. 

But notice the bolding in both Catechisms (my emphasis): that the expectation is that if one is to receive anointing of the sick and receive the grace of forgiveness of sins though the sacrament, the inference (from the new CCC) is that if the sick or dying person IS able to confess and make use of the sacrament of Penance. If a priest is called in to anoint, the sick or dying person should be informed that the constant practice of the Catholic Church must be observed of administering the Sacrament of Penance and the Eucharist before Extreme Unction. 

This responsibility lies on the priest to inform the person of this necessity. But were the sick or dying person refuse to confess their sins, and had the opportunity to do so (after all, the priest is right there, and assuming the person was in their right state of mind, should ask him first to hear their confession) but did not and instead has the attitude of "just give me the anointing" (without confession)--isn't that a problem? And for the priest who were he to not ask the person "do you want to confess?" before anointing, or if he goes ahead with the anointing regarding confession unnecessary--is he himself not culpable?

It is not uncommon for those on hospice and those in hospitals with terminal illnesses to lose their sense of reason, in which case they may not be able to confess because they are not in their right mind, but can still make use of the Sacrament of Anointing. But I think this is a different scenario than one who has their reason and feels no need to confess, yet sees the Anointing as "covering all the bases" including forgiveness of sins without having to confess them.  This seems like a grave dereliction in my mind of both priests who neglect to insist upon Confession before anointing for those in their right mind and capable of it, and those ordinary Catholics who see no need for Confession but presume upon the forgiveness of sins without it. 

What do you think, reader? Am I reading too much into this? I am not trained in canon law or moral theology, but I would think the surest way--outside of perfect contrition, which is possible but rare--is to follow the good thief Dismas and confess with sincere contrition one's sins while they still are able, and to refuse to do so when given the opportunity is perilous. 

If a priest is available to anoint, he is available to hear one's confession. To spurn that opportunity thinking it is not needed seems gravely misleading. And for a priest not to encourage it and instead gloss over the need to confess (if one is in a state of mortal sin and able to confess) is culpable himself.  For no one enters the Kingdom of Heaven who is not sincerely penitent. God is both merciful and just. Dying is serious business, and it weighs on me in these kinds of circumstances that presumption reigns in the vacuum left by neglecting to preach the necessity of confession and conversion. 

Comments are open. I am, as well, to learning more and being corrected if I'm off base. I especially value the input of priests and religious more learned in sacramental theology than I am to shed light on this dilemma. 

Christian Hope In The Face Of Old Age, Disease, And Death

 As some readers may know, my path to Christianity was circumspent, and began with the discovery of the Four Noble Truths, the "Creed" of Buddhism. It goes something like this:

1. All life is suffering (our undisputable state of being)

2. Suffering is caused by desire/attachment (the cause of that state of being)

3. There is an end to the cycle of suffering (the hope of cessation of the affliction)

4. The Eight-fold Path is that way (the cure for the disease)

The Four Noble Truths, from an anthropological standpoint, made sense to me at the age of seventeen. Suffering (dhukka, better translated as "dissatisfaction") for me was experiential; I lived it. Most of us experience this dissatisfaction without even realizing it--that there is, or should be, something more to this life than fleeing experiences, temporary expiation of existential loneliness, and the hamster wheel of chasing after carnal satisfactions that don't last. 

It also made sense that our chasing of these mirages of temporary respite in this life was due to the desire for permanence--a permanence which may itself be a mirage. 

One would end up a nihilist if they stopped there, but the carrot of hope--hope which is essential to human fulfillment--would encourage an inquisition into a cure, and a physician for the disease. Did one exist? Did any man ever transcend this eternal cycle of samsara, the world of illusion and desire? For Buddhists, the answer is yes, and that man was the Buddha (meaning, "one who is awake"), who achieved this permanent state of detachment and prescribed the cure for others to follow: the Eight-Fold Path (which we don't have to get into). 

Siddhārtha Gautama (who would be later known by followers as Gautama Buddha) was born in Nepal about 500 BC. He was a prince, born into a wealthy family, and lived a pampered, sheltered life as a young man. He had everything he could want or need. One day, he wandered away from the palace and encountered a sick man, an old man, and a dying man. It rocked his world, and he realized this was the eventual state of all men. 

When he encountered a holy man, he abandoned his former life and became an extreme ascetic. Neither extreme--complete indulgence, or complete denial, gave him the peace he sought. Eventually he sat under a tree (the bhodi tree) and vowed not to leave until he "woke up" from this nightmare existence. It is said this is where he achieved enlightenment (Nirvana) after 49 days of meditation, and then in an act of compassion, eventually shared this "way out" with his first disciples. 

For most Buddhists, or those who practice Buddhism, one can spend their whole life trying to achieve this state, and never achieve it. The belief in reincarnation (which is, of course, incompatible with Christian soteriology/anthropology) states that one will be "reborn" into other states after death (human and non-human), and will continue in this cycle for all eternity until the state of Nirvana is achieved and they are finally freed from the hampster wheel of desire. 

* * *

Christians are not (or should not be, at least) religious syncretists. Buddhist practice is incompatible with Christian belief, and should not be encouraged. That doesn't mean, however, that there are not some commonalities in the human condition. With regards to the Four Noble Truths of Existence for a Buddhist outlined agove, a Christian may find some overlap and truth (small 't') here as they relate to this "problem" of old age, disease and death. 

Modern man suffers because of his attachments to an idea of permanence in this life--that the one-night stand will satisfy the desire for love or physical pleasure; that the discomfort of want can be satisfied by food or drink or technology; that the people we care about will not die or leave us; that we will live forever. We chase these transitory pleasures, these mirages, and tell ourselves "this time, it will last." But it doesn't, and never will. 

St. Augustine knew this state intimately, and wandered himself in the desert of carnal desire, learning, and esoteric philosophy looking for an oasis that wasn't a mirage. What he found was the gospel (the Word), and, ultimately, the Way (which is Christ).  

Like all Christians (and unlike disciples of Buddha), Augustine found that the path to transcendence of our mortal, corrupt state did not rest in his own abilities or determination, but in the God-man Christ. In conquering death by death, and in his great compassion and love for mankind allowing us to share in his divinity by partaking in our humanity, Christ did what no mortal man could do--restore us to friendship with God the Creator and give us eternal life after we pass from this world. It is grace, not self-determination, that frees us from the bondage of sin and redeems our fallen nature. For the Buddhist in their philosophical/religious world-view, your escape depends entirely on you and your efforts. For Christians, your salvation depends entirely on Christ and faith in him that redemption is possible.

There is no greater contrast between a believing Christian and a secular non-believer (or lukewarm Christian) than in a hospice ward (old age), a hospital (disease), and a funeral (death). 

We know that as a result of the Fall of man, we do not and will not live forever here on earth. All men grow old, and in doing so we revert to almost an infantile state of helplessness and dependence. For the Christian who grows in wisdom and acceptance (detachment from the idea that we will or should live forever) during their earthly life, we know we are soon passing to our eternal reward. We appreciate good health, but not as an absolute, or something to be clinged to--unlike those in the world who obsess about their bodies and cardiograms. Our spiritual preparation in this life will determine how "well" we age, as St. Robert Bellarmine says, "those who live well will die well." 

For believing (Catholic) Christians, physical suffering too can be redemptive. Because Christ physically suffered as a man, we can endure our physical suffering as partakers in his nature as a man. Our physical bodies are not our permanent state of existence; it is the soul that lives forever. And yet even then, our physical bodies are not cast off like snake-skin, but will (in faith and hope) be redeemed and glorified in the resurrection of the dead. While the secular man seeks every respite from suffering and discomfort, the Christian will enter into his suffering and offer it up in union with Christ's, and for the salvation of souls.

And because Death was conquered once and for all by Christ on the cross, the believing Christian should have no fear of death. His sentence, should he die in a state of grace and penitent, is Life, and life eternal. Christians in this state of being do not despair at the end of this earthly life, or shudder at the thought of being "reincarnated" into some lower level of existence, but rejoice in entering into eternal reward in Heaven with the communion of saints. Funerals, then, are somber but joyful affairs for the believing Christian when one has this faith, hope, and assurance, while their secular counterparts struggle to make sense of where a man goes after he dies.  

For the Christian believer, the Way is not a formula or a prescription, but the man Christ himself who opened the door to Heaven for us to join him there in spiritual union. The way out of dissatisfaction, craving, and transcendence does not depend on meditating our way to perfection, but in abandoning ourselves to the man Christ who offers by the free gift of grace an exit and assurance of salvation. We are not to be reborn in perpetuity, but redeemed eternally, both body and soul. It is in faith, hope, and charity that we devote ourselves to this Way, working out our salvation with joyful anticipation for what awaits us after old age, disease, and death. 

Why Are You Here?

For some reason today I really felt the weariness of Elijah the man of God, in reading 1 Kings 17-19. 

In chapter 17, Elijah proclaims a drought on Yahweh's authority. This is set up in the shadow of King Ahab's coming to power, who "did what was evil in the Lord's sight more than any of his predecessors," marrying the wicked Jezebel and serving Baal (1 Kings 16:30-34). After proclaiming the drought, the Lord sustains him in the Wadi Cherith, where he drinks and ravens bring him bread and meat. When the wadi runs dry, he goes to Sidon at the Lord's command, and demands a widow with her last morsel of food make him a cake. This widow was fully planning to eat and drink her last pathetic meal, and then succumb to death. The Lord, however, worked through the Elijah to ensure her flour and oil did not go empty. When her son falls sick and dies, Elijah brings him back to life (17.22). 

In chapter 18, the mighty prophet Elijah proves his mettle in going toe to toe with the prophets of Baal. King Ahab claims Elijah is a "disturber of Israel" (a nation that has gotten comfortable with worshipping both Ball and the Lord of Hosts), and Elijah fires back unapolgetically that it is the King who disturbs Israel by following the Baals (18:18). He demands the 450 prophets of Baal be summoned to show these his people--these "fence sitters"--who is Lord and God. He works a fantastic miracle by God's power, deferring to the priests of Baal to arrange their bull themselves for holocaust, and drenching his own alatr in water. He embarasses the prophets of Baal by their impotence, and the fire of the Lord consumes Elijah's saturated offering, proving beyond doubt that the Lord is God, and there is no room for the abobination of idolatry in his midst. Then he rounds up and slaughters the priests of Baal. 

In chapter 19, Elijah is spent. The last remaining prophet of the Lord in a land of abomination (18.22), and having worked mighty miracles and standing up to King Ahab and the 450 pagan priests, you would think he would have been fortified. Instead, he fears at the words of Jezebel who sought his life. He prays for death. "Enough, Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors" (19.4). He rests a while, and eats and drinks the angelic rations provided to him; it is enough to strengthen him to make the 40 day trek to Mt. Horeb. When he arrives, he recountes all he has done for the righteousness of the Lord. And yet, the Lord asks him twice, 

Why are you here, Elijah?

Why are you here? I often pray the prayer of Samuel, "Here I am!" (1 Sam 3). It's short, to the point, and affirms a readiness to listen and serve. It affirms the zeal of Elijah, the last prophet standing, to do what is commanded.

But I'd be lying if I didn't have my moments where I also prayed the prayer of Elijah, the man of God: Lord, let me die. It is enough. You get weary. You get spent, discouraged, disgusted. There is the natural expiration of the widow--"let me eat my last meal and die" when her food runs out. But the longing for death by the prophet goes deeper: he is not let off the hook. Not permitted to expire while there is still work to do. He sees it as a respite, a temptation even. But then he shows up to the mountain, and the Lord asks him, Why are you here? Elijah, why. are. you. here?

This needs to be separated from the so called "dignity" of assisted suicide, in which a person desires to leave the earth by their own hand, to be the commander of their destiny, or to avoid the indignity of suffering and loss of bodily functions. Whatever the reason, a Catholic cannot follow this line of reasoning. The Lord is the author of life, and He determines when it ends. We cannot intentionally end our lives by suicide because it is not for us to decide. 

That being said, my wife and I have discussed if we were given a terminal diagnosis (cancer, say), is it permissible as a Catholic to refuse chemotherapy or other things that simply prolongue the inevitable? What is the right thing to do? This is why we have the Catechism but also bioethics to help explore and seek to answer these sometimes grey and complicated questions. I have caught myself on more than one occasion "Please Lord, if you want to take me, just take me. I love my wife and kids. But there's not much keeping me here except the work you need me to do. If you need to keep me around to do it, I will. But Lord, give me death, as long as I can be with you forever."

Why are you here? Speaking to myself: If it is to do the work of the Lord, then get back to it and quit your memento mori daydreaming. If you need a rest and a snack, so be it. But you're not going to get off easy. This is the weariness of the disciple, when he forgets the joy of following the precepts of the Lord and only tastes dryness and never ending expansiveness of the road. 

Why are you here? Lord please let me die. This world holds nothing for me, and it would just be so much to leave it behind. I'm tired. Take me how you choose, send what you will. Just let me not defect from your word. Lord I long for death, the respite from this life, but not my will but yours be done.

Why are you here? You worked miracles through Elijah, showed your mighty Hand, slaughtered the priests of Baal. I have done nothing, accomplished nothing, but I keep going out to the fields, your fields to do the work. Elijah calls down fire which consumes soaked wood. I pick grapes, one by one, fill my basket because you tell me to. I try not to complain, but then I find myself hot, thirsty, sunbruned...and the complaining finds me. When will the work end, Lord? How long, my life? Can't I be with you now? I don't know how. I seek you in this life and am covered with noise, blasphemies, and idolatry at every turn. I am here because I want to see your holy Face, do your will. How long do I have to stay here? How long, O Lord? 

An Enduring Mercy

My father in law passed away this morning, drawing his last breath peacefully in bed with my wife by his side. He left the world with her reading to him from Psalms. Today was his 86th birthday.

When I entered his bedroom later in the afternoon it was, truth be told, the first time I had ever seen or been in the presence of a deceased body. His arms were folded on his chest in his bed, his speckled skin thin and taunt, his mouth ajar. It was strange to think that a few hours prior he was breathing and existing in time and space here on earth, and now his spirit had departed--there was no longer anything to compel movement or thought in him. He was, quite literally, no longer here. My wife and I made the sign of the cross, prayed together over his body, knowing that he was before the Lord at the great and terrible Judgment we all must face. "And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto myself." (Jn 12:32)

Two years ago I had discretely given my father in law a letter that I had hopes he would read, but was never sure if he did. I found a copy of it on my hard drive this evening:

Dear Dad,

D____ filled me in on the appointment, and your beginning dialysis. I know the next few months will be filled with lots of physical and medical changes, and will be difficult in lots of ways. I am glad you are undertaking it, and I hope it will help you feel better. You are in good hands with your children, who love you very much. As do I. 

Which is why I am writing this letter. Do you remember when I called you on the phone ten years ago, to ask your blessing to marry D? And you said to me, “I have to pull over, I am driving.” Haha. “We will go out to dinner,” you said, “we will do this in person.” Of course, for such a serious preparation for something that is for life, it is important that we do it the right way. You were right of course. We were preparing for life. 

Dad, I love you. Just as you prepared us for life together, I feel the need to write as you enter the final stages of your own. Deb said you have been experiencing a lot of anxiety with all the medical scares, and that it is hard to be alone. Of course, you know you are not alone, but that the Lord is always there beside you, holding you by the right hand. And you have been assigned a guardian angel at your baptism to watch over you and be your protector. 

“So then, banish anxiety from your heart. And cast off the troubles of your body.” (Eccl 11:10)

But no one can escape their end. It comes for us all. 

“All share a common destiny--the righteous and the wicked, the good and the bad, the clean and the unclean. Anyone who is among the living has hope--even a live dog is better off than a dead lion!

For the living know that they will die,

But the dead know nothing;

They have no further reward,” (Eccl 9:2, 4)

Dad, you have lived an amazing life. You have overcome hardship, made a life for yourself and your children in America, and been given “all good things” as a result of your hard work and tenacity. You leave a legacy. And none of it can you take with you. You know this. We all come before the Lord as naked and helpless as the day we are born.

The Lord loves you more than you will ever know. He loves you so much He sent He sent His Son, his only Son Jesus, to die for your sins. He sent us His Son to take the punishment due to our disobedience upon himself so that we might not suffer the fate of unbelievers. That means me, and that means you. If you were the only person in the world, God Himself would have sent His son to die, to redeem you, because by his death he conquered death. We need not fear death as believers, because we know it is not our final home. 

But we should not presume that Heaven is our due right. We are not “good people” in the eyes of God, for all have sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God (Rom 3:23). For there is no one who is righteous, no not one (Rom 3:10). One unconfessed mortal sin is enough to separate us from God forever. But we have a mighty Savior, for as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us (Ps 103:12).

The Church offers by the Sacrament of Confession the opportunity to reconcile with God in this life before we face the next. For after we die there is no confession, no opportunity to change. And no one knows the hour when that will happen. Christ gave his ministers--his priests--the power to forgive sins when we confess them, and the opportunity to be reconciled. All the dirt is washed away and we are made white as snow, though our sins be as scarlet. But we must confess with our tongue, and be honest with ourselves and before God, that we have fallen short and sinned against our Creator. 

Dad, you know I write this out of love. I don’t know anything about medicine, have been healthy most of my life, but know I can be taken from this life at any moment. Whether I am or not does not concern me, because this life is the veneer, a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. My hope is in Christ my Savior. I have made my confession, confessed my sin before Him who sees all things. 

Dad, I have included below an examination of conscience. Read through it slowly and carefully and search your heart. The Lord is merciful, and will pardon your sins, but you must confess them while you still have breath. We have priests on retainer who will hear your confession. There is nothing more important than Heaven. Please, please think about it. Of course you will be our daily prayers. You are not alone in this life, but ultimately you will face God alone and before Him at the Judgment Throne. Everything you have ever done in your life will be made known and is already known by the Lord. It is between you and God. But we only have this life to make amends. 

We love you dad.

R

For two years I prayed a lot that he would take the words in the letter to heart. He was a good and tender man, but was he ready in the "Memento Mori" sense? I even (subconsciously I think) asked Mary to "credit" him the graces promised from my First Fridays and First Saturdays, if this were possible. 

What graces? From our Lord to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, the 12th promise:

"I promise you in the excessive mercy of My Heart that My all-powerful love will grant all to those who communicate on the First Friday in nine consecutive months the grace of final penitence; they shall not die in My disgrace nor without receiving their sacraments; My Divine Heart shall be their safe refuge in this last moment."

And Our Lady to Lucia at Fatima:

"I promise to assist them at the hour of death with all the graces necessary for the salvation of their souls."

 

So many of these graces were manifested the past few weeks: The narrow window in which we were able to obtain a transport for him home from the hospital two weeks ago. The availability of our priest to hear his confession and administer last rites and the apostolic pardon that evening. To provide him with Holy Communion. To have his family around him, and to pass peacefully from this life to the next. Even as we sat around the kitchen table, my wife's brother and sisters and myself, there was peace and not acrimony. It was all the graces I had prayed for. And God in His infinite mercy, I believe, heard those prayers and honored them.

I texted a friend this afternoon: "I have to believe that perfect trust and confidence in God is His mercy is pleasing to Him. That is my oblation. Little Flower, pray for us!"

God's justice does not mitigate or undermine His mercy, or vice versa. As Scripture says,

“I will have mercy on whomever I have mercy, and I will show compassion to whomever I show compassion.” So then, it does not depend on the person who wants it nor the one who runs, but on God who has mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh, “For this very reason I raised you up, in order to demonstrate My power in you, and that My name might be proclaimed throughout the earth.” So then He has mercy on whom He desires, and He hardens whom He desires." (Rom 9:15-18)

I believe God extended the divine mercy to my father in law in his last days. He gave him not only a full life for 86 years, but in the end He gave him the gift of time and preparation, the gift of family, and the gift of metanoia and the sacraments of Holy Mother Church. What more could we have asked for? As I mentioned to the same friend I had texted, "No need to be sorry--we are Christians, we are people of hope!" 

My wife and I "rediscovered" the Divine Mercy chaplet fairly recently, and so had been reciting it the past few days. It's easy to trad-scoff at the extension of mercy to others and preference for divine retribution...until you are the one in need of mercy. The opening prayer for the chaplet, from St. Faustina's diary, was moving in light of the mercy and consolations we personally witnessed. 

As Catholic Christians, we do not presume to know the mind of God, but we trust in His just judgement and His great mercy for sinners. "It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins." (2 Macc 12:46). The grace and consolation that can only come from Him can not be overstated. As St. Anthony the Great said, "I no longer fear God, but I love Him." His mercy endures forever (Ps 136:1).

"O Jesus, eternal Truth, our Life, I call upon You and I beg Your mercy for poor sinners. O sweetest Heart of my Lord, full of pity and unfathomable mercy, I plead with You for poor sinners. O Most Sacred Heart, Fount of Mercy from which gush forth rays of inconceivable graces upon the entire human race, I beg of You light for poor sinners. O Jesus, be mindful of Your own bitter Passion and do not permit the loss of souls redeemed at so dear a price of Your most precious Blood. O Jesus, when I consider the great price of Your Blood, I rejoice at its immensity, for one drop alone would have been enough for the salvation of all sinners. Although sin is an abyss of wickedness and ingratitude, the price paid for us can never be equalled. Therefore, let every soul trust in the Passion of the Lord, and place its hope in His mercy. God will not deny His mercy to anyone. Heaven and earth may change, but God's mercy will never be exhausted. Oh, what immense joy burns in my heart when I contemplate Your incomprehensible goodness, O Jesus! I desire to bring all sinners to Your feet that they may glorify Your mercy throughout endless ages."  

The Matter Of Life And Death

 Having a baby for new parents is an exciting and terrifying thing. So many variables! So much possible to go wrong! A baby being knit together in their mother's womb (Ps 139:13) is an assurance for Christian parents, for no matter what happens, God does not make mistakes. 

Having a baby is also a kind of ordinary miracle. It happens ALL THE TIME, and has been happening for millennium...in the African bush, in the Siberian tundra, in high tech hospitals and in dirt floored huts SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME. Having babies is the most fundamental and natural thing in the world. And yet new life is always a kind of miracle in its own right. We always marvel when a baby is born. And yet, it's the most ordinary thing in the world as well.  

The older I get, the more I see life and all things come full circle. "Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither," as Job says (Job 1:21). We are born into the world helpless and, and many of us prepare to leave the world equally dependent on others for help. 

What I have trouble processing sometimes is that people are caught off guard by death. I think about it all. the. time. (death that is). "What man can live and never see death?" (Ps 89:48). I'm almost more confounded by those who seek to put all their stock in their material possessions or accomplishments, because death is the great equalizer--none of it means anything in the shadow of the judgement throne. I have trouble understanding how people can live as if they are not going to die. Granted it's not an easy thing to think about. But still, as Christians at least, we have great assurance in the hope of salvation and the grace of peace (hopefully) at our final hour. Memento Mori. 

You would think for the fact that it is coming for you, though we "know not the hour," we would be better prepared. But most people are not. It is hard to process. Maybe this is because death was introduced into the world because of sin. It wasn't supposed to be here. We marvel at new life, but are confounded by the harshness of death. It is not always beautiful, but cold and exacting, sometimes merciless and uncompromising. 

It strikes me too that it is our parents who give us life, but as we age and they do too, things flip and we are often the ones caring for them. Babies are born every day, and people die every day too, and the world keeps going on. But for those whom it affects, the reality of it can be jarring, emotional, and deeply personal.  We are not at the point, but it appears to be on the horizon with my father in law. I sometimes feel like an outsider among my wife's family, unsure of my role. If anything, I pray, I can minister to his spiritual needs and make the necessary arrangements in that sphere from the sidelines. It is so often neglected among everything else, and often forgotten until it is too late.

My wife "lives the Fourth (Commandment)” in a way that I am convinced is leading to her sanctification. It is not easy. My father-in-law's health has been precarious for decades, and that fact that he is now in his mid-eighties is no small miracle of modern medicine combined with an indwelling survival instinct born of his poor childhood growing up in a third world country. My wife's selfless concern and care for him is inspiring and humbling.

But we fear his time with us is coming close to an end. Only time will tell how many days or weeks we have with him, but at least he is hopefully coming home from the hospital today so he can be surrounded by his family and those who care about him. We have arranged for a priest to administer last rites, and continue to pray for God's grace to guide him in these hours we have with him. As a Christian, my confidence is in God's judgement and mercy; because we meditate so often (or should, at least) on the nature of death, it is not a foreigner for us. An enemy, yes, but one whom Christ has conquered, "conquering death by death." And so, though one may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, "we shall fear no evil" (Ps 23:4).

My father in law wrote his autobiography "Beating the Odds" around the same time my wife and I were married. I read it in amazement, the life he has lived and recounted in such detail--growing up in poverty in the Philippines, foraging for snails and coconuts while obtaining a scholarship to the University of the Philippines and graduating top of his class for medical school, immigrating to the United States and starting a practice in Gastroenterology. He was generous, with true concern for his patients, many whose debts he forgave. He supported others abroad in his home country as well. He has established an admirable legacy for years to come. 

I'd solicit your prayers for his state, that the good Lord will mercifully manifest Himself to my father in law and prepare his heart well; that my wife may be Christ to him, and a witness to others in caring for him. She will need prayers as well for the coming days. We don't know how long we have with him at this point, as there's nothing much more doctors can do for his condition. As Christians, my wife and I have the assurance of peace in the midst of death, and we pray for that grace and mercy to extend to him as well. In matters of life and death, the Lord Christ is sovereign. Though He slay us, we will trust Him still! (Job 13:15)

On Low Profiles, Cancer, And Prayers For A Quick and Happy Death

 A few blog readers have commented from time to time in confusion that the profile name of the author at PF doesn't match the actual writer (me). To set the record straight, I use a nom de plume (Paul) as a feeble attempt at anonymity, though most of my public articles and talks/interviews link to my blog. Still, I try to keep identifying features to a minimum to at least give me an assurance of the freedom to write what I choose to while trying to keep any ego and other promotions from getting in the way. 

This is why I appreciate Fr. Ripperger; he keeps a lot profile, in the sense of the talks and conferences he gives are not about him as a personality, but to try to teach and edify others with the message of whatever topic he is covering. I have to say, I do take everything he says with a grain of salt and not as gospel. I try to keep in mind Paul's words in 1 Thes 5:12 to "test everything, hold fast what is good." Sometimes, it can feel like he's so smart and at another level that you just agree because you don't understand and just assume in good faith he knows what he's talking about (which, I'm sure, he does). As an exorcist, he is, I'm sure, very cognizant of the dangers of pride and any sin that can be used against him by demons in his ministry. I don't even know how one would find him; I have to assume he deliberately keeps a low profile, which I respect. 

Back to the moniker I use for my blog, though. This came by way of inspiration after years ago stumbling upon a blog called Confessions of a College Professor written by a "Professor Doom." He seemed like a critical individual (most of his criticism leveled at the institutions of higher education where he worked) and a secular humanist more or less, but was dishing out straight talk on insider baseball in what happens to be my field as well. So I would find myself nodding and saying "yes" a lot, and appreciated his insights, even if they were cynical. 

Anyway, Dr. Doom got cancer recently, and has appeared to have died as well. One of his last posts was lamenting the awful process of not only getting cancer, but all the treatment that comes with it. The U.S. medical system is, IMO, completely broken, and it has actually made me wonder if there is something to the idea that patients are actually just customers, that keep the whole system going. We actually experienced this to a degree with my father in laws dialysis issues, and it made me very cynical and distrusting. 

I don't have a history of cancer in my family, but it has always felt like a kind of wildcard spore in the air that even marathon runners or perfectly healthy people can get and then be either bankrupt as a result, a survivor on borrowed time, or a victim whose life is claimed by it.  When I biked across the country during my lefty-Catholic days to promote the USCCB's CCHD grant program to "end poverty" in America, I always thought the claim was dubious, even as a lefty Catholic. "End" poverty? Come on. The Lord himself said we will always have the poor with us. You can't end poverty anymore than you can cure cancer. Personally I'm skeptical of cancer research foundations (maybe not without good reason, see here) and we don't seem any closer to 'ending cancer' today that we were twenty years ago. For those who do tend to "beat cancer" as the saying goes, it always seems to be a spectre of doubt of 'when will it come back?' 

In the case of Professor Doom, as a secular humanist, he did not have the assurance of salvation or the comfort of suffering for a purpose to be used by divine agency as a means of sanctification. The Lord determines how we will die. If he sends us suffering, we are to suffer. If he takes us suddenly, we do quickly. The Lord does as He pleases (Ps 115:3). 

 In the worst of my depressions, I admittedly harbored a secret envy of cancer patients. At least their illness was visible, could be identified and treated, and could elicit understandable sympathy. If they were taken from the earth, it wouldn't be by their own hand either but by the disease. Just seemed like an eviable grace when you are in the midst of mental anguish so severe that you need to keep from having guns and things in the house as a precaution. 

 Although my dad is repeatedly getting cancers removed from his skin, and my brother lost his high school sweetheart to cancer, it hasn't touched me much. I've learned to live a more or less normal life with a mental illness, but if I were to get cancer, I would really be thrown for a loop. I was actually chatting with my wife about this recently: if I got cancer, would it be ok not to go the chemo route? This seems like the default thing, it's just "what you do." You get cancer, you do chemo, maybe buy some more years or decades depending on the severity of the diagnosis. I have three young kids and a wife I love very much. But I really want to meet the Lord (in His time, of course). I am not afraid to die. I am so vigilant about First Fridays and First Saturdays because I really need the grace, and I think about death a lot (memento mori) as a means of preparation, not in sick morbidity. My wife understands this as well. We know our aim is set for Heaven, and that this life is temporary. I'm not looking to extend it any longer than the Lord would require me to. 

St. Robert Bellarmine's The Art of Dying Well has been good reading for me (on audio, in the car) that "those who live well, die well." If the Lord sends me suffering, I pray I can endure if for His sake and for my own sanctification and that of others. If he takes me quickly, what a grace that would be. I have a lot more penance to do in this life, but I am not afraid to meet the Lord. "Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell." (Mt 10:28). His is a severe mercy. 

"He Who Lives Well Will Die Well": The Joy of A Happy Christian Death

 My buddy's father died last Thursday. He had suffered a sudden brain aneurysm and by the time he was flown to the hospital, it was too late. We had just seen each other not too long ago at church for a baptism, and at a play that my kids and my buddy's kids were in. He was happily married for 54 years to his wife and best friend, and they had six children together. He was an active parishoner at St. Robert Bellarmine parish for 42 years, serving on the parish council and Pre-Cana team, organizing their parish March For Life bus trip to Washington D.C. with his wife, and as a lector, extraordinary minister, and a weekday altar server.

Strange as it sounds, apart from my mother-in-law's passing five years ago (also from a brain aneurysm, ironically), death is a bit of a foreign thing for me. All my grandparents died either before I was born or when I was too young to remember much. I had a few friends of friends who died suddenly in high school who I heard about through the grapevine. So I haven't experienced the sting of death as acutely as many have. I'm sure my time will come; no one of us can escape it.

 By circumstance, my buddy had forgotten his wallet back home two states over during all of this (and some other concurrent events they were also dealing with simultaneously), and I offered to shuttle it up to him at his parent's house this evening. You never really know when it comes to death how people will respond or what state of being they are in. It's kind of our default mode to put on our mourning face in solidarity when you walk into a room of family members who have experienced sudden loss and are in the midst of getting affairs in order and planning the funeral. But I had a feeling, knowing the faith of my buddy, his parents, and his siblings, that it might be a different affair. Exiting the turnpike and about fifteen minutes out he texted me a different address to meet him at--he and his brothers and sisters had gone out for a bit to play pickleball.

When I arrived at the courts, my buddy came over to meet me with his usual smile and we embraced. I joked with him about not wanting to get pulled over carrying the wallet of an Islamic terrorist (making reference to his ten inch long Osama Bin Laden beard that we're always razzing him about). He laughed and offered me a paddle. It was a humid summer's evening, and the five of us were the only ones out sweating on the courts. We won a match and lost a match, falling to his sister's wicked backspin. 

As we walked back down the path to our respective cars, I made mention to my buddy, "Your dad lived a good life, and we have the assurance of faith in Christ. I don't know how people live without faith, honestly." "Isn't that the truth," he replied, adding when I asked about his mom that she was doing well and happy the whole family was together. 

The naturalness of the evening--knowing that the end is not really the end for those with faith--was a testament in and of itself to the promises of our Savior. I did not have to hide my smiles, and while we offered Masses for my friend's father a few days ago to be welcomed into happy repose, my friend and his family were not subject to the existential crisis that those without faith often are. Ask any priest who has ever presided over a funeral for a family without faith and they will tell you the same. It's never easy of course, but as Christians we aren't left holding the pieces necessarily, trying to make sense of everything apart from God's will and promises.  

St. Robert Bellarmine (another irony, perhaps?) wrote with profound simplicity in The Art of Dying Well, 

"Those who live well will die well." 

My buddy's father lived by faith, and lived well. By whatever mystery of God's will he was called back, that assurance will be a monument to his family in perpetuity, and an example to those who look to see the evidence of faith in the world--that Christians need not fear death when they have lived well and placed their trust in the tender mercy of the Divine Savior. Deo Gratias.

In your charity, please pray for the repose of the soul of Leonard Cline, (June 14, 1943-July 1, 2021). 

What You Live For: Drafting Your Death Wish

At First Friday Mass yesterday evening, our priest gave a brief homily on Servant of God Frank Parater, who was a seminarian from the Diocese of Richmond, Virginia. He died in Rome during his theological studies 100 years to the day, at the age of 22 from a rheumatic fever.

I have been doing the First Friday and First Saturday devotion--reparative devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary, respectively--for the past six months. For those who are unfamiliar with it, Our Lord promises the following graces to those who receive Holy Communion on the first Friday of every month (for nine consecutive months) in honor and reparation to his Sacred Heart, as revealed to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque:

1. I will give them all the graces necessary for their state of life. 
2. I will give peace in their families. 
3. I will console them in all their troubles. 
4. I will be their refuge in life and especially in death. 
5. I will abundantly bless all their undertakings. 
6. Sinners shall find in my Heart the source and infinite ocean of mercy. 
7. Tepid souls shall become fervent. 
8. Fervent souls shall rise speedily to great perfection. 
9. I will bless those places wherein the image of my Sacred Heart shall be exposed and venerated. 
10. I will give to priests the power to touch the most hardened hearts.
11. Persons who propagate this devotion shall have their names eternally written in my Heart.
12. In the excess of the mercy of my heart, I promise you that my all powerful love will grant to all those who will receive Communion on the First Fridays, for nine consecutive months, the grace of final repentance: they will not die in my displeasure, nor without receiving the sacraments; and my Heart will be their secure refuge in that last hour.

Frank Parater, as a young man, composed the following letter prior to going to Rome, to be read in the event of his death should he pass, offering his life to the Sacred Heart of Jesus for the conversion of Virginia:

“I have nothing to leave or give but my life and this I have consecrated to the Sacred Heart to be used as He wills. I have offered my all for the conversion of non-Catholics in Virginia. This is what I live for and in case of death what I die for…Since my childhood, I have wanted to die for God and my neighbor. Shall I have this grace? I do not know, but if I go on living, I live for this same purpose; every action of my life here is offered to God for the spread and success of the Catholic Church in Virginia…I shall be of more service to my diocese in Heaven than I can ever be on earth.”

Though Parater was an excellent student and a model of charity, an Eagle Scout, and top in his class, but from outward appearance his was not a manifestly heroic virtue. I have always been attracted to those holy heroes and "big gun" saints--St. Augustine the major sinner turned saint; St. Francis Xavier; St. Anthony the Great; St. Teresa of Calcutta. But what I appreciated about Parater--who I had not known about prior to last night--was that he did not do anything outwardly extraordinary. His devotion to the Sacred Heart was fitting for a First Friday sermon. He recognized that his death was as if, if not more important than anything he could do in life. And he prepared for it, testified to in his writing. Not just for himself, but for the Church universal, as well as the Church local.

If you don't have a devotion to the Sacred Heart, maybe now is the time to start. Remember the graces promised to those who do. And if you don't have a death wish, maybe now is a good time to draft one. You never know when the Lord will take you, or how he will use, whether in this life or the next.

And I'm grateful to have found a new intercessor to petition a miracle from when I need it.

The Spectre of Death

I learned--inadvertently and unexpectedly by way of a second-hand tag--that a man I knew, had lived with and worked beside at The Catholic Worker 18 years ago, died this week in his early fifties. From what I gathered, it was by his own hand, and I was not surprised to learn from those in the community who knew him that he struggled with depression.

I don't feel comfortable or entitled to write about him in any kind of elegy fashion. It's a community committed to social justice in the far-left activist tradition that I no longer feel connected to. I have some fond memories of working in the community garden together, running around town in his old pick up truck picking up free food for the poor, attending Mass together across the street from where we lived, hanging anti-war and anti-capitalist messages hand painted on bedsheets out the bay window of our row house, and his tales of being arrested and protesting at the School of the Americas calling for demilitarization and nuclear disarmament. He was a difficult guy to live with temperament wise for me, but was true to his calling of radically living the Gospel message and embracing decentralized governance and voluntary poverty in the spirit of Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin. He was a one of a kind character for sure and dressed the part, with his gruff voice, barrel chest, overalls, and long nattled hair. Everybody in the 'hood knew and loved N.

I have written about suicide and resisting the allure of the phantasmal Noonday Demon here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here. It's no stranger, and though I may not feel entitled to write an elegy for N., the jarring reminder of the spectre of death that this demon brings on his back appeared when I read the news. No one, no family, is immune from it.

Our Lord says in scripture, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full (Jn 10:10). This describes my view of suicide; it robs life. It is always tragic, especially for those who love the one robbed of life. Like the Devil himself, the promises of suicide are lies, the ultimate lies.

On the topic of suicide, the Catechism states:

2280 Everyone is responsible for his life before God who has given it to him. It is God who remains the sovereign Master of life. We are obliged to accept life gratefully and preserve it for his honor and the salvation of our souls. We are stewards, not owners, of the life God has entrusted to us. It is not ours to dispose of.

2281 Suicide contradicts the natural inclination of the human being to preserve and perpetuate his life. It is gravely contrary to the just love of self. It likewise offends love of neighbor because it unjustly breaks the ties of solidarity with family, nation, and other human societies to which we continue to have obligations. Suicide is contrary to love for the living God.

2282 If suicide is committed with the intention of setting an example, especially to the young, it also takes on the gravity of scandal. Voluntary co-operation in suicide is contrary to the moral law.
Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide.

It is often presumed that the Church says with unequivocally that those who have committed this sin have bought a one way ticket to Hell. Although we can reasonably speculate that Hell is not, in fact, empty--that many, many people go there--it is not in fact for us to speculate on those who go there. We may be certain of those in Heaven, the canonized saints. But as to the eternal fate of the large majority of us commonplace run of the mill sinners--God reserves the knowledge. It is not our place to judge souls.

The Devil wants us to despair. But its antidote--hope--is a powerful virtue. As the Catechism states,

2283 We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.

We should be careful not to stand in judgment. What a terrifying prospect, this ricocheting bullet in scripture that threatens to rip through our own lips from which the judgment emminated: "For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you" (Mt 7:2). To consign someone to Hell and then find our own names on the ticket!

Hearing of suicides--friends, family, strangers, teenagers, elderly, those well off with everything and those struggling under the weight of despair, men, women, veterans, housewives--it always shakes me. Because the face of the spectre of death is not a figment, but a familiar visitor I have to continue to resist, having wrestled like Jacob on the edge of the abyss with the Angel of Death, my hip put out of joint as a reminder of the struggle. He flees for a time, and it is only the inoculation of grace, I believe, that keeps him at bay.

Please offer a prayer for N, for the repose of his soul. St. Dymphna, pray for us.