By “Rudolph Leo Dunstan, III”
From the bulletin for The Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Jul 21, 2024)
The Eschatological Adventures of Eager Louis, Part 2: Death Comes for the Parish Priest
Rev. Eager Louis’ last moments in the flesh could not be described as “comfortable.” Previously, when visiting the local hospice, he had not infrequently entertained critical thoughts that too much emphasis was placed there on “comfort care.” “Better to be lucid than comfortable when preparing for death,” he reasoned with himself, “And better to suffer here where it can sanctify than hereafter where it just hurts!”
Though these thoughts had not been formulated as a personal wish, nevertheless that wish was now fulfilled. He was both lucid and suffering while he awaited his end, there in his contorted position upon the violence of St. Paul’s symbolic sword. And yet: with a strange peace. In fact, it might be said that the recollection he had experienced earlier in his morning prayer that day and the uncommon compunction that accompanied his praying of the Confiteor at the Mass had been mere hints of the grace that flooded his soul now.
After a few futile attempts to free himself from the saint’s skewer, Fr. Louis came to grips with the fact that, suddenly, the judgment he had so rarely preached about was nigh. He sorrowed, somewhat bitterly, for the blind stupidity that had brought him to this… point. And he grieved and begged pardon of God for the good that the Lord might have wished to do through him, but no more. He found himself praying again that Confiteor, oblivious to the fact that the hand with which he gently knocked his pierced breast was clutching a dead light bulb.
Occasionally, a wave of pain would ripple through his body, and the contortion it caused only increased the agony. But his thoughts were now in eternity. He had often hoped, during life, that the Blessed Virgin would come to escort him through death. Not seeing her, or any heavenly visitor for that matter, he professed his love for her and apologized for his slackening devotion of late. The words of the Angel of God prayer then came to his lips, and he recited them slowly. Another prayer from his childhood also surfaced in his mind, one which he had been taught to say at his bedside, beginning, “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless the bed that I lie on…” trailing off after two couplets.
Another wave of pain brought him back to his senses. Eager suddenly remembered his cell phone, still in his pant pocket. Instinctively he began to reach for it, rueing that he had not thought of it earlier. Perhaps even now he could call someone, or at least dictate a text to alert the parish staff and prepare them for what was otherwise going to be a shock. But the pain that the movement occasioned nearly caused him to lose consciousness. With that, Fr. Louis assented to a powerful grace and resigned himself to the constraints of his circumstances. “All my life you’ve tried to force your way,” he mused, “at least now receive the Kingdom like a little child.”
Tears–a mixture of self pity, searing pain, and a consoling sense that he was beloved by God–welled up in the pastor’s eyes. Having just prayed his vespers, the good cleric then recalled one final duty which he was in a position to fulfill. Long ago he had memorized Sunday’s compline. Now, interiorly, he began to recite its prayers which had concluded so many previous days: “Deus in audiutorem meam intende…God, come to my assistance… Alis suis obumbrabit tibi, non timebis a timore nocturno…With His wings He will overshadow you, you shall not fear the terror of the night…” While he prayed the Psalm he was gripped by certain dark and troubling thoughts: Surely there are many sins I never confessed… And weren’t all my deeds the fruit of selfishness? … And what if it was all a lie? But in his anguish he chose to lean into the words of his prayer all the more “Quoniam tu es, Domine, refugium meum… For you, O Lord, are my refuge… He will give His angels charge over you… they shall bear you with their hands… you shall tread upon the lion and the dragon… with long life I shall fill him… and I will show him My salvation.”
When Eager Louis reached the words of the responsory, he was more absent than present. Yet he was dimly aware of their fittingness for the moment: “Into your hands, Lord, I commend my spirit…” By now the prayers were more flowing from the heart than recited by the mind. Somehow he felt connected to other hearts and other lips praying these same words with him and even for him, hearts that stretched back centuries and forward on into a distant future which the priest felt was somehow already now unfolded. In that moment, He knew himself to be part of something, some Thing great, and that his whole life, and even this death of his, awkward as it seemed, was wrapped up in the great Mystery. Woven into it. Foreseen. Right and just. And as he started the Nunc dimittis, a prayer he would finish in eternity, just as his interior spoke, “Now, Lord, let your servant go in peace, Your word has been fulfilled,” his heart gave out.
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