The car radio was set to the BBC when I left work, and it was a few minutes before the announcer repeated the headline, "Osama bin Laden is dead." The news was so unexpected and shocking that I'm surprised I stayed on the road.
"Bittersweet" isn't quite the word to describe my reaction to the announcement.
I remember well that Tuesday morning. All of America shared in the horror of that dark day. But ten years later, this jubilation over one man's death disturbs me, too--even a man as hate-filled or destructive as Bin Laden.
Whooping crowds gathered outside the White House and at Ground Zero in New York chanting "USA! USA!" at the news. A friend on Facebook posted that Bin Laden's body should have been dragged in the streets. A morning news anchor wished that, rather than having been burial at sea, his body had been thrown off a high building.
This is not the Christian reaction. In fact, to me these celebrations are eerily reminiscent of the sight of Muslims shrieking with joy over the American deaths of 9/11.
Worse, this man’s death and the following elation came on the very day we celebrated the beatification of the great John Paul II who publicly forgave the man who tried to murder him. In these days when politicians and citizens are saying, "You don't pick a fight with America! We will hunt you down and bring you to justice! There is a sense of unity again!" perhaps it would be good for America to remember the blessed pope's words: "Do not think that courage and strength are proved by killing and destruction. True courage lies in working for peace."
There is only one man whose death we should rejoice over: the God-Man Jesus Christ. What would this world look like if, coming out of the Easter Octave, people were even half as exultant over the death and resurrection of the Savior of Heaven and Earth?
Scripture instructs me not to rejoice or be glad when my enemy falls (cf Prov 24:17). My Lord calls me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute me (cf Mt 5:44). This is a hard saying, but I must accept it. So this is why I am so uncomfortable with the reaction of my countrymen--many of whom insist America is a Christian nation--at the death of Osama Bin Laden.
May God have mercy on his soul.
May Christ's grace remake us all in His Image.
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Death. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Monday, November 29, 2010
Death Comes for the Layman
November is a bleak month. Trees have lost their leaves, darkness comes earlier and earlier, the liturgical year comes to a close and the secular calendar isn't far behind.
I think about death fairly regularly, especially in November, when this feast of St. Andrew is the fourth anniversary of my brush with death.
Reflection upon mortality isn't a morbid thing to do, but rather the most practical thing to do. In the industrial world, many of us plan for retirement (though inadequately, financial experts tell us); fewer still probably plan for eternity. So meditation on and preparation for death—which the Catechism calls “the Christian's last Passover”—is one of the most important things to do in life. It is, after all, the one event I can be certain of happening to me (unless, of course, Christ comes in glory before I'm buried, but I'm not holding my breath).
In college, my friend Tonia made a will in order to execute the transfer of her vast estate, planned a luau in lieu of finger sandwiches in a church basement and informed all her family and friends of her wishes. In the same vein, there are a few things regarding my own death and funeral that I'd like to be public knowledge. So I'm posting them here.
First of all, when I'm dead, please don't refer to me as having "passed on," or say that I am "no longer with us." I hate these colloquial phrases. Don't mince words; I will be dead, period. And whatever you do, do not say that I'm "in a better place" or “with God in heaven.” Do not canonize me. Whether I behold God in His glory face to face following my death is something you cannot know, unless the Church formally declares me a saint.
Besides, if I do make it to Heaven, it will only be after a long period in Purgatory. I'm in the midst of Hungry Souls: Supernatural Visits, Messages and Warnings from Purgatory, which has helped impress upon me the reality of Purgatory, where God's justice and mercy meet to purge the effects of sin from a soul before it enters Heaven. So please offer Masses and pray for me often when I am dead.
You may have an “Irish wake” for me; that is, following the viewing and vigil service, you may sing my praises, curse my failings and generally reminisce over drinks and conviviality.
My funeral Mass should be used as an evangelization tool. The homily at my funeral Mass should hardly mention me. Rather, I'd prefer that the priest exhort those in attendance to more closely follow Christ, receive His Sacraments, especially Eucharist and Confession, and regularly pray and read Scripture.
Some other things I'd like to see happen at the funeral Mass (fair warning: I haven't ruled out an Extraordinary Form requiem Mass):
Under no circumstances should Be Not Afraid or On Eagle's Wings be sung. And if, like at my aunt Jean's funeral, one of the altar servers should wear pink Crocs, so help me, I will leap out of that casket.
I think about death fairly regularly, especially in November, when this feast of St. Andrew is the fourth anniversary of my brush with death.
Reflection upon mortality isn't a morbid thing to do, but rather the most practical thing to do. In the industrial world, many of us plan for retirement (though inadequately, financial experts tell us); fewer still probably plan for eternity. So meditation on and preparation for death—which the Catechism calls “the Christian's last Passover”—is one of the most important things to do in life. It is, after all, the one event I can be certain of happening to me (unless, of course, Christ comes in glory before I'm buried, but I'm not holding my breath).
In college, my friend Tonia made a will in order to execute the transfer of her vast estate, planned a luau in lieu of finger sandwiches in a church basement and informed all her family and friends of her wishes. In the same vein, there are a few things regarding my own death and funeral that I'd like to be public knowledge. So I'm posting them here.
First of all, when I'm dead, please don't refer to me as having "passed on," or say that I am "no longer with us." I hate these colloquial phrases. Don't mince words; I will be dead, period. And whatever you do, do not say that I'm "in a better place" or “with God in heaven.” Do not canonize me. Whether I behold God in His glory face to face following my death is something you cannot know, unless the Church formally declares me a saint.
Besides, if I do make it to Heaven, it will only be after a long period in Purgatory. I'm in the midst of Hungry Souls: Supernatural Visits, Messages and Warnings from Purgatory, which has helped impress upon me the reality of Purgatory, where God's justice and mercy meet to purge the effects of sin from a soul before it enters Heaven. So please offer Masses and pray for me often when I am dead.
You may have an “Irish wake” for me; that is, following the viewing and vigil service, you may sing my praises, curse my failings and generally reminisce over drinks and conviviality.
My funeral Mass should be used as an evangelization tool. The homily at my funeral Mass should hardly mention me. Rather, I'd prefer that the priest exhort those in attendance to more closely follow Christ, receive His Sacraments, especially Eucharist and Confession, and regularly pray and read Scripture.
Some other things I'd like to see happen at the funeral Mass (fair warning: I haven't ruled out an Extraordinary Form requiem Mass):
- Use lots of incense
- Sing the whole Mass
- All ordinary choral Mass parts in Greek or Latin (Kyrie, Sanctus, Agnus Dei, etc.)
- Use the Roman Canon (First Eucharistic Prayer) and invoke all the saints in brackets
- A beautiful Eucharistic hymn such as Adoro te Devote at communion would be nice
- Sing Salve Regina
Under no circumstances should Be Not Afraid or On Eagle's Wings be sung. And if, like at my aunt Jean's funeral, one of the altar servers should wear pink Crocs, so help me, I will leap out of that casket.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
An Arm-and-a-Half Embrace
Mom's brother, my uncle Bob, died three weeks ago.
The Parents and Brother had just arrived for their Estes camping vacation that Saturday. They'd put up their tents in the rain that night; the weather for the week was forecasted to be cool and rainy. And the next morning, since they were incommunicado, I was the one who was contacted and then had to tell them about Bob's death.
We drove up to Wyoming Wednesday morning. It was a 10 hour drive to Lovell, where Bob lived, near the Montana border. We arrived at the motel--the same motel we stayed at when we visited Bob in 1993 on the way home from our camping trip to Yellowstone--an hour before the memorial service and then met up with some of the other family members.
Uncle Bob was cremated and placed in a little black box at the front of the funeral home, and in the back was a table covered with pictures of Bob with friends and family, which was helpful considering there was no body to view. One picture in particular stood out to me: Bob held Grandma Anderson in an enormous arm-and-a-half embrace. The picture was taken within the last year or so, and they both had beaming smiles. A loving mother and son, both of whom have now left us.
One of the unfortunate things that I've seen happen recently at funerals is the immediate canonization of the dead. For example, at the memorial service, one of Bob's former co-workers made the remark, "We know he's in a better place, and now he's got his lost arm back." But this thinking is foreign to the Gospel or Church teaching.
First, the dead don't have bodies; that won't happen until the Resurrection of the Dead when Christ comes at the end of time. But more importantly, we can't know with certainty the destination of a soul; it's presumptuous to assume that someone has gone straight to heaven. That only happens if someone dies loving God perfectly. We can't judge the hearts of men (only their actions), and we must persevere to the end in order to be saved, Christ tells us.
However, not only the Jews who believed in the Resurrection but also the early Church Fathers taught that it was good and holy to pray for the dead, that those who did not love God wholeheartedly may be purified, perfected in love and holiness, and enter into heaven. That's why I pray for my deceased loved ones on Monday mornings and Friday evenings and at every Mass in which I participate.
May the host of angels greet Bob and carry him to the arms of Our Loving and Merciful Savior.
The Parents and Brother had just arrived for their Estes camping vacation that Saturday. They'd put up their tents in the rain that night; the weather for the week was forecasted to be cool and rainy. And the next morning, since they were incommunicado, I was the one who was contacted and then had to tell them about Bob's death.
We drove up to Wyoming Wednesday morning. It was a 10 hour drive to Lovell, where Bob lived, near the Montana border. We arrived at the motel--the same motel we stayed at when we visited Bob in 1993 on the way home from our camping trip to Yellowstone--an hour before the memorial service and then met up with some of the other family members.
Uncle Bob was cremated and placed in a little black box at the front of the funeral home, and in the back was a table covered with pictures of Bob with friends and family, which was helpful considering there was no body to view. One picture in particular stood out to me: Bob held Grandma Anderson in an enormous arm-and-a-half embrace. The picture was taken within the last year or so, and they both had beaming smiles. A loving mother and son, both of whom have now left us.
One of the unfortunate things that I've seen happen recently at funerals is the immediate canonization of the dead. For example, at the memorial service, one of Bob's former co-workers made the remark, "We know he's in a better place, and now he's got his lost arm back." But this thinking is foreign to the Gospel or Church teaching.
First, the dead don't have bodies; that won't happen until the Resurrection of the Dead when Christ comes at the end of time. But more importantly, we can't know with certainty the destination of a soul; it's presumptuous to assume that someone has gone straight to heaven. That only happens if someone dies loving God perfectly. We can't judge the hearts of men (only their actions), and we must persevere to the end in order to be saved, Christ tells us.
However, not only the Jews who believed in the Resurrection but also the early Church Fathers taught that it was good and holy to pray for the dead, that those who did not love God wholeheartedly may be purified, perfected in love and holiness, and enter into heaven. That's why I pray for my deceased loved ones on Monday mornings and Friday evenings and at every Mass in which I participate.
May the host of angels greet Bob and carry him to the arms of Our Loving and Merciful Savior.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Eternal Rest Grant unto Her, O Lord
Last Saturday, Sarah and I arrived in Fort Dodge after a 13 hour drive from Colorado to Iowa. We were there to say goodbye to our Grandma Anderson, who had died days earlier.
The last time I'd seen Grandma was, coincidentally, a year and a half earlier at another funeral, that of Aunt Jean.
Grandma was 92 years old. She was the second oldest of 14 children of Irish parents. The remaining six McMahons arrived Sunday for the visitation, along with many other family and friends.
She looked good, but not natural, of course, because it wasn't exactly Grandma. Corpses disturb us in the same way that ghosts do: they are only half human. Bodies without souls and disembodied souls frighten us because we know that it is not the natural human state.
We spent the afternoon at the funeral home, where we prayed the rosary with the Catholic Daughters of the Americas. I couldn't help think back to the rosary at Grandma Naser's visitation where the priest prayed, "Hail Mary, fulla grace, blessadart thoumong women and blessadiz tha fruita thywoom, Geez-zus."
Following the vigil was the Irish wake at Community Tavern, where 30 or so of the family celebrated Grandma's life over pizza and beer. We closed the place down.
The Mass of Christian Burial is the most beautiful ritual that we have to commend our loved ones to the Lord. In that one instance, when we step outside of time, when Heaven and Earth unite at the both the foot of the Cross and the Lamb's High Feast, we pass from mourning to joy. This is exactly what happened that Monday morning.
And so the mood of the family who crammed into Aunt Marilyn's house Monday night was much different. The food and drink we shared had something to do with it, to be sure, but it was also the Faith we shared with Grandma and each other.
May perpetual light shine upon her.
The last time I'd seen Grandma was, coincidentally, a year and a half earlier at another funeral, that of Aunt Jean.
Grandma was 92 years old. She was the second oldest of 14 children of Irish parents. The remaining six McMahons arrived Sunday for the visitation, along with many other family and friends.
She looked good, but not natural, of course, because it wasn't exactly Grandma. Corpses disturb us in the same way that ghosts do: they are only half human. Bodies without souls and disembodied souls frighten us because we know that it is not the natural human state.
We spent the afternoon at the funeral home, where we prayed the rosary with the Catholic Daughters of the Americas. I couldn't help think back to the rosary at Grandma Naser's visitation where the priest prayed, "Hail Mary, fulla grace, blessadart thoumong women and blessadiz tha fruita thywoom, Geez-zus."
Following the vigil was the Irish wake at Community Tavern, where 30 or so of the family celebrated Grandma's life over pizza and beer. We closed the place down.
The Mass of Christian Burial is the most beautiful ritual that we have to commend our loved ones to the Lord. In that one instance, when we step outside of time, when Heaven and Earth unite at the both the foot of the Cross and the Lamb's High Feast, we pass from mourning to joy. This is exactly what happened that Monday morning.
And so the mood of the family who crammed into Aunt Marilyn's house Monday night was much different. The food and drink we shared had something to do with it, to be sure, but it was also the Faith we shared with Grandma and each other.
May perpetual light shine upon her.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Five Years
I was still in bed, straddling that hazy line between sleep and consciousness, when my roommate burst in the door. "We're under attack," he blurted out, throwing his backpack onto the couch.
He was a theater major and a pretty dramatic person, so I wasn't quite sure what he meant. But by the time I'd climbed down from my loft, he'd turned on the TV.
The rest of the day was a blur. I know that I didn't go to my classes and instead went to Mass. I, like most everyone else, probably stayed in front of the television.
Hard to believe that was five years ago.
I've tried not to dwell on it since, but this past weekend I stumbled across the A&E movie Flight 93, and the memories surged back, at moments as fresh as that Tuesday. I was reminded of those who died without any warning. And in the case of the passengers of United 93, the ones who knew death was imminent and attempted to lessen evil's impact.
And for some reason, I thought of the Communion of Saints.
Pray for those who died five years ago. Pray for those heroes who kept their hijacked airliner from destroying the Capitol or the White House and killing even more innocent people. May they join all the saints in the light of heaven. And may their families feel His sweet kiss of peace.
He was a theater major and a pretty dramatic person, so I wasn't quite sure what he meant. But by the time I'd climbed down from my loft, he'd turned on the TV.
The rest of the day was a blur. I know that I didn't go to my classes and instead went to Mass. I, like most everyone else, probably stayed in front of the television.
Hard to believe that was five years ago.
I've tried not to dwell on it since, but this past weekend I stumbled across the A&E movie Flight 93, and the memories surged back, at moments as fresh as that Tuesday. I was reminded of those who died without any warning. And in the case of the passengers of United 93, the ones who knew death was imminent and attempted to lessen evil's impact.
And for some reason, I thought of the Communion of Saints.
Pray for those who died five years ago. Pray for those heroes who kept their hijacked airliner from destroying the Capitol or the White House and killing even more innocent people. May they join all the saints in the light of heaven. And may their families feel His sweet kiss of peace.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Friday, April 01, 2005
The Holy Father is dying.
He knows it himself. He has prayed the Stations of the Cross and the third hour of the Divine Office, both of which focus on the final journey and death of Christ.
May his final painful journey take him to the Cross of Calvary, and when he bows his head and it is finished, may he be welcomed by Christ into the Kingdom as His true and faithful servant. As we celebrate this Octave of Easter, may John Paul share in the glory of his Master's Resurrection.
He knows it himself. He has prayed the Stations of the Cross and the third hour of the Divine Office, both of which focus on the final journey and death of Christ.
May his final painful journey take him to the Cross of Calvary, and when he bows his head and it is finished, may he be welcomed by Christ into the Kingdom as His true and faithful servant. As we celebrate this Octave of Easter, may John Paul share in the glory of his Master's Resurrection.
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