Beloved Family:
Bearer of bad news, or messenger of hope? Two weekends ago, I was in New Hampshire for a family wedding. Often, I pack what is vernacularly called a “Mass kit”—all things necessary for celebrating Mass in an off-site setting (like a nursing home). On this occasion, my family and I worshipped at the local Catholic parish proximate to our accommodations. As Mass began, the Celebrant priest approached the sanctuary and, ahead of leading the Sign of the Cross, drew our attention to the pastor’s article in the bulletin, which he proceeded to read aloud.
What a message! Essentially, the pastor (not the priest leading Mass) expressed his thanks for all the prayers and thoughts recently directed his way and announced that he is in the last stages of liver disease and, so, is in hospice care. He closed with: “Feel free to send cards and chocolate cake!” Well, that certainly gained everyone’s attention. It may well not have come as a complete shock to the members of the parish, but it surely hit us visitors between the shoulders.
Later, I reflected on my own situation. Sure, I have shared many kinds of news with you, my beloved Saint Mary family, over the years of my time here, including the death of my mom back in 2012. However, it is difficult to imagine being in a position to put in writing for a wide audience: “So, I need to let you know that I am dying!”
As Catholics, disciples of Christ, we are actually called to enter into the mystery of death and resurrection continuously. At Mass, we participate in the life-giving death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This is the Paschal Mystery. The Gospel challenges us to die to self on a daily basis, with all that that demands. The dear pastor of that church is not just bearing bad news; he is serving as a messenger of hope. Without needing to use these very words, he is calling his family to look beyond the limits of this present world, to the opening of an entry into eternity (a paraphrase of one of the Collects— or opening prayers—for a funeral).
There is tremendous hope in our Faith. We do not need to wait until we are faced with a terminal diagnosis of physical health to take in deeply the foundation on which we are meant to build our lives. This world, as beautiful and full of goodness as it is—and I do not believe I am being falsely optimistic: there IS tremendous goodness, truth and beauty here, alongside our brokenness and the persistent pursuits of the Enemy to lead us to destruction.
I realize that different priests are going to have different styles of writing. Surely, it is not a bad thing if a pastor approaches the bulletin article as a kind of “snapshot” of recent or upcoming events in the life of a parish. I have learned, over the years, that a good percentage of people really do read the bulletin. While I am hard pressed to devote a block of time to reviewing twenty-two years’ worth of pastor’s columns, my anecdotal sense is that I have tended to share from the heart and not simply from the calendar. You, dear ones, have made that easy enough to do—thank you!
Recently in conversation, the topic of letter writing was broached. We all agreed that it is truly a gift to receive a handwritten letter, even in these times of the great proliferation of emails and texts. May I suggest that you, the reader, consider carving out some time, in the near future, to write an actual letter to someone in your life. I believe it would make a marvelous activity for a Sunday. Blessed writing!
P.S. I will be on retreat this coming week—be assured that you are all carried in prayer with me (and the airlines can’t charge extra for that!).
Let His Peace be with you,
Fr. Stephen
