Tag: Last Things

Posted on

Parables by Jesus on the Day of Judgment and on Our Need to be Ready

This is the fifth in a series of articles on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.

credit: Ashland CTC

Jesus was urgent in warning us to be ready for judgment. He did this in many ways, but most notably in the parables. In this post let’s ponder His teachings and hear His urgency.

Most casual readers of the Bible tend to view the parables as merely interesting, entertaining stories. While that is so, they are deadly serious as well; they powerfully portray the drama of human life, the need to make decisions, and the consequences of those decisions. The parables carry weighty messages and substantial warnings. Do not misconstrue their creative, pithy, memorable qualities as signs of superficial teaching.

Some of Jesus’ starkest warnings come in the form of parables. In them, the drama of human life in the valley of decision (Joel 3:14) is vividly proclaimed. Indeed, the parables are mostly about the drama and decisions of human life and the stance we take in the cosmic battle that rages around us. Our decisions point to our destiny. Of Jesus’ 37 parables, 20 are ones that remind us that our decisions can bring blessing or curse, rise or ruin, salvation or condemnation. Let’s review some of them, in order of increasing intensity:

  1. The rich fool (Luke 12:16–21): This is a parable of a rich man who hoards the surplus yielded by a bountiful harvest rather than being generous with it. God calls him a fool and claims his life that very night. In this parable Jesus warns us of the foolishness of living for passing, worldly things, cautioning that total loss is coming for those who are not rich in what matters to God.
  2. The wise and the foolish builders (Matthew 7:24–7; Luke 6:46–49): This is the conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount; in it the Lord describes the dramatic difference between those who follow His teachings and those who do not. Those who heed His Word are like those who build their houses on solid rock and are thus able to endure the storms that come. But the foolish, who do not heed His Word, are like those who build their houses on sand. For them, the result is total loss and destruction when the storm of judgment comes.
  3. The sower (Matthew 13:3–9; Mark 4:3–9; Luke 8:5–8): Though God sows the seed of His Word abundantly, some of it falls on the path, where it is consumed by birds. Other seed falls among thorns, which choke it off. Still other seed falls on rocky soil and withers due to the lack of roots. This is a dramatic warning to those who harden their hearts to God’s Word or who allow the soil of their heart to be thinned or choked off by the world. The warning is this: you will not bear the necessary fruit. Some seed, however, does fall on rich soil and it yields an abundant harvest. There is a dramatic difference in the results and it is rooted in the disposition of our hearts.
  4. The wheat and the tares (Matthew 13:24–30): God’s field of wheat is threatened by the weeds of Satan. (This is a dramatic description of the two armies in this world.) Angry field hands propose pulling up the weeds, but the owner cautions that doing so might harm the wheat. He instructs them to allow the wheat and weeds to grow together until the harvest. There is a harvest, at which time the wheat will be gathered in but the weeds will be thrown into the fire. So there is a day of judgment, though not yet. Although the drama must still unfold, the final verdict will ultimately be rendered.
  5. The barren fig tree (Luke 13:6–9): This is a parable about patience. In it, extra time is given to an unfruitful fig tree, but the day of judgment is set. If fruit is not found on the tree on that day, it will be cut down. This is the drama of our life: if we do not manifest the fruit of righteousness we will be removed from the Lord’s field.
  6. The dragnet (Matthew 13:47 –50): The kingdom of God (the Church) is compared to a dragnet, which captures all sorts of things. The drama unfolds when the net is hauled ashore and there comes the judgment. Only what is good is retained; that which is unclean and worthless is cast aside.
  7. The counting of the cost (Luke 14:28–33): In this parable, Jesus warns that discipleship is costly; some are not able or willing to finish once started. He uses the images of a building begun without the resources necessary to finish it and of a king going to war knowing that he is greatly outnumbered. Similarly, some will set off to be disciples but later realize that they do not have the resources or willingness to continue. Thus the Lord sets forth in this parable that discipleship is costly and that the warfare is real. The implication is that some are willing to accept the cost while others are not. The road to salvation is narrow and few find it. The narrow way is the way of the cross. Many turn back from it, preferring the wide road that ultimately leads to destruction.
  8. The unforgiving servant (Matt 18:23-35): A man who owes a huge debt to the king has it forgiven, but then refuses to forgive the much smaller debt of a fellow servant. The king then calls the man back and applies the same unforgiving standard to him that he used on his confrere. Thus the measure we measure out to others will be measured back to us. Merciless is the judgment on one who has shown no mercy. Further, if we do not forgive the sins of others, neither will we find forgiveness from the Father. The choice to forgive and show mercy is a dramatic and crucial decision for us, one that will affect our final judgment in a powerful way.
  9. The prodigal son (Luke 15): A sinful son returns to and is reconciled with his father. But in a dramatic twist, the “obedient” son becomes bitter and refuses to enter his father’s house. Even more dramatically, the parable ends without us knowing whether or not the obedient son ever entered. This is because you are that son and you must decide for yourself if you will enter the Father’s house on His terms or stay outside, brooding that God doesn’t do everything on your terms.
  10. The dishonest steward (Lk 16:1-13): An unscrupulous steward has been discovered embezzling funds. In the end, though, Jesus praises his craftiness even though it is wrong. The point being made is that most sinners are far more dedicated to their world than Christians are to the Kingdom. This parable is another example showing that too many are simply not willing to fight for and with the Kingdom; they are thus lost as much through apathy as through wickedness.
  11. The rich man and Lazarus (Lk 16:19-31): In this parable, a rich man who has been insensitive to the poor ends up in Hell. Through this we are taught that such insensitivity is a damnable sin. In the great drama of his life, the rich man preferred to be wealthy in the world rather than to store up treasure for himself in Heaven. So hardened is his heart that even though he is now in torment in Hell, he does not ask to come to Heaven, but rather that Lazarus be dispatched to Hell to bring him water. In this, the rich man shows that he has not changed; he still looks down on Lazarus and prefers creature comforts to God and His kingdom. The rich man’s heart is hardened and so can ours be if we let sin, neglect, and insensitivity go unchecked.
  12. The wicked vineyard workers (Mat 21:33-41): The owner of a vineyard sends his representatives to collect his share of the produce, but the wicked workers beat some and kill others. Finally, they kill the owner’s son. Next the owner comes and submits them to a bad end. In the drama of this world, there are many who reject God’s call for a share in their hearts; they beat or even kill those who prophetically call them to give glory to God and to live holy lives. In rejecting His appointed prophets, they also reject Christ and will come to a bad end.
  13. The great banquet (Matt 22:1-14; Lk 14:15-24): A king holds a wedding feast for his son, but the invited guests are too involved in worldly affairs to bother coming, even to so great an event. The king grows angry and burns their town. He then goes off to invite others until the banquet is filled. There is one man in attendance who refuses to wear the provided wedding attire. For this, he is thrown into the outer darkness. Through this parable we are taught that while many are called, few are chosen. Our decision to accept or reject God’s invitation is critical. Either we accept it and enter the feast or else face a fiery end. Even those of us who accept must wear the robe of righteousness that God provides us or else risk being cast into the outer darkness. Our decisions are dramatic and they determine our destiny.
  14. The wise and the foolish virgins (Mat 25:1-13): Ten bridesmaids await the groom’s arrival. Five were wise and carried extra oil; five were foolish and thus unprepared when the groom arrived. The wedding went on without the foolish bridesmaids and when they finally returned, the groom said to them, “Depart from me; I know you not.” This parable depicts the drama of our lives. We must live in readiness. The oil of our holiness must always be replenished and be kept ready through prayer, the sacraments, Scripture, and fellowship with the Church (Acts 2:42). Judgment day is coming. Keep your lamps trimmed and burning.
  15. The sheep and the goats (Mat 25:31-46): In a scene of the great judgment, the Lord welcomes the righteous sheep on his right to the glory of Heaven, but consigns the wicked goats on His left to the fires of Hell. While the passage emphasizes the corporal works of mercy and indicates that to neglect them is a damnable sin, the passage should not be taken to mean these will be the only matters adjudicated. Again, note how dramatic are the decisions in our life, including how we choose to care for the poor and needy.

The Lord repeatedly sets before us the great drama of human life and the importance of our decisions. Our choices matter and they build to a fundamental, final destiny. Thoughts beget deeds, deeds beget habits, habits beget character, and character begets destiny. This is the drama and dignity of our life.

Though consistently preached by Jesus in the parables and in countless other texts, this theme is rarely mentioned in preaching today. We preachers must change this if we are to announce the Gospel authentically. For those who hear and heed the message, blessings await. For those who stubbornly refuse or who sinfully neglect the message, doom awaits. This is the drama of every human life.

Here are two final passages; The first contains a warning, the second a blessing.

Jesus said, “Take heed, watch and pray; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his servants in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Watch therefore—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning— lest he come suddenly and find you asleep. And what I say to you I say to all: Watch” (Mk 13:33-37).

Therefore, you also must be ready; for the Son of man is coming at an hour you do not expect. Who then is the faithful and wise servant, whom his master has set over his household, to give them their food at the proper time? Blessed is that servant whom his master when he comes will find so doing (Mat 24:44-47).

In the next post in this series, on Monday of next week, we will ponder some ways to be ready.

Posted on

Pondering Judgment, One of the Four Last Things

This is the fourth in a series of articles on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell.

We turn our attention now to the judgment that awaits us all. Scripture speaks in the Book of Hebrews speaks rather plainly to this day for us all:

It is appointed for us to die once, and after that to face judgment (Heb 9:27).

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil (2 Cor 5:10).

Furthermore, the Father judges no one, but has assigned all judgment to the Son, so that all may honor the Son just as they honor the Father (Jn 5:22-23).

The Gospel of Luke emphasizes the reverence we should have for Jesus and for His role as our judge:

But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear the One who, after you have been killed, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear Him (Lk 12:5).

There is a distinction to be made between our personal judgment and the general judgment of the whole world (e.g., Matt 24:31ff). In the general judgment, God’s truth and justice will be made manifest; all those who have loved evil will be seen by all for who and what they were. Further, every evil and foolish philosophy will be seen for the darkness it is. Today I will not be discussing this general judgment, but rather our personal judgment.

We need to attend to our own judgment and prepare for it by seeking God and His grace so as to be ready. St. Paul entrusts us to Jesus, who alone can save us from the coming wrath (see 1 Thess 3:13).

Indeed, Jesus was quite urgent and persistent in warning us of the judgment that is coming upon us. He did this in many ways, but most urgently in the parables.

In the posts over the next few days, we will be examining our certain and coming judgment. We will look at Jesus’ consistent warnings to prepare for our judgment. We will reflect on our tendency to be inattentive to our day of judgment. We will then ponder a way to prepare. Finally, we will consider how we can tip the scales of judgment toward mercy.

Today, let’s begin by pondering the text of the Dies Irae, which sets forth the biblical themes of our judgment as well as a plea for mercy. The context in this case is the general judgment, but its themes also apply in many ways to our personal judgment:

The hymn opens by referring to God’s “wrath.”  (I’ve written more on wrath here.) Wrath is a term used to describe the complete incompatibility of sin in the presence of the All Holy One, a sinner brought into the Lord’s presence. We have every reason to be sober that the awesome holiness of God will disclose all that is in need of purification. The hymn begins as follows:

Day of wrath and doom impending,
Heaven and earth in ashes ending,
David’s words with Sibyl’s blending.

No one can treat this moment lightly: all are summoned to holy fear. At the sound of the trumpet, the bodies of the dead will come forth from their tombs and all of creation will answer to Jesus, the Judge and Lord of all:

Oh what fear man’s bosom rendeth,
When from heaven the judge descendeth,
On whose sentence all dependeth.

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth,
Through earth’s sepulchers it ringeth,
All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck and nature quaking,
All creation is awaking,
To its judge an answer making.

Lo the book exactly worded,
Wherein all hath been recorded,
Thence shall judgement be awarded.

When the Judge his seat attaineth,
And each hidden deed arraigneth,
Nothing unavenged remaineth.

Judgment shall be according to our deeds, whatever is written in the Book (Rev 20:12; Romans 2:6). Ah, but also in God’s Word is the hope for mercy. And so our hymn turns to pondering the need for mercy and appealing to God for it. The hope for mercy is based on the grace of God, His mercy, His incarnation, His seeking love, His passion and death, and the forgiveness He showed to Mary Magdalene and the good thief crucified on His right.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading?
Who for me be interceding
When the just are mercy needing?

King of majesty tremendous,
Who does free salvation send us,
Font of pity then befriend us.

Think kind Jesus, my salvation,
Caused thy wondrous incarnation.
Leave me not to reprobation.

Faint and weary thou hast sought me,
On the cross of suffering bought me.
Shall such grace be vainly brought me?

Righteous judge for sin’s pollution,
Grant thy gift of absolution,
Before the day of retribution.

Guilty now I pour my moaning,
All my shame and anguish owning.
Spare, O God my suppliant groaning.

Through the sinful Mary shriven,
Through the dying thief forgiven,
Thou to me a hope has given.

Yes, there is a basis for hope! God is rich in mercy. Pondering the Day of Judgment is salutary because now we can call on that mercy. In the end, it is only grace and mercy that can see us through that day. So the hymn calls on the Lord, who said, No one who calls on me will I ever reject (Jn 6:37).

Worthless are my tears and sighing.
Yet good Lord in grace complying,
Rescue me from fire undying.

With thy sheep a place provide me.
From the goats afar divide me,
To thy right hand do thou guide me.

When the wicked are confounded,
Doomed to flames of woe unbounded.
Call me with thy saints surrounded.

Lo I kneel with heart-submission.
See like ashes my contrition.
Help me in my last condition.

Now comes the great summation: Judgment Day is surely coming. Grant me, O Lord, your grace to be ready:

Lo, that day of tears and mourning,
from the dust of earth returning.

Man for judgement must prepare him,
Spare O God, in mercy spare him.

Sweet Jesus Lord most blest,
Grant the dead eternal rest.

Posted on

And Death Is Gain: A Reflection on the Proper Christian Sense of Death

This is the third in a series of articles on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.

Yesterday we pondered the fear of death and some understandable reasons for it, but we also considered how a lack of lively faith can lead to a fear of death that is unchristian. As St. Paul admonishes regarding death,

We do not want you to … grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep (1 Thess 4:13-14).

How do you see death? Do you long to one day depart this life and go home to God? St. Paul wrote to the Philippians of his longing to leave this world. He was not suicidal; he just wanted to be with God:

Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me life is Christ, and death is gain. If I go on living in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. And I do not know which I shall choose. I am caught between the two. I long to depart this life and be with Christ, for that is far better. Yet that I remain in the flesh is more necessary for your benefit (Phil 1:20-23).

I am struck by the fact that almost no one speaks publicly of their longing to depart this life and be with God. I suspect that it is because we live very comfortably, at least in the affluent West. Many of the daily hardships with which even our most recent ancestors struggled have been minimized or even eliminated. I suppose that when the struggles of this life are minimized, fewer people long to leave it and go to Heaven. They set their sights, hopes, and prayers on having things be better here. “God, please give me better health, a better marriage, more money, a promotion at work.” In other words, “Make this world an even better place for me and I’ll be perfectly content to stay right here.”

Longing to be with God was more evident in the older prayers, many of which were written just a few generations ago. Consider, for example, the well-known Salve Regina and note (especially in the words I have highlighted in bold) this longing.

Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning, and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.

This prayer acknowledges in a realistic and sober way that life here can be very difficult. Rather than ask for deliverance from all of it—for this world is an exile, after all—it simply expresses a longing to go to Heaven and be worthy to see Jesus. It is this longing that I sense is somewhat absent in our modern world, even among regular churchgoers.

When was the last time you meditated on Heaven? When was the last time you heard a sermon on Heaven? I understand that we all have a natural fear of and aversion to dying, but a Christian should have a deepening thirst for God that begins to erode this. St. Francis praised God for sister bodily death, which no one can escape (Canticum Fratris Solis). And why not praise God for death? It is what ultimately brings us home.

In regard to death as gain, St. Ambrose had this to say in a meditation on the occasion of his brother’s death:

Death was not part of nature; it became part of nature. God did not decree death from the beginning; he prescribed it as a remedy. Human life was condemned because of sin to unremitting labor and unbearable sorrow and so began to experience the burden of wretchedness. There had to be a limit to its evils; death had to restore what life had forfeited. Without the assistance of grace, immortality is more of a burden than a blessing.

We see that death is gain, life is loss. Paul says: For me life is Christ, and death a gain. What does “Christ” mean but to die in the body, and receive the breath of life? Let us then die with Christ, to live with Christ.

We should have a daily familiarity with death, a daily desire for death. By this kind of detachment our soul must learn to free itself from the desires of the body. It must soar above earthly lusts to a place where they cannot come near, to hold it fast. It must take on the likeness of death, to avoid the punishment of death.

The law of our fallen nature is at war with the law of our reason and subjects the law of reason to the law of error. What is the remedy? Who will set me free from this body of death? The grace of God, through Jesus Christ, our Lord (taken from a book by St. Ambrose, bishop, on the death of his brother, Satyrus (Lib. 2, 40. 41. 46. 47. 132. 133)).

As for me, I will say it: I long to leave this world one day and go home to be with God. I am not suicidal and I love what I do here, but I can’t wait to be with Him. I don’t mind getting older because it means I’m that much closer to home. In our youth-centered culture, people (women, especially) are encouraged to be anxious about getting older. When I hit forty, I said, “Hallelujah, I’m closer to home.” Now at 56, I rejoice even more. I’m glad to be getting older. God has made me wiser and He is preparing me to meet Him. I can’t wait!

Even a necessary stopover in Purgatory cannot eclipse the joy of the day we die. There will surely be the suffering that precedes our death. But deep in our hearts, if we are believers, must ring forth the word, “Soon!” An old spiritual says, “Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world, going home to live with God.”

So I ask you again: How do you see death? Do you long for Heaven? Do you long to depart this world and be with God? I know you want to finish raising your children first, but do you rejoice as the years tick by and the goal becomes closer? A prayer in the Roman Missal says,

O God, who makes the minds of the faithful to be of one accord, grant to your people to love what you command and to desire what you promise, that, among the changes of this world, our hearts may there be fixed where true joys are (Collect, 21st Sunday of the Year).

I close with some words from Psalm 27:

One thing I ask from the LORD, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the LORD … My heart says of you, “Seek his face!” Your face, LORD, I will seek. Do not hide your face from me (Psalm, 27:4, 8-9).

As you listen to this spiritual, think about the harsh conditions endured by the slaves who wrote it:

Posted on

On the Fear of Death

This is the second in a series of articles on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.

For the faithful, the day we die is the greatest day of our life on this earth. Even if some final purifications await us, the beatific vision for which we long lies just ahead; our exile in this valley of tears is ended.

Is calling the day we die the greatest day of our life too strong a statement? I have seen some fellow Christians wince at this statement. In this age of emphasis on worldly comforts, medicine, and the secular, we rarely speak of Heaven—or Hell for that matter. I wonder if we have lost some of our longing for Heaven and cling too strongly to the trinkets of this life.

At the funeral of a relative several years ago, I was approached by a friend of the family. She was an unbeliever, a self-described secular humanist, and she made the following comment to me: “Perhaps there is Heaven for the faithful who believe that there is life after death, and perhaps, then, for them the day they die is the greatest day of their life, but I do not observe that Christians live as if they believe this. It seems to me that they are as anxious as anyone else about dying and earnestly seek to avoid death just as much as anyone else.”

It was a very interesting observation, one that I found mildly embarrassing even though I quickly thought of some legitimate explanations. Even after giving her some of those explanations, some of the embarrassment lingered as to the kind of witness we Christians sometimes fail to give to our most fundamental values. Based on her remark—and I’ve heard it before—most of us Christians don’t manifest a very ardent longing for Heaven.

There are, of course, some legitimate reasons that we do not rush towards death; there are also some less legitimate ones. Here are some legitimate and understandable reasons that we may draw back from dying and may not at first think of the day we die as the greatest day of our life:

  1. There is a natural fear of dying that is part of our physical makeup and, it would seem, hard-wired into our psyche as well. Every sentient being on this planet, man or animal, has a strong instinct for survival. Without this instinct, strongly tied to both hunger and sexual desire, we might not only die as individuals but as a species. It also drives us to look to the future, as we work to ensure the survival, even thriving, of our children and those who will come after us. It is a basic human instinct that we ought not to expect to disappear, because it has necessary and useful aspects.
  2. We would like to finish certain important things before we die. It makes sense, for example, that parents would like to see their children well into adulthood. Parents rightly see their existence in this world as critical to their children. Hence, we cling to our life here not just for our own sake, but because others depend upon us.
  3. The Christian is called to love life at every stage. Most of us realize that we are called to love and appreciate what we have here, for it is the gift of God. To so utterly despise this world that we wish only to leave it manifests a strange sort of ingratitude. It also shows a lack of understanding that life here prepares us for the fuller life that is to come. I remember that at a low point in my own life, afflicted with anxiety and depression, I asked the Lord to please end my life quickly and take me home out of this misery. Without hearing words, I felt the Lord’s silent rebuke: “Until you learn to love the life you have now, you will not love eternal life. If you can’t learn to appreciate the glory of the gifts of this life, then you will not and cannot embrace the fullness of eternal life.” Indeed, I was seeing eternal life merely in terms of relief or escape from this life, rather than as the full blossoming of a life that has been healed and made whole. We don’t embrace life by trying to escape from it. A healthy Christian attitude is to love life as we have it now, even as we yearn and strive for a life that we do not yet fully comprehend: a life that eye has not seen nor ear heard, what God has prepared for those who love Him.
  4. We seek to set our life in order to some degree before we face judgment. While it is true that we can procrastinate, there is a proper sense of wanting time to make amends and to prepare to meet God.
  5. We fear the experience of dying. Dying is something none of us has ever done before and we naturally tend to fear the unknown. Further, most of us realize that the dying process likely involves some degree of agony. Instinctively and understandably, we draw back from such things.

Even Jesus, in His human nature, recoiled at the thought of the agony before Him—so much so that He sweat blood and asked that the cup of suffering be taken from Him if possible. Manfully, though, He embraced His Father’s will, and our benefit rather than His own. Still, in His humanity, He did recoil at the suffering soon to befall Him.

Despite this hesitancy to meet death, for a faithful Christian the day we die is the greatest day of our life. While we ought to regard the day of our judgment with sober reverence, we should go with joyful hope to the Lord, who loves us and for whom we have longed. That day of judgment, awesome though it is, will for the future saint disclose only that which needs final healing in purgation, not that which merits damnation.

We don’t hear much longing for our last day on this earth or for God and Heaven. Instead, we hear fretting about how we’re getting older. We’re anxious about our health, even the natural effects of aging. And there are such grim looks as death approaches! Where is the joy one might expect? Does our faith really make a difference for us or are we like those who have no hope? Older prayers referred to life in this world as an exile and expressed a longing for God and Heaven, but few of today’s prayers or sermons speak this way.

Here are some of the not-so-legitimate reasons that we may draw back from dying:

  1. We live comfortably. While comfort is not the same as happiness, it is very appealing. It is also very deceiving, seductive, and addictive. It is deceiving because it tends to make us think that this world can be our paradise. It is seductive because it draws and shifts us our focus away from the God of comforts to the comforts of God. We would rather have the gift than the Giver. It is addictive because we can’t ever seem to get enough of it; we seem to spend our whole life working toward gaining more and more comforts. We become preoccupied by achieving rather than working toward our truest happiness, which is to be with God in Heaven.
  2. Comfort leads to worldliness. Here, worldliness means focusing on making the world more comfortable, while allowing notions of God and Heaven to recede into the background. Even the so-called spiritual life of many Christians is almost wholly devoted to prayers asking to make this world a better place: Improve my health; fix my finances; grant me that promotion. While it is not wrong to pray about such things, the cumulative effect, combined with our silence on more spiritual and eternal things, gives the impression that we are saying to God, “Make this world a better place and I’ll just be happy to stay here forever.” What a total loss! This world is not the point. It is not the goal, Heaven is. Being with God forever is the goal.
  3. Worldliness makes Heaven and being with God seem more abstract and less desirable. With this magnificent comfort that leads to worldly preoccupation, longing for Heaven and going to be with God recedes into the background. Today, few speak of Heaven or even long for it. They’d rather have that new cell phone or the cable upgrade with the sports package. Some say that they never hear about Hell in sermons, and in many parishes (though not in mine, thank you), regrettably, that is the case. They almost never hear about Heaven, either (except in some cheesy funeral moments that miss the target altogether and make Heaven seem trivial rather than a glorious gift to be sought). Heaven just isn’t on most people’s radar, except as a vague abstraction for some far off time—certainly not now.

This perfect storm of comfort and worldliness leads to slothful aversion to heavenly gifts. That may be why, when I say that the day we die is the greatest day of our life, or that I’m glad to be getting older because I’m getting closer to the time when I can go home to God, or that I can’t wait to meet Him, people look at me strangely and seem to wonder whether I need therapy.

No, I don’t need therapy—at least not for this. I’m simply verbalizing the ultimate longing of every human heart. Addiction to comfort has deceived and seduced us such that we are no longer in touch with our heart’s greatest longing; we cling to passing things. I would argue (as did my family friend) that we seem little different from those who have no hope. We no longer witness to a joyful journey to God that says, “I’m closer to home. Soon and very soon I am going to see the King. Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world. I’m going home to be with God!”

There are legitimate, understandable reasons for being averse to dying, but how about even a glimmer of excitement from the faithful as we see that our journey is coming to an end? St. Paul wrote the following to the Thessalonians regarding death: We do not want you to be like those who have no hope (1 Thess 4:13). Do we witness to the glory of going to be with God or not? On the whole, it would seem that we do not.

The video below features a rendition of the hymn “For All the Saints Who from Their Labors Rest.” Here is a brief passage from the lyrics:

The golden evening brightens in the West,
Soon, soon, to faithful warriors cometh rest.
Sweet is the calm of Paradise most blest. Alleluia!

Posted on

The Mystery of Life and Death

This is the first in a series of articles on the Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.

Note: I wrote this post prior to the terrible shooting that occurred Sunday in Texas. Once again we are confronted with terrible violence and the specter of sudden death. Please offer your prayers for those who have died and their families.

As we begin here a series on the Four Last Things, a shooting like this confronts us not only with the death and life, but also the mystery of iniquity. In reading this, I hope you will keep in mind that my remarks here speak of death that awaits us all at a time and in a manner not of our own control. Please also remember this post was not written as a response to the Texas shooting and I do not propose it as an explanation, or commentary on that terrible shooting. Rather it is a commentary on the deep mystery of life and of death.

*     *     *

You are going to die and you don’t get to say when or how. I say this at every funeral, both to those present and to myself. This solemn reminder is hard to process. It is one thing to assent to this obvious truth intellectually, but it is another thing to internalize it in our depths and really know what it means.

What is death? Some speak of heartbeats that stop or brain waves that cease, but that is not what death is. The cessation of vital indicators is the effect of death, not death itself.

Part of the mystery of death is that it is presupposed by another equally deep and mysterious question: What is life? Some say that life is organized energy, but this answer also misses the mark. It describes what life does, not what it is.

The force we call life is mysterious. We see its effects. We know when it is present and when it is gone, but we do not know exactly what it is. Just because we have a word for something doesn’t mean we understand it. Similarly, death is mysterious. I have been at the bedside of parishioners and my own loved ones at the moment of death and I cannot adequately articulate how strangely baffling it is. There is labored breathing; sometimes there are nervous twitches. Occasionally some words are spoken. Then, suddenly, there is a great stillness. The mysterious force that we call life has departed; the soul, the animating principle of living things, is gone.

I remember looking at my sister, my father, and my mother as each lay in the casket. They were there and yet they were not. When I looked at my mother, she seemed alive; I fully expected her to look at me and tell me to comb my hair or that she loved me—but she was not there. Her body had lost that mysterious spark and force we call life. Her soul had departed.

Looking at my father’s still body in the hospital room where he died was overwhelming. He had been a giant in my life. He still looms large in my memory; his voice rings in my soul. But there he was lying still in that hospital bed—and yet he was not there. Something deeply mysterious had happened. The hidden, mysterious life force of his soul was gone even though there seemed to have been no change in the appearance of his body.

Sadly, I have had to have several of my pets put down over the years. In those cases, too, the mystery of life and death is evident. An animal is alive one moment and then suddenly grows still. Even with plants and trees, I have seen them healthy and green only to be astonished when they die. What happened? The life is gone; a mysterious, organizing principle and force has departed—but what it is we do not know. We do not see death, only its effects.

I am overwhelmed in the face of death, at the mystery of it and the mystery of what has departed: life, a force that cannot be seen or measured, that does not tip the scales of scientists or involve our senses but that is nonetheless very real.

Especially in its inception, life is mysterious. Consider an acorn. In appearance, it is not so different from a small stone. Yet if you were to put both in the soil, the stone would sit there forever and do nothing; the acorn, though has a mysterious spark, a life force in or around it that springs forth to become a mighty oak. What is that spark? Where is it? An acorn has it but a stone does not. Why? Only God really knows.

It was my father who first taught me of the mystery of life. When I was a child, he told me that one of the deepest experiences of his life had occurred when he was about my age:

It had suddenly occurred to him, coming into his mind like a bolt out of the blue, that he existed. He cried out, “I exist!” and then grew silent in astonishment.

He said that ever since that moment he had never ceased to be amazed and awed at the mysterious fact of his existence. Indeed, it is an awesome mystery. Why do I exist? Why do you exist? Why is there anything at all?

As my Father grew silent in amazement, so must I. I have already said too much. The word mystery comes from the Greek muein, meaning to shut the mouth or close the eyes. As we begin a meditation on the four Last Things, (death, judgment, Heaven, and Hell), ponder with awe and reverential silence the great mystery of life and death.

Tomorrow I will discuss some of the more practical aspects of death.