Welcome, Sister Death

I'm assuredly not alone in having expected the doors of the Vatican to be closed this morning. I have this odd, perhaps silly, idea that John Paul shall 'hold out' until Monday - with his Marian devotion, for him to die on the feast of the Annunciation would be most appropriate. (I never underestimate the inward will of the dying, or how it can affect their last hours.)

Francis of Assisi's welcome to Sister Death sounds in my memory today. Franciscans often puzzle others with their attitudes towards 'her' visitation! I can remember, for example, an elderly sister of my acquaintance. Her motherhouse had a cemetery for the congregation, and, when one nun died, the community found it less expensive to have the grave dug not only for the deceased sister but for two others who would be joining her shortly. The other two calmly recited their devotions outdoors, on the lovely spring day, in no way troubled by watching the gravediggers prepare their spot.

I want to qualify yesterday's entry - because I have read comments on other sites from those who see John Paul's death as a blessing because they hope his successor will 'bring the Church into the 21st century.' My 'Te Deum' had no flavour of 'glad to see him go.' It is based on gratitude and on joy at John Paul's entering the next phase of life - growth, adoration, possible purification, whatever, which fits mortal eyes to behold divine glory in its splendour. (And that progress shall never end...)

I seldom make personal observations, but I shall add one because others may be a bit curious at what enters the mind of those in consecrated life as far as death is concerned. I fear suffering on this earth as much as does anyone, yet am not afraid of being dead, which I see as only progressing to another stage of intimacy with the Beloved. If there is a practical reward for celibacy, it is that one need not fear a child's being left without care at one's passing. Nor do religious have any illusions that their work is irreplaceable.

Yet, on a more human and emotional plane, most of us know that our memory will die practically at once. Were I to leave this world today, no one would truly mourn me. I served many people through the years, but the detachment which consecrated life brings keeps one from the sort of intimacy where one remains cherished and remembered. Those whom we have served forget us as soon as our work for them is finished.

This is rather silly and selfish, as I well know. :) Those of us who embrace consecrated life know, deep down, that our witness is primarily eschatological - a reminder that there is more to human life than what one sees on this earth - and that creation and cosmic redemption are glorious yet vague concepts because we do not have divine minds.

John Paul is in no danger of not being remembered - how many lives have more historical significance or impact? He is well loved, and billions will mourn him. (And just as many shall speak of how they feel his pontificate went on too long and halted progress.... but that is for others to chronicle...) Yet they did not know Karol - most are seeing the incredible impact he had on world affairs, the wonderful ideals he promoted, the stability he showed in doctrine and / or the progressive stand on social justice. They are mourning the pope, not Karol, who undoubtedly had a great detachment, and resultant solitude, because of the role ordained for him.

The great people of prayer (and this observation is based on my having studied their writings practically since I could read) had a joy and sorrow which is beyond average comprehension. Having caught a glimpse of divine glory, they had a longing for the Beloved (whom they could not fully know - and who is no Lover who provides fun times and emotional sustenance) :) compounded by a heightened awareness of the evil in this world. They loved creation, certainly, but had a frustration, a sense of longing for what is beyond this earth. Intense love of God would mean such for neighbour as well, naturally. Yet, in the end, there is silence, unknowing, solitude - and always the uncertainty.