A Final Night Shift

A little Easter bonus…

Miriam walked in the dark along paths edged with budding rhododendrons, azaleas, and unspiraling ferns, beneath giant evergreens. She remembered warmly a little boy who had asked her to intercede for his mother as she lay near death after the birth of his tiny sister. Both mother and child had lived, and years later the boy, by then Father Ambrose Mayer, had built this Portland place of peace and refuge, the National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, as a sign of his gratitude. Arriving at a stone grotto carved into a 100-foot basalt cliffside, she settled onto a kneeler before a white statue replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà that depicted Mary holding the body of her Son after His crucifixion.

Her thoughts focused on the statue and beyond it to her experience of that devastating moment. She ached anew with the anguish of holding her Son’s lifeless adult body upon her lap. But the pain didn’t stand alone, for alongside it was boundless gratitude for the sacrifice her Son had made to redeem all her children.

His was no quick death. He had suffered intensely on that final day: whipping, beating, humiliation, a piercing thorny crown shoved down upon his brow, dragging a heavy beam—not to be honed into something sturdy and functional like He and Joseph had built—but wood of torture and death, and then, oh then—she still could hear the terrible blows—the pounding of spikes to peg His hands and feet to the cross, His groans as the cross was lifted and dropped into its hole, the draining of His strength over three hours while she stayed within His gaze, before His forgiving words, His release of His Spirit, and the final thrust of a spear that confirmed He was dead.

She could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as they had countless times when she commemorated His suffering and death. She remembered following His footsteps on the Way of the Cross, or the Via Dolorosa, in order to ponder the mysteries of His death. She wept for the wounds people today continue to inflict on her Son: the commandments they break, their refusal to center their lives around the One who loves them, their selfishness that hurts the ones around them. She cried for the pain her beloved children experienced at the hands of her other, also-beloved children.

Yet, she forced herself to remember His resurrection! For as surely as He had died, He had also risen.

The dawning sun brightened the sky above the Grotto and drew her gaze heavenward. His resurrection was the culmination of those three agonizing days when her Son was lost to her.

He rose and returned to her!

At this thought, her soul leapt within her and her joy resurged. For as deep as her sorrow had been—and still was when she pondered His suffering—her joy was even greater. He lived! He had conquered not only death, but sin and evil. That was the purpose behind His suffering, and what a joyous gift it was to all who welcomed it, who welcomed Him into their hearts. The thought reminded Miriam of her countless children who do strive to follow God’s path.

Exultation encompassed Miriam, and she lifted her love to her God and thanked Him with her whole being. God—Father, Son, and Spirit—God was infinitely good. God was all Love, and she was entirely His. All her children were God’s, and she would work tirelessly for them to realize that, so they could share in her Joy.

A young priest passed behind Miriam on his way to celebrate the first Mass of the day. He had been struggling with depression and loneliness and had knelt a few feet behind the praying woman to ask God to give him strength.

He watched Miriam raise her arms and listened while she sang with great elation:

My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior…

for He has looked with favor on His humble servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed,

the Almighty has done great things for me,

and holy is His Name.

He has mercy on those who fear Him

in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm,

He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,

and has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel

for He has remembered his promise of mercy,

the promise He made to our fathers,

to Abraham and his children forever.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,

as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

Amen. Alleluia!

The sun crested the grotto edge, temporarily blinding the young priest. When he shaded his eyes with his hand, the woman was gone.

Yet, such ecstasy had risen in him as he overheard her words that simply recalling the experience overcame any emergence of darkness in his mood for all his remaining years of life.

7 Bury the Dead

How fitting that we come to our final Corporal Work of Mercy, Bury the Dead, on Good Friday.

We could take this less literally and let die those weaknesses inside us that we keep alive: our anger, jealousy, bitterness, unwillingness to forgiven, bad habits, addictions, etc. However, even taken literally, the exhortation to Bury the Dead encompasses more people than our respected morticians.

We all ponder the big questions when the unexpectedness of death suddenly strikes an ordinary day. Even if we weren’t close to the one who died, we re-experience our own loss of loved ones. It’s as if grief, for a while, is cumulative. A death makes us reconsider our life. Why am I here? What purpose should I be pursuing while I still have time? What happens after death? Will I see my loved one again?

We bury the dead when we:

• Attend memorial services, where we honor the memory of the one who has passed and support the families in their recovery. It means so much to a grieving family to see the number of people who attend as a living memorial to their loved one, or as a sign of promised support to themselves.
• Send a sympathy card with a note, perhaps including a happy memory of the deceased.
• Provide a simple service to the grieving family. I’ve heard of one person delivering a case of toilet paper to a home in preparation for visiting family. Another gave a book of stamps, anticipating the thank you notes that would be written and mailed. One woman offered to babysit the youngest children during the funeral. Another offered to sit in the empty home during the service to ward off burglars who see the announcement in the paper.
• Call when travelling visitors have returned home and the grief stricken is suddenly very alone.
• Or, sit with the newly aggrieved and listen to their reminiscence about their loved one…

Night Shift

A middle-aged man sat on a boulder near a hiking trail gazing at a panorama of night sky. As the moon began to rise, he spoke aloud.

Thank you, heavenly Father, for all your gifts to us.

For the stars above us, the galaxies, and our solar system with its sun, moon, and planets.

For this earth and its beautiful oceans, mountains, forests, rivers, and waterfalls.

For our country and its dedication to freedom and justice.

For our ancestors, especially those who chose to uphold their faith and those who left their homes to make new homes here.

For our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the people we loved who have left this life. May we see them again in heaven.

For our parents who sacrificed to give us the life we have now.

Thank you for our siblings and our friends who helped make us the people we are today.

Thank you for our children, who make us proud as they grow into good people. Please draw them ever closer to you.

Thank you for my spouse, my beautiful wife, one of your greatest gifts to me, who loved me as deeply as I loved her…

“What a beautiful prayer!”

The man startled at the woman’s voice.

“May I sit down with you?”

He scooted to one side of the rock.

“You’ve chosen a lovely place to pray.”

He stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn’t answer she would leave him to his solitude. She didn’t move or speak then, but simply regarded the starry heavens as he had been doing. Finally, he gave up. “It was my father’s prayer. I used to only hear it when we were camping together. It was how he ended our conversation when we were lying in our sleeping bags under the stars.”

“You were close.”

“On camping trips, yes. At home we were both busy with our lives—his work, my studies—but out here was something else.”

“Your mother had passed on?”

“When I was in high school. He never remarried, or even dated that I know. They were devoted to each other, and I doubt anyone else could have filled her void.”

“And your father? You said it was his prayer.”

He looked at her then, and saw a serene woman, middle-aged, with amazing compassion in her eyes. “He died today.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

She rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry for your loss and sadness. He must have been quite a man.”

“He was.” He nodded slowly. “He hasn’t said a word for over a year. Last night, I visited him in his care center, and he was talking to Mom. She wasn’t there, of course, but she was real to him. He was the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. Then this morning he was gone. It was as if…”

“As if she’d come for him?”

He drew in a quick breath, for she had known just what he was thinking. He looked at her. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“I know it is,” she said. “And now they are both watching over you. They are together in the next life, and together in loving you, so proud of the man you’ve become and so grateful for how you took care of your father in his final years.”

“I wish I could have kept him at home with me.”

“He knows. And he knows you did what was best for him. Be at peace, Jonathon. All is well.”

She stood and continued down the trail before he wondered about her walking without a light, and before he realized he hadn’t told her his name.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!, but the prayer was first spoken by my husband, George.)

May God bless your Easter and protect your health.

6 Comfort the Sick

How might we comfort the sick, especially now that we must maintain our distance?

• Send flowers or fruit or candy.
• Write the ailing person a letter. Send a card.
• Bring soup, or a meal for the rest of the family.
• Donate for research to the Cancer Society or a similar foundation.
• Phone someone who is sick. Try FaceTime on a smart phone so they can see you, too.
• Or, when it is allowed, sit with them and offer comfort and encouragement.

Night Shift

Martha was a bit confused. Feeling muddled struck more and more often lately, but it certainly seemed that her favorite statue of Mary had climbed down off its shelf and was now sitting with her on her bed.

“What are you looking at?” Asked Miriam, pointing to papers in Martha’s hands.

“Results from a memory test I took,” Martha answered. “My children arranged it. They are arranging a lot of things lately.”

“They love you and worry about you. What do the results say?”

“Moderate dementia.” Martha shrugged. “I suppose it’s true. Lately I show up for things either at the wrong time or on the wrong day. I can’t remember all my grandchildren’s names, let alone the great-grandchildren. My son says I have four great-great grandchildren, but that can’t be true. I’m not that old.”

“What a Godsend to see your family grow!” Miriam said to the elderly woman. “One of the blessings in the Bible is to see your children’s children. Very few get to live long enough to see as many generations as you.”

“But now it seems I am outliving my mind. Losing important memories. And I suppose it will only get worse.” Martha set down the papers and removed her reading glasses. “Who am I, if not a collection of the memories of my life? Who will remember my story when I can’t?”

“The diseases of this life that slowly take away a person’s memories are certainly a sorrow. But you know the Father can turn even this to good.”

“What good can it possibly be to slowly stop knowing all I worked so many years to learn? What worth is there in the remainder of a life like that?”

“Martha,” Miriam said softly, “isn’t a newborn’s life a precious treasure, even though he or she holds no memories?”

Martha scowled, suspecting where this line of thought was going, so Miriam continued. “That little bundle of joy and demands can teach a parent to discover what it is to love unconditionally, even though the newborn gives nothing in return, not even a smile until it is older.”

The statue-now-woman looked intently into Martha’s eyes. “We don’t understand all God’s ways, or how He works all things for good, even devastating things like this, but perhaps He is giving your family and friends and caretakers a gift by allowing them to serve you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to anyone! I want to continue to be useful, to help people!” Martha would have stomped her foot if she hadn’t been sitting on her bed where her feet didn’t reach the floor.

“And bless you for that desire. But believe me, as difficult as the time ahead may be for everyone, eventually your family will look back and count your final days with them as a blessing. Yes, they will be sad if you reach a point when you don’t know who they are anymore, but they will know you! They will carry the memories of you as precious gifts. And have faith; you will rise whole and healthy again in the next life. This suffering is temporary, and your reward will be immeasurable and permanent!”

Martha sighed. “Aging seems to be a tiresome series of letting go, one thing after another. I miss my own home, and yes, I’m grateful, of course, that my son has taken me into his home, but I miss my healthy, flexible body. I miss being able to eat whatever I wanted before I had to start watching my salt intake, my cholesterol levels, or my blood sugar. I miss driving! Must I really let go of my memories, too?”

“Only God knows what lies ahead, but I promise you, He is good: all loving, all merciful, all wise. He will be with you.”

Martha nodded. Yes, there was comfort in that, knowing He would be with her, even if she no longer knew Him. She bowed her head—and her will—and did what she had done many times before. She placed herself in His hands and her life at His disposal. With that came peace.

When she looked up again, she laughed to see her Mary statue back on the shelf, with the same serene face she always wore. Had her statue truly climbed down and joined her on her bed? Maybe it didn’t matter. Her future might not always allow her to tell what was real and what wasn’t, but Martha knew that tonight’s message touched her heart with profound truth.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!)

May God bless your week and protect your health.