Dry, yellow leaves were blowing in the
cool autumn wind on a blue-grey afternoon. The tiny circle of people gathered
around a small grave at Our Lady of Grace Cemetery in Pennsylvania’s Bucks
County to say a last “good-bye” to Aunt Louise. The eighty-eight-year-old’s
cremated remains were placed atop a family member’s tombstone.
“She always remembered everyone’s
birthday,” said one of the mourners. “We always got a card from her. She never missed.”
“I never heard her say a mean word about
anyone,” another said.
“She taught me how to pray the ‘Our
Father.’ I’m sure going to miss her.”
And so I read the prayers over Aunt Louise’
ashes. She had lived as a widow for years after her husband was shot to death
by a hold-up man who tried to rob the tavern he and Louise ran. She was never,
bitter, however, and the family always admired her courage.
Joe was courageous, too. A dedicated
Philadelphia Eagles fanatic, he was laid to rest wearing his Eagles jersey, and
his funeral ended with the singing of “Fly, Eagles, Fly!” It must’ve been so
undignified for this hard-working, blue collar guy to succumb to the
indignities of ALS and spend his last days in a wheelchair, dependent upon others
for his care. He was such a care-giver himself. He married a single girl with
children, yet he loved the step-children like his own issue and cared for them
as a father should—just like the righteous Joseph who married Our Lord’s
mother.
Bill was a humble man. Quiet. Pious. He
fought for his country as a Marine in the Korean War. Before deployment, he and
a battle buddy tore a dollar bill in half, promising they’d reunite the halves
of the bill when the war was over and buy a couple of beers to celebrate their
survival. The torn dollar was never taped back together. Bill carried his half
in his wallet for the rest of his life, remembering his friend and all of the
other boys who would never come home again. He was a survivor. He survived a war,
a broken marriage, a lost job, a battle with depression, and came through it to
marry the love of his life who sat at his bedside when he rejoined his fallen comrades.
Millie was a doll. I called her “Aunt
Millie,” because she was the aunt of three of my parishioners. I’d known two of
her sisters. They were thin, elegant, fragile-looking little ladies with
delightful smiles and delicate features. They were part of the vanishing
generation that experienced the Great Influenza, the Great Depression, and the
Second World War. I felt for Aunt Millie, as all of her siblings had gone
before her. No one was left who remembered her parents or the way the old
neighborhood used to be. No one to recall skate keys or Fibber McGee or that
first dance to a Glen Miller tune. And yet, she always made me smile whenever
she came to the church’s Wednesday afternoon senior citizen bingo games. She
glided on to the end of her journey with gratitude and dignity and the charm
only the elderly can possess.
The world continues to turn after Joe and
Louise and Millie and Bill are laid to rest. Their passing did not make the
nightly news. Nevertheless, these lives mattered. They touched other lives, and
they planted a small seed of their own convictions in the consciousness of the ones
who learned to love them during the blink in God’s eye that is a human life on
this planet.
Have you ever wondered what your own
funeral will be like? How many people do you suppose will come? Who will miss
you, and why will your loss affect them? What of you will linger when your body
is no more?
In the gospel lesson appointed for All
Saints Sunday Year C (Luke 6:20-31) Jesus tells us that even the poor, the
hungry, the sorrowful, and the despised are blessed. The world’s estimation of
greatness is not God’s estimation. Every life can be blessed in the eyes of
God, and every life has the potential to bless other lives. The riches of God
are available to all of us, and these riches, the Lord tells us in the scriptures,
are forgiveness, compassion, forbearance, generosity, charity, and empathy. As
our souls live on forever in God’s kingdom, so our virtues—should we chose to
cultivate them—live on with those we` encounter in the here and now.
O Lord, help me to walk in your way. Teach
me those precious qualities found in your Son, so that my life may be a
blessing to all those about me, and that I may be welcomed with joy into the
company of all the saints. Amen.
God bless you, saints of God. Thanks for
reading.
PS –
Another great average saint who has gone to be with the Lord this past year was
Howard Brooks. Check out the “Featured Post” column to find out more about this
extraordinary Christian.
No comments:
Post a Comment