The most powerful truths about being a Christian do
and always have involved life and light.
The biggest challenges to our Christian faith are and always have been death
and darkness. Since the fall in Eden, these
opposites can always be found in the same moments; it simply depends on where
you turn your attention. No moments
present the contrast as much as those moments spent in keeping vigil for a loved one who is dying. That’s what some members of my family have endured
this week as a niece lost her years-long battle with cancer.
There are no easy vigils; they all start at difficult
and increase in weight depending on the circumstances of the moment. In my niece’s case, she was only in her
fifties, married, children and grandchildren, loved and loving. Immediate reactions are too young, too
needed, too deserving of more time to love more, be loved more and to enjoy
life more. Even though all of those are
true, none of those could change the realities that none of them will be realized for her here in this life.
Keeping vigil brings the hardest and the most beautiful
truths to the surface. We have a God who
does not abandon us: His promise is that He will be with us always, even until
the end of the age. In faith we have
come to understand that He is always with us.
We believe that he is so close that he actually dwells within us. Yet, that also means that each of us has to
take His hand and take every step of our particular journey. He showed us in the cross and the empty tomb
that there is no short cut; the path to eternal life requires that we step
through death.
My mother and one of my sisters also died from
cancer. The illness is a difficult
burden. The attempted treatment(s) are
difficult burdens. In both of their
cases, when it was apparent that no cure was going to happen, the one thing
left to those who love them is the prayer that the suffering will be lessened in
intensity and duration. Yet, in both of
their cases, it amazed me that although there seemed to be little of any strength
left in their bodies, they both fought unbelievably hard, even heroically until
that final breath. I think they
witnessed to us the beauty and value of life is not to be surrendered
cheaply. Life is precious, even when the
breaths come so hard. Isn’t everlasting
life, then even more precious?
There was no vigil for my father. He died suddenly and alone. That, no doubt, was easier on him physically. But it was a challenge for me in the starkness and immediacy of it all. Even though neither my mother or sister were capable of conversation in those last hours, there was still the opportunity for me to assure them of my love, to hold their hand, and to kiss their cheek, and to wipe their brow.
The vigil is one place no one wants be. There is a deep primal part go of you that wants to get up, leave, and close the door tight behind you and just walk as fast and as far in the opposite direction as possible. Stronger still, is the need to stay and be present. No doubt, this is how Mary felt at the foot of the cross. So, while my niece and her immediate family had much to endure, time together, especially when it is obvious that moments cannot be held back, and that there there is only time and only space for love, is a gift.
This vigil is over. Now is the time for faith in the sure and certain hope that this loved one is now safely home and fully alive in the enduring life and perfect love of God. “Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.”
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by National Cancer Institute on Unsplash
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