GOOD GRIEF!

 A SERMON FOR THE 15TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Death has a habit of rearing its ugly head often when we least expect it.  We read of new deaths every day on the news—celebrities, famous actors, former politicians, monarchs—death comes to all.  It comes to each of us in turn, and as we get older, we become increasingly aware that our own turn is coming.  Meanwhile, we watch in solemn silence as others go before us. 

The world these days (and by “world” I include the Conciliar Church) has a way of sanitizing the grief that comes with death and bereavement.  Indeed they have perfected it.  Funerals have become occasions “to celebrate the life of the deceased,” and “celebrate” they do.  Gone are the solemn wakes of old, replaced by videos of the dead person’s “funniest moments”.  Balloons have replaced incense at the gravesite, and prayers for the dead are regarded as pointless as we all go straight to heaven when we die, bypassing somehow that unpleasant event in which we are judged.  Progressive atheists who do not believe in the afterlife may be pleasantly entertained by all these amusing antics.  Even the confused Catholics of Vatican II may find false comfort in the idea that there is no hell or purgatory. But no matter what reassurance anyone of us may find in canonizing every single human being as soon as they’re dead, we may be assured that the poor suffering souls themselves must be dismayed to be thus neglected in their anguish.

Imagine how we will feel after sentence is passed by our blessed and merciful Judge.  Assuming it’s a “thumbs up” and we avoid eternal damnation, we still owe temporal restitution for our multiple sins and will be faced with the prospect of the fires of Purgatory for who knows how many days or centuries.  And as we look down upon our bereaved friends and relatives, those whom we loved and who claimed to love us, now giggling happily at the sight of a few dozen helium balloons floating up to the clouds, and telling each other with smug conviction that we’re already in heaven and don’t need their prayers, what shall be our “feelings” then?  Disappointment?  No!  Anguish!  Betrayal!  Realizing that no Masses will be offered for the repose of our soul, no supplications made to shorten or reduce the pains of our temporal punishment…  How many thousands, millions, of souls must have already experienced this most terrible of disappointments, the devastation of knowing they are alone and abandoned even by those dearest to them?

The vestments for a funeral are white only for children who die before they are old enough to know the meaning of immorality.  They alone are assured of their immediate reward, and our sorrow at their passing is mitigated by knowing they are truly already with the angels in heaven.  For everyone else, there is the judgment, and the clothing of the bereaved and the vestments of the clergy are black, the color of mourning and of humble supplication for that judgement to be merciful.  Candles are unbleached, the music is somber, speech is hushed and respectful.  We follow the traditions of mourning and are comforted by them.  We are comforted chiefly because these funeral rituals are of comfort not only to ourselves but more importantly to our dear departed also.  The love we had for them while they yet lived amongst us does not miraculously vanish the second they die; it remains in our heart and we are glad that we still have the opportunity to show that love by helping them with our prayers.

Our “feelings” in our bereavement are not pleasant feelings, and often we cannot prevent our tears or other expressions of grief.  We have lost someone we love and we mourn their passing.  But as St. Paul reminds us, we should “not be ignorant concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.“  In the midst of our mourning we must not give way to the kind of sorrow where we lose hope in the resurrection of the dead.  When our Lord meets the mother of Nain in today’s Gospel, he tells her, “Weep not.”  He tells her this, not because she was doing something wrong—our Lord himself wept at the death of Lazarus.  Our weeping is merely the natural expression of our grief.  But even as we weep, we do not lose sight of the purpose of death, and that it is a necessary part of God’s plan as we are transported from this Vale of Tears into the everlasting destiny that awaits us in heaven.  The transfer from this life to the life eternal may not be instantaneous.  This isn’t Star Trek—we are not just beamed up to heaven.  But we do have that virtue of hope that sustains us in what could otherwise so easily become despair.  “Weep not.”  Weep outwardly if you want, but retain that joy in your soul that the purpose of death is to take us to a better place.  As if to prove this resurrection of the soul after death, our Lord reaches out to the dead man’s body and says, “Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.  And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak.”  This resurrection, first of the soul, and later of the body, and the life everlasting that follows, is our own future also, it’s our destiny, if only we love God and follow his commandments.

St. Paul describes this perfectly: “Behold,” he says, “I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.  For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality… then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.  O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” 

Let us then not live in terror at the prospect of bereavement and death, but focus instead on the process that follows, hopeful for God’s mercy, confident that we will see the loving arms of Christ reaching out to us as he utters that most beautiful word, Arise!  For then we that are dead will indeed sit up and we will speak, as we begin our last journey to join the angels in heaven, there to speak and sing out forever the glorious praises of God, “Holy, holy, holy, hosanna in the highest!”