Pray for the Dead ... and the Living

The longer you work in or with a church—whether paid or volunteer —the more you come to realize the many sorrows everyone bears. The friend across from me laments a son with a drinking and drug problem, a husband who doesn’t believe in God all the while mourning the loss of the woman who was her mother figure. Another woman never married but cares for her dying brother; she was also there to see to all the needs of both parents in their last hours. A man lost his wife over ten years ago and yet still loves her and misses her as if it were yesterday. An elderly mother has buried three of her five children, a husband, all but two of her eight siblings and outlived most of her friends. Another woman lost her husband when he tried to stop a crime in progress and one of her two sons to an accident; she also lost five babies to still births and always dreamed of having a large family. Her only surviving son lives over in Europe and is approaching 40; she quietly accepts that she will never have grandchildren of her own and lavishes her love on the parish children.

Death. It’s all around us. So is sorrow and grieving. We aren’t supposed to be a grieving society. We are affluent America. We’re supposed to be happy. It’s what American parents reportedly desire for their children and for themselves—happiness. And we want it in this life; we even expect it. Our own Constitution tells us it’s our God-given ‘right’, or the pursuit of it is anyway. I’ve never had much luck with ‘pursuing’ happiness myself, but that’s another story.

Interestingly, those same people who have – and are – suffering so much are often the most joyful people I know. They aren’t always ‘happy’, but they are usually full of His Joy.

Last night I discovered another such soul, a woman I’ve seen and known by sight around my parish for years. And she asked an interesting question, a question I’ve given some thought to myself.

She wanted to know why we as Catholics pray for the dead. Her husband has been dead for years now and their six children apparently are offended by the fact that she still prays for him. Like their mother, they loved their Dad very much and believe he was a very good man. Their reasoning is, if ‘Dad’ was such a good man, isn’t it an insult to his memory to pray for him? Why not have faith in his good life—or if not in him, then in God’s all powerful mercy—that this good man will go straight to Heaven?

Well of course I did think of the Biblical argument that there is ‘no one good but God alone’ but decided not to go down that path. Scriptural debates are all well good in their place. This was a matter of the heart. And anyway, I knew why this woman was still praying for her husband and it had nothing to do with her beliefs about her husband’s soul or God’s mercy and it had everything to do with her undying love for him.

You see if you really love someone, that love doesn’t stop with death. It doesn’t end; it can’t. It goes on just as that person’s life goes on in eternity. So whether or not we may be aware of it, it’s our need to reach out to our loved one which is met through our prayer for that person. Of course this isn’t the Church’s theological reasons for prayers for the dead and those are certainly worth studying too. But in this case, I think my friend will have more success explaining to her children that she prays for her deceased husband because she loves him. She loved him so much and for so long, she couldn’t—can’t—just stop because he’s died. So now praying for him allows her to express those deep feelings.

And what about the prayers?

What about them? Well, they are surely from her heart, so they are good prayers. In fact, they are probably the very best kind of prayers in the entire world knowing the sweetness of this dear woman.

So, if in fact, her husband does need her prayers, so much the better.

And if he doesn’t? Doesn’t this world need prayer?

Is there any doubt?

Are prayers wasted? If you believe in an all-merciful and all-loving God, as I do, I think you know the answer to that question. He has plenty of use for such prayer.

Is there anyone you are grieving? Anyone you miss more than your own life? Pray for them and be consoled. If they need your prayers, you may bring them to the arms of God. If not, you will still bring YOU—and perhaps some of your hurting brothers and sisters here on this earth—there with you.

Pray. Pray. And Pray some more.

“Can you drink the cup?”

‘Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee approached him with her sons and did him homage, wishing to ask him for something. He said to her, “What do you wish?” She answered him, “Command that these two sons of mine sit, one at your right and the other at your left, in your kingdom.” Jesus said in reply, “You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?” They said to him, “We can.” He replied, “My cup you will indeed drink, but to sit at my right and at my left, (this) is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” Matthew 20:20-23

I just returned from retreat—my first ever work-related retreat. Our retreat master, a nurse by profession—who for the past thirteen years has been working for our archdiocese in a service capacity—is one of those dynamic people who radiates enthusiasm and joy. She chose the above Scripture passage for our theme.

Using the analogy of ‘the cup’ as representing our own life, or God’s Will for us, we were invited to examine holding, lifting and finally drinking the cup. In the first step, we had the opportunity to see how we accept and embrace the lives we are given—in all their idiosyncrasies, mystery, pain, wonder and totality. We were entertained by many stories, some happy, others bittersweet which served to remind that God fills our cups with many varied things.

The second step, lifting or tipping the cup, was the act of community. Last night we even had a little ceremony where we held, clinked and drank from matching stoneware chalices in a symbolic opportunity which showed us visually our connectedness to each other. The beauty and vitality in this transitional movement is that to reach the point of being able to ‘drink from the cup’ we must first recognize the other. Your cup is different than mine. It may look the same on the outside—or not—but it certainly contains different things on the inside. When our cups touch, I acknowledge you and you do the same for me. Such a simple, old-fashioned notion, but oh so desperately needed in the world today.

And finally, I drink of my cup. It is in this action I am joining Christ and accepting the Father’s Will in humble, trustful surrender. Some days it is easy to drink from my cup; other days it is not. But it remains mine and mine alone to drink to the very bottom.

I’ve been trying to take a retreat ever since I started this job. I’ve needed something like this for ages. So often I say, ‘I’m too busy right now. I can’t get away. I’ve got all this work to do.’

And it’s true ... I do have all this work to do. And even more things here at home that I need and want to do. That’s my cup: full-time job which is also a ministry; good marriage I want to keep strong; a busy family life and extended family close and spread all over the country; friends in town and out; a home to care for; and many activities I like to do.

It is a very full cup, but probably no more full than most other people today. Very gingerly I lift my cup to you. Tell me about your cup. Then we can tip our cups together and drink of Our Father's Will.

challenges to prayer

Last post I wrote about the changes which inevitably occur in our lives sooner or later upsetting our best plans and intentions to begin a life dedicated to prayer. The “changes” I mentioned were all positive—a new job, primary relationship or baby—but what if the change is something we don’t desire? What if we experience the death of a loved one or major illness, the loss of a job, the complete or partial destruction of a home or property? How do such things impact our prayer life? First let me say, that my challenge or change was only a small one, but even so, it had a major impact on my ability to pray.

Last week I started an exercise program. My husband and I joined a fitness facility in the fall when my daughter was leaving for college; I thought it would be a good thing for me to do to keep my spirits up with her leaving, not to mention I need to have some sort of regular exercise program. I even talked to and set up an appointment with a personal trainer. Then reality kicked in; I cancelled the appointment and I stopped going. I didn’t have enough time for myself ... well I didn’t make enough time for myself, but that’s another story. My husband still used the membership so we kept it open. He's an optimist; he was sure I'd go back.

Last week the trainer called me and asked if I wanted to set up another appointment. I did. We got together and it was great. She worked me hard, but also showed me stretches which balanced out the weights. I went back to the gym over the week-end and did the bike and treadmill with my daughter from college who was home visiting. Then on Monday, I went for my second lesson. I can still see that dirty Kleenex on the treadmill. I didn’t touch it but I didn’t need to. I’m sure the user’s germs were all over the machine. Still I had another great workout and I came back to work. The volunteer who was scheduled to help me was there shortly after I returned. I don’t remember taking time to wash my hands after coming back from the gym. But I grabbed my lunch and started eating while we worked. Big mistake!

The next day, Tuesday, around noon I started getting a scratchy throat and chills. By the end of the afternoon there was no doubt in my mind, I had a cold. I haven’t had a cold in at least two years. I thought I’d sleep it off. I stayed home from work and slept away most of Wednesday. What first amazed me was that I could sleep ALL day. I had no appetite. I had to force myself to eat because I knew if I didn’t I’d get a migraine. My head hurt even so but it hurt worse, much worse, every time I coughed and I kept having coughing fits. Water tasted awful but I drank it anyway because I was parched. My dear husband brought me Sunny Delight and it tasted a little better than the water. I ached all over. I was hot; I was cold. I was miserable. But the biggest surprise was, I couldn’t pray. All I could do was say little prayers like The Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,” the Divine Mercy, “Jesus, I trust in You!” and the prayer Father Corapi suggests, “Immaculate Heart of Mary, I place all my trust in you.” I tried to muster the energy to say something more organized but I couldn't.

Then Wednesday at 3 in the morning, I woke out of a sound sleep because my lower back had seized up. My husband said it was because I’d slept all day the day before. I think it was also because of my recent workouts. My trainer had me working back muscles I didn’t usually work. I was also still having coughing fits which were making my head want to blow off and sending further spasms of pain down my back.

So at 3 in the morning my dearly beloved husband helped me get down on the floor with a heating pad on my back and a hot water bag on my stomach. Eventually the muscles loosened up enough to where I could get into a fetal position which stretched out the back muscles. I fell asleep like that. The hot water bag leaked but I didn’t even care.

Today, Friday, my back and stomach are still very sore and I’m having coughing fits but on a much less frequent basis. I feel weak but able to move around. My appetite still hasn’t come back but knowing me, it will.

What surprised me most in the whole thing was that I could not pray. I wanted to. I tried to. I thought about it and I did remember that even to call Jesus’ Holy Name is a prayer. I did do that. But I felt so desolate being unable to pray.

Today being Friday I said the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. As I got to the 4th Mystery and contemplated them mocking Jesus while He carried His Cross, the Cross He bore for us, I felt this overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I’m not sure, but I think it was a teeny tiny glimpse of the great loneliness He felt when He carried the Cross for us. He loves us so much. And yet when He picked up the Cross that day, He looked into His children’s eyes—children whom He loved deeply—and they were mocking Him. How often do we mock one another? Belittle and tease each other? Make light of another person’s pain or experience? When we do, we also join those Roman soldiers mocking Our Savior.

Oh Lord, help me to remember this small insight, that my challenges are everyone’s challenges and I never suffer in isolation. When one part of the Body of Christ suffers, the whole Body suffers. Help my experienced pain make me more compassionate, considerate, patient and kind to my brothers and sisters. Help me also remember that prayer is the very best gift I can give anyone, but especially those who are sick, because often they can’t pray for themselves.

prayer journeys

I’ve often wondered if prayer is such a good thing, why is it so difficult to maintain? Oh sure it’s easy to begin to pray or say you’re to going to develop your prayer life or that you want to deepen your relationship with God through more consistency in prayer, but how many of us find that after a week or two, or maybe even a couple months we hit a wall?

Or maybe something big changes in our life, like a new job, marriage or baby and suddenly the time and routine which we’d formerly devoted to prayer, is now consumed by duties too important to neglect. We’re overwhelmed and it’s easy enough to let the prayer slip into whatever time and space is left over.

As for myself, I justified my recent neglect of private prayer by saying, “But I go to Mass almost every day. Isn’t that good enough?” No! The Mass is the chief or central act of communal worship in the Catholic Church and there is nothing which can replace it. I would not miss any opportunity to go to daily Mass, however, it is not a substitute for my individual prayer time with God. I need both. I need to go away from everyone and spend time alone with the Father—just as Jesus did so often, as we are repeatedly told in the Gospels. When I do this, I find a world within myself where He dwells. I discover that still small voice.

We are all on a spiritual journey. For most of us, I suspect, it isn’t along a superhighway. I know I’m traveling the back roads. Lately, I think I’m not even on a road at all. It feels like God has taken me out of any motorized vehicle and is leading me along an unexplored path through a wooded area. He has me by the hand but I can’t see the way ahead at all. Maybe it is night time or He could have me blindfolded. In any event, the effect is the same; I’m completely dependent on Him to take me where He wants me to go. For someone who is a planner and organizer, this is not a comfortable position to be in. I have to trust Him utterly. I can’t stop praying—not because I’m good or self-disciplined but more out of a sense of desperation.

I don’t know if this means my prayers are less efficacious because they are as necessary as drinking water or breathing, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I do wonder sometimes how many different levels we pray on. When I am very relaxed and praying the rosary, I’ll be contemplating Our Lord’s actions in one of the mysteries and yet I am also aware of being very conscious of my plea to Our Lady, “Pray for us!” Today when that happened, I wondered if one was the spirit and the other the mind or if they were both just simultaneous thoughts of the mind. I suppose that's not really important either ... just my random musings. Of course, that’s not to say, there aren’t other times, when I’m not concentrating on any level, so please don’t think I don’t have my fair share of distractions. I do!

I’m still very much a child of prayer, taking stumbling steps.

Oh Jesus, You have brought us safely thus far. Please continue to watch over us as we continue on our individual and collective journeys, always traveling toward You, the only and ultimate destination.

Child of Prayer

A friend asked me about my New Year’s Resolutions the other day. “What are your plans and dreams for the upcoming year?”

Plans and dreams... Yes, those are both very good things! God has a plan for my life—for every second of every day I have ever lived and will go on living in this world. And He often communicates His desires to His children through their dreams. So what plans and dreams can I have but His?

What I have for the upcoming year are prayers and one prayer in particular: to become a person of prayer.

I desire to live in constant communion with Him.

Every time my mind wanders to a problem, let it be drawn back to Him in trustful surrender.

When my eyes behold evil, let Him show me the Way, the Truth and Life.

If my heart seizes with fear, let His Love encircle and warm me, bringing more love than I’ve ever known before.

May He be my first thought every morning and may I fall asleep with His Name on my lips.

May He love and protect my dear ones as I would if I could—were I but All Knowing, All Loving and All Good.

May He turn all my sins into opportunities for growth in kindness, humility and patience.

Sweet Jesus, with every breath I take in, let me seek You; with every breath out, may I grow closer to You.

You know LORD what a wretch I am—how far I have to go, how much I ask by daring to pray as I do. And yet, You are the God of the Impossible. With and through You, All Things are possible, even my sanctification.

Help this year be a YEAR OF PRAYER for your servant. Help me seek You at all times, in all ways and without tiring.

Make me Your child of prayer.