DEALING WITH DEATH
The title of my homily for this 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A) is, “Dealing With Death.”
In the old days, before air conditioning, in many
Catholic churches there was no sermon at Mass during the summer. People came for communion and to fulfill the
obligation. And sermons were not called homilies yet.
It’s my perception that Catholics of today come to Mass for
communion and a homily – not necessarily short – but definitely not long – and
they come to Mass much less out of obligation – or worry about mortal sin – but
to pray – prayers of asking and prayers of thanks – to be in the state and place of grace for an hour - to be fed – nourished –
challenged – given something to chew on – something to think about.
That’s my perception. That’s my understanding. That’s
what I’ve noticed.
The title of my homily is, “Dealing With Death.”
Now that’s a homily or sermon that we might not want
summer, spring, winter or fall – especially summer. November or February –
maybe.
TODAY’S GOSPEL
Today’s gospel triggered the topic and theme for me. It
was actually the first sentence that hit me. Here it is
again: “When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a
boat to a deserted place by himself.”
Question: How have we dealt with the deaths in our lives?
Question: Who has died in your life? Spouse? Mom? Dad? Grandma?
Grandpa? Brother? Sister? Child? Friend? Co-worker?
Question: What were the aftereffects – the after quakes –
the aftermath?
I thought this might be a good issue to spend a little
time on – for a sermon topic – even in the summer.
Death: it happens to all of us. It happens at us?
Death: it happens to all of us. It happens at us?
Then there is our own death. At some point we better
think about that as well – and often other’s deaths trigger thoughts about our
own life – and death - as I’m assuming this homily will.
Stories trigger stories.
My hope is that my stories trigger your stories.
When they do, please stop listening to me and start listening to yourself
– about your stories – your life – about your deaths.
To me this idea of stories triggering stories – ideas triggering
ideas – images triggering another's imagination – this is at the heart of preaching.
JESUS WITHDREW
In today’s gospel from Matthew 14:13-21 – we hear a story about
Jesus – how he wanted some space and some time – to be alone – to go
figure – and sure enough he's interrupted.
We know Jesus cried – and cried heavily at the death of his friend Lazarus – which we hear about in the gospel of John – Chapter 11. Seeing him crying at the grave of Lazarus, people said, “See how he loved him.” [John 11:36]
We know Jesus cried – and cried heavily at the death of his friend Lazarus – which we hear about in the gospel of John – Chapter 11. Seeing him crying at the grave of Lazarus, people said, “See how he loved him.” [John 11:36]
So Jesus cried. So Jesus wanted to be alone – when
someone he knew died.
And then we find out in today’s story – no way – it
doesn’t happen. A crowd of people crowd in at him – and he has to feed them.
They are hungry and thirsty – just like we heard about in today’s first
reading.
Did Jesus stuff his feelings – hide his tears – and then
tend and turn to people?
WHAT DO WE DO?
How about us? What do we do when someone we loved has
died?
Obviously it all depends on who it is that died.
I think the first thing we do is become quiet. We've been shot or shocked or hit with a hurt.
Then we watch. We look around. We experiencr the mystery of life – ending – over with - finality.
Death is lightning - thunder - a storm.
Whether it’s a cat or dog – but especially if it’s a person - someone we know – someone we love – we want to withdraw - to find a quiet place to lick our wounds.
Then we watch. We look around. We experiencr the mystery of life – ending – over with - finality.
Death is lightning - thunder - a storm.
Whether it’s a cat or dog – but especially if it’s a person - someone we know – someone we love – we want to withdraw - to find a quiet place to lick our wounds.
My first death was Jimmy Hennessy – a kid in our grammar
school.He was maybe 9 years old. The wake was in the Hennessy house on 64th Street.
I can still see - after all these years - all us kids walking up the steps into their house – a long line of kids. There was Jimmy laid out in a casket. Dark blue pants. White shirt. Dark blue tie. School uniform.
I don’t remember anything but the silence on the street, on the steps, in the house, in the living room, where Jimmy was laid out. I don’t remember saying anything to his mom or dad or sister. Maybe I took a look in the eye of his brother. Johnny, who was in our grammar school class.
So all I remember was just the line – just the silence – just the sadness – just the steps up into the house and back out of the house - and onto the sidewalk once again.
I can still see - after all these years - all us kids walking up the steps into their house – a long line of kids. There was Jimmy laid out in a casket. Dark blue pants. White shirt. Dark blue tie. School uniform.
I don’t remember anything but the silence on the street, on the steps, in the house, in the living room, where Jimmy was laid out. I don’t remember saying anything to his mom or dad or sister. Maybe I took a look in the eye of his brother. Johnny, who was in our grammar school class.
So all I remember was just the line – just the silence – just the sadness – just the steps up into the house and back out of the house - and onto the sidewalk once again.
Was that why I always remember that first scene in the
1965 movie, Doctor Zhivago, when the little boy is at the burial of his mother?
There is a solemn procession to the grave, then the prayers, then the closing
of the casket, then lowering of the body into the ground – then the shovels and
the dirt.
My dad died in 1970. That was my next – but maybe first
profound death.
Then came a very tough death. It was my 15 year old nephew, Michael – who died suddenly
of cancer in 1977.
I cried while driving home from a retreat I was giving in Pennyslvania – heading back home to Brooklyn – to be with my sister and brother-in-law and their 3 other kids. It was in June – around Father’s Day and Michael’s younger sister Maryna in a quiet, one to one moment, said to me: “Uncle Andy? Do you ever think they’ll ever have a Brother’s Day?”
I cried while driving home from a retreat I was giving in Pennyslvania – heading back home to Brooklyn – to be with my sister and brother-in-law and their 3 other kids. It was in June – around Father’s Day and Michael’s younger sister Maryna in a quiet, one to one moment, said to me: “Uncle Andy? Do you ever think they’ll ever have a Brother’s Day?”
In time I lost my brother and then my mother and then
last year my sister Peggy, who was a nun.
The one death I wonder about is my mom’s in 1987. She was killed
in a hit-and-run accident – while walking to church – and then she’d walk to
work. I have not cried yet – and I have often wondered why. I cried at other funerals
and deaths and experiences – and scenes in movies like The Natural and Doctor
Zhivago.
Last August my brother-in-law died and at the wake I was
sitting on a couch – in the funeral parlor - silently watching the whole scene
– when my sister Peggy rolled into the funeral parlor. She was in a
wheel-chair. That was new. Plus an oxygen tank and those clear plastic tubes
into her nose. Woo. This was all new. I went over to her and said, “What the
heck happened to you?”
"Ugh!" She was having big time breathing problems - while still working away as a nun up in Scranton, Pennsylvania – running a
tutoring service for kids.
Well, after the greetings – and time – and this and that
– Peggy and I are alone in this big gathering of family and friends. I’m back on the corner of that couch – she’s next to
me in her wheelchair.
For some reason - while we’re both facing our brother-in-law
Jerry’s body in the casket – I said to Peggy, “You know I still haven’t cried
over mom’s sudden death" – and that was back in 1987 – and she says to me,
putting her hand on my arm, “I haven’t either.”
Silence.
Then I said to Peggy, “We have to talk about this.”
I’m with her a month or so later and she’s worse – and we’re
alone – in her nun’s nursing home room and I’m ready to talk to her about this
and that and a few other things.
I finally got time to talk to her alone.
Then we get interrupted – and she has to take a lung
treatment – and we never got to talking about mom – and I wanted to hear her
take on that.
And then she died in November – and I did cry at that –
and ugh and ugh and ugh.
And luckily I have my sister Mary and some good friends to talk to about all this.
And luckily I have my sister Mary and some good friends to talk to about all this.
AS PRIEST
As priest I’ve been with many people dying – with family
members around them in nursing homes, hospitals, and at home in hospice and
this and that. I’ve been to many funeral parlors.
In spite of all kinds of deaths, I am still like all of us here. We all have to deal with our own life and our own death – as well as that of family members.
In spite of all kinds of deaths, I am still like all of us here. We all have to deal with our own life and our own death – as well as that of family members.
Sometimes death is a blessing – but most of the times – it’s
tough. It’s ugh. It’s a bummer. It’s life.
Death – our's and other's – is a reality we all have to deal with.
Death – our's and other's – is a reality we all have to deal with.
CONCLUSION
The title of my homily is, “Dealing With Death.”
St. Alphonsus Liguori – whose feast day was last Friday –
wrote a whole book on Preparation for Death.
I prefer his other book, The Practice of the Love of
Jesus Christ in dealing with death – and dealing with life.
Paul says in today’s second reading, “Who can separate us
from the love of Christ?" Then Paul gives a
long list of things that can get in the way of our relationship with Christ:
anguish, distress, death, past things, future things, etc. etc. etc. Paul says
none of these things can “separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our
Lord.” [Cf. Romans 8:35, 37-39.]
Question: How to deal with death, how to deal with all the
mistakes and the missing and missed moments with each other – the time and love and
listening we didn’t give each other – how to deal with all that and a lot, lot
more?
Answer: to stand or sit here under this gigantic cross - here in this church – in this sanctuary –
and let Jesus be with us – and hear him say when he was dying
on the cross to the Good Thief, “Today you’ll be with me in paradise.” [Cf. Luke 23:43].
So my plans and my hope is to steal paradise on that
promise. My plan is to meet again with not just Jesus Christ, but Jimmy Hennessy,
my dad, my mom, my nephew, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law and all
those people whose lives were part of my life - and have gone before me. Amen.
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Painting on top: Funeral Procession by Ellis Wilson
