As we speak, two of my family members lie on their deathbeds, awaiting their release into the loving arms of God. It is hard on the whole family to walk through these kinds of circumstances, especially during the holiday season, as the holidays are commonly difficult anyway, our past grief over the loss of a loved one returning to us in sometimes subtle, sometimes powerful ways.
I don’t know of any other religion, however, that has so much emotional commerce with those who have gone before us as Catholicism. The mighty waves of Sacred Tradition and rituals of healing help us grieve in the same way that for hundreds of years, the great composers of the world have written beautiful Requiem Masses.
Yes, there is (or can be) something beautiful about one’s passing and the attendant grief felt by loved ones.
I’m a big fan of Dr. Alan Wolfeldt, who founded the Center for Loss, an organization dedicated to reaching out to those grieving through education, meditation, prayer and practical, comforting advice for the grieving. Dr. Wolfeldt, who puts forth the notion of Companioning Grief, has just written a beautiful little booklet, “Cherishing:
The Art of Fully Living While Still Honoring Those Who’ve Died.” I found myself recently going through the booklet and translating each suggestion into more “Catholic” terms. Dr. Wolfeldt speaks right away about the importance of healing rituals. He mentions visiting the graveside of a loved one, perhaps reading a special passage of literary or spiritual merit, placing flowers on the grave, or saying a prayer there. I agree wholeheartedly but, for the Catholic, we can also go to our parish office and have a Mass or Masses said for the repose of the soul of our loved ones. Catholics have attended the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the greatest ritual ever performed, since the time of the Last Supper.
Another of Dr. Wolfeldt’s suggestions is engaging in volunteer activity that might bring to mind the generosity of your deceased loved one. He or she may have had a special attachment to a particular charity. Donations in someone’s name and volunteer activity remind us all of how meaningful life lived with others in mind can be.
Our diocese, especially at the end of this anniversary year, has so many avenues of giving such as Catholic Charities, The Knights of Columbus, St. Vincent de Paul societies (among many others) in most parishes. This notion of the giving of oneself seems to have been built into the Catholic worldview. I can still see the donation containers for the Maryknoll Missions in my Catholic grade school.
Our rituals, especially the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, embrace the inner life, while the charitable giving of ourselves is reaching out into the world. It is a good and “proper” healing combination.
A wonderful suggestion comes from the Celtic Tradition: finding a “Thin Place,” a place in nature that seems to bring earth and heaven together in its sheer beauty – a place of peace and healing, a place of awe. The astute spiritual writer Rabbi Abraham Heschel said, “Never once in my life did I ask God for success, wisdom, power or fame. I asked for wonder, and He gave it to me.”
My great-grandmother, after her husband’s funeral, went to their barn to pitch hay, silently and alone. It was her thin place. The still waters of a nearby lake, a mountain vista, the early morning seashore, a local park wherein one gets a sense of peace, sunrise or sunset, and many other special times and places can all be a linking of heaven and earth in our hearts and minds. I am partial to dusk, when day begins to turn to night and there is a sweet stillness in the air.
And of course, for us, before, during or after Mass, in the numinous quiet of the sanctuary, as well as a Holy Hour before the Blessed Sacrament, can be thin times and thin places that move our souls.
Another suggestion is to write down some of the stories of your deceased loved one. That’s right up my alley, as are other forms of bringing forth memories that may elicit gratitude for the life of your loved one and for God’s graces granted, as you walk your particular path of grief. Some are not comfortable with a journal, but for others, journaling can open up a new way of engaging with our spiritual connections, our sacred memories of time with the deceased.
Dr. Wolfeldt mentioned the efficacy of candle-lighting ceremonies customized to the needs of the family, perhaps with the sharing of prayerful and poignant memories. I have taken to lighting a candle (or two, or three!) after each Mass I attend for those who need prayer, those in my family, especially my wife and children, those coming into our world and those leaving it. I am praying either in front of a statue of Mary in her blue robe and serene countenance or St. Joseph with his carpenter’s square and his lily. And there have been many candles lit for the repose of the soul of a beloved family member or friend.
With many more helpful suggestions crammed into this small booklet and others, Dr. Wolfeldt echoes Thomas à Kempis’ statement about grief tending to what he called “the proper sorrows of the soul.” It is the encouragement to express one’s grief, the sorrow of one’s soul, and our faith has given us mountains of devotional materials to seek out, as well as music, poetry, Scripture, and visual art infused into our worship and prayer life.
And of course, we have the communion of saints, the notion that we are in community in very special ways with those who have passed before us. It is a way of knowing they have passed only from this life and live in the next.
And so, for many years now, yes, I talk to the dead. Though right now I am full of anticipatory grief, I know that my faith will offer me myriad ways to live with the loss to come. This is what we should keep in mind: There is so much we have seen in those we love that is just too beautiful to die.
Fred Gallagher is an author and editor-in-chief with Gastonia-based Good Will Publishers Inc.