Last week I was at the bedside of a woman whose health was deteriorating with hospice providing palliative care. Two of her adult six children were in their mother’s room, at her bedside. Intuitively or spiritually, they began to share stories of her life. Where she was born and her siblings. Remembering stories of their childhood and their mother’s interactions with them. Her own grieving with the death of their father. She lost her memory some months prior with the onset of dementia, and their “remembering” solidified her integrity, her purpose and her place in this world. We do well to ‘remember’ not so much dwelling on the loss, but the indelible spirit that remains within those touched by the lives of others. Madeleine L’Engle, Christian writer, gives credence to the significance of ‘remembrance:’ “My grandmother and mother are alive for me because they are part of my story. I do not believe these stories [of remembering] are their immortality—that is something quite different. But remembering their stories is the best way I know to have them remain part of my mortal life. And I need them to be a part of me, while at the same time I am quite willing for them all to be doing whatever it is that God has in mind for them to do. Can those who are a part of that great cloud of witnesses which has gone before us be in two places at once? I believe that they can, just as Jesus could, after the Resurrection.” Thus, at a funeral Mass the incense smoke during the Commendation Prayer is a symbol of the ascension to heaven of the deceased’s soul. Practically and spiritually speaking, the incensing at a funeral Mass is two fold: it signifies the prayers of the community of believers rising to the Presence of God as a farewell sign for the deceased; and too this ritual gives honor to the deceased who was baptized in the Body of Christ and at the same time became the temple where the Holy Spirit dwelt. When the casket is brought into church at the beginning of a funeral Mass, we place the large white ‘pall’ over it. Derivative of the Latin ‘pallium’, cloak, the pall reminds us of the garment given at baptism, symbolizing our belonging to the Body of Christ. Integral to these symbols is the three part prayer of petition passed down from one generation to another: “Eternal rest grant unto her O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace; Amen. May her soul and the souls of the faithfully departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace; Amen. Heaven: Heaven is being with God and all that this entails. Perfect love, joy and peace. No more pain, sorrow, rejection, anger – only perfection with Christ. It is the place where we become what we have been created to be: one with God. Purgatory is God’s severe mercy. Despite the fact that we may, while on earth, desire to be with God, we still make selfish and hurtful mistakes. We sin, hurt others and neglect God and our faith. When we do this, we accumulate on our souls the consequence of sin, and those things need to heal. This process is called purgation–purgatory. Once in purgatory, we are going to heaven, eventually, because while our “yes” to God may be imperfect, it is a “yes.” Hell is the consequence of a life spent seeking our own way and the pleasures of the world as opposed to God’s way. When we spend our lifetime ignoring or hating God, we have chosen to be separated from Him. At our death, the pain in hell is not so much physical as it is spiritual. Our souls are made to be with God, and in hell, we are separate. To find a concise definition of our Catholic-Christian beliefs on heaven, hell and purgatory, reference the Catholic Catechism (sections 1729, 1030, 1034). Ted Kooser, poet laureate from Nebraska, provides a poem reflecting the ‘grace’ of remembering. Father by Ted Kooser Today you would be ninety-seven
if you had lived, and we would all be
miserable, you and your children,
driving from clinic to clinic,
an ancient fearful hypochondriac
and his fretful son and daughter,
asking directions, trying to read
the complicated, fading map of cures.
But with your dignity intact
you have been gone for twenty years,
and I am glad for all of us, although
I miss you every day—the heartbeat
under your necktie, the hand cupped
on the back of my neck, Old Spice
in the air, your voice delighted with stories.
On this day each year you loved to relate
that the moment of your birth
your mother glanced out the window
and saw lilacs in bloom. Well, today
lilacs are blooming in side yards
all over Iowa, still welcoming you. God Bless, Fr. Tim FYI: “Say not in grief that she is no more, but say in thankfulness that she was.” (Hebrew proverb)