Dear brothers and sisters,
We were reminded this past Sunday of
something we too often forget, namely, that “God did not make death, nor does
he rejoice in the destruction of the living” (Wisdom 1:13). But because we
experience death each day in one way or another, we presume that death is a
natural consequence of life; that we are born and die seems as normal as
eating, drinking, and sleeping, but this does not make the experience of death
any easier to bear.
From the beginning it was not so, “for God
formed man to be imperishable” and only “by the envy of the devil [did] death
enter the world” (Wisdom 2:23, 24). Death, then, is not natural, it was not
part of the original plan of God, yet he has nonetheless brought it into the
workings of his Providence. Indeed, death was first given as a divine
punishment, but “a divine ‘punishment’ is also a divine ‘gift’, if
accepted, since its object is ultimate blessing, and the
supreme inventiveness of the Creator will make ‘punishments’ (that is
changes of design) produce a good not otherwise to be attained.”[1]
Because God does not rejoice in the
destruction of the living, he sent his Only Begotten Son among us. He willingly
abandoned the glory of heaven and took on our frail humanity; he lived our life
and he died our death, giving his life for us on the Cross. Yet his death was
not to be the end. He was raised from the dead by the power of the Father and
his Resurrection destroyed forever the bonds of death. This is why the hope of
the souls of the just is “full of immortality” (Wisdom 3:4). The just look to
the Risen Lord, confident that he will raise their mortal bodies from the dust,
as well, that they will live with him forever.
Yet despite this hope, despite our
confidence that “the faithful shall abide with him in love,” death still causes
us great pain and anguish even as it raises many questions (Wisdom 3:4). Very
rarely do we ask why we have to die; we have accepted it as a simple reality
from which we cannot escape, and this is true, as far as it goes. We do ask,
though, why our loved ones must suffer before death, especially if their
suffering extended for a length of time, especially when their suffering
extends for a span of several years. Why could they not simply have been given
a quick and painless death, we ask; why must it have been drawn out?
This is a question, of course, without any
obvious answer, but that does not mean we cannot say something about it.
Certainly, it is never easy to watch a loved one suffer and it was not easy for
you to watch Shirley suffer these past many years, but your love for her and
her love for you kept you together and allowed you to suffer with and for each
other. Was this suffering – her suffering and yours - meaningless, or might there
have been an unseen purpose to it?
Before the Lord Jesus ascended the throne
of his Cross, he said to those who would be his disciples, “If anyone wishes to
come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me”
(Luke 9:23). From this it follows that just as the Cross was the only means to
the Resurrection, so, too, is the Cross – however it is presented to each of us
– the means by which we will attain eternal life because our own crosses are a
sharing in the Cross of Christ. This is why Saint Peter encourages us, saying,
Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal which comes
upon you to prove you, as though something strange were happening to you. But
rejoice in so far as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice
and be glad when his glory is revealed (I Peter 4:12-13).
The suffering that Shirley endured was an
invitation to share in the sufferings of Christ, to complete in her flesh what
is lacking in the afflictions of Christ for the sake of his body, the Church
(see Colossians 1:24). If we seek to unite our sufferings together with the
sufferings of Christ, our sufferings, like his, can be redemptive, both for us
and for others; they can bring about a good unseen and even unlooked for.
This is why King Solomon wrote that
“chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and
found them worthy of himself” (Wisdom 3:5). We have gathered here today, the
family and friends of Shirley, to pray for her, to implore the Lord Jesus to
count her among his flock and to welcome her into his pastures. We have come to
pray that, since Shirley was tried as gold in the furnace, that she may now
know the fullness of the grace and mercy of God and dart about as sparks
through stubble, that she may always be with the Lord (see Wisdom 3:6, 7, 9; I
Thessalonians 4:17).
If we are honest, each one of us will
recognize that we have a longing that extends beyond the realms of this world,
a desire for something greater than this life can give; we have a yearning for
life without end, but not simply an unending life as we know it now; such a
life would be unbearable. We long, rather, to be with the Lord, to look upon
the face of the Creator who alone can fulfill the deepest aspirations of the
human heart.
In one of his letters to his son Michael,
J.R.R. Tolkien wrote beautifully of this desire: “There is a place called
'heaven' where the good here unfinished is completed; and where the stories
unwritten, and the hopes unfulfilled, are continued. We may laugh together
yet...”[2]
This is why we have come today to the altar of God, to pray that we may one day
laugh with Shirley again, that our hopes may be fulfilled, our stories
completed, and our good works finished. But how can this be?
Earlier we said that death, which was first
a punishment brought about by the envy of the devil, is, paradoxically, also a
gift that brings about something otherwise unattainable. What do we mean? The
unexpected consequence of death – the unexpected gift of death – is heaven:
With this term "Heaven" we wish to say that God, the
God who made himself close to us, does not abandon us in or after death but
keeps a place for us and gives us eternity. We mean that in God there is room
for us.[3]
Before our expulsion from Paradise, before
we rebelled against God and set ourselves up as his equals and rivals, God walked
with us in the garden in the cool of the evening (see Genesis 3:7). Now, though,
through the death and Resurrection of Christ Jesus, God does not simply walk among
us but has opened himself up to us; now we can live not simply with God, but in God. And because there is now room for us within the One who is
Goodness, Beauty, and Truth, within the One who is Love, the deepest yearnings
of our hearts can be satisfied and fulfilled; indeed, they will be satisfied if
we die in friendship with him.
To understand this reality a little better
let us look at our own lives. We all experience that when people die they
continue to exist, in a certain way, in the memory and heart of those who knew
and loved them.
We might say that a part of the person lives on in them but it resembles a "shadow" because this survival in the heart of their loved ones is destined to end.
God, on the contrary, never passes away and we all exist by virtue of his love. We exist because he loves us, because he conceived of us and called us to life. We exist in God's thoughts and in God's love. We exist in the whole of our reality, not only in our "shadow".
Our serenity, our hope and our peace are based precisely on this: in God, in his thoughts and in his love, it is not merely a "shadow" of ourselves that survives but rather we are preserved and ushered into eternity with the whole of our being in him, in his creator love.
It is his Love that triumphs over death and gives us eternity and it is this love that we call "Heaven": God is so great that he also makes room for us.[4]
The Saints live now in God and experience
the fullness of his love. May Shirley be admitted this day to their company to
know the fullness of happiness, joy, and peace for ever. Amen.
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