By Rev. Glenn JonesThe other evening I was privileged to attend the bedside of one of the oldest and most beloved members of our community as he slipped quietly from this world to the next. A founding member of our parish at Immaculate Heart of Mary, an Army veteran of the Manhattan Project, and one of the last remaining witnesses of the Trinity test, his eyes beheld much in life, and he was much loved by many. He was of that “greatest generation”… and I was his pastor, yes, but he was also a good and cherished friend. He had that graciousness, kindness and loveliness of manner of so many of his generation.
I often recall the first time I met Lou Pierotti of “Pierotti’s Clowns” fame—deathly ill in a hospital bed, and yet a more gracious man I’ve never met. That’s a quality we’d do well to recover in our own time.
My friend’s passing was quite beautiful, actually. After arriving, I administered “last rites” with its accompanying prayers and blessings for joyful eternity, and hardly had five minutes passed before his last breath. Both his beloved daughter and his faithful caregiver caressed his hands and face tenderly as he passed peacefully through that portal to eternity. As death’s pallor crept inexorably across his features, I could not help but gaze in wonder as I’ve done many times: How could this man be simply no more the sum of his material parts? What of his life, his emotions, his experiences, his dreams, his knowledge, his mind? His loves? Surely he was more than the mere mechanics, electrical impulses and the chemical reactions of his body. He was so much more than inanimate components. “Nope, that’s it,” say many. But neither yardstick nor scale can measure the immaterial soul.
Inevitably at such times do thoughts wander into evaluating one’s own life. For us Christians, this entails delving into such questions such as: Am I truly living my faith? Am I being a good disciple of Christ … a useful and good servant of God, and thus a true child of the Father? And thus we enter a mental review of that to which God has called us, and how well we are adhering to that call. Am I loving God and neighbor … following His commandments, giving generously of my surplus to the poor, and helping those in material and spiritual need (ref., Matthew 19:16-21; 25:31ff) … emulating Jesus, who Himself came to serve and not to be served (Matthew 20:28). Do I call Jesus my “Lord and Savior”, and yet not really try to adhere to what He teaches? It is a poor knight … a poor servant … a poor disciple who ignores his Lord. Finally, do I forgive those who trespass against or offend me as I attest in every Lord’s Prayer that I recite, and upon which my own forgiveness is conditioned (ref., Matthew 6:14-15)? If Jesus forgives even as He hangs from the cross, what can there possibly be that I ought not forgive?
One not need be Christian, or even to believe in God at all, to realize the futility of amassing material stuff. How often we ministers witness the shattering of families over material and monetary scraps left behind; even Jesus had to deal with such (Luke 12:13-15). In the last moments of life—as I’ve witnessed so many times at the bedsides of the dying—it’s not wealth, fame, power or beauty which matters; it is only the contentment of a clear conscience in having done good in one’s life, and the love and affection of those around you. Christian or no, the same principles apply: a truly valued life consists not in amassing stuff, whether it be wealth, fame, power or any other ephemeral possession, but rather in doing the good—living a thoughtful, moral and generous life. Because, as we breathe our final breaths, it is not gold or fame which is our final comfort and testament; it is the love with which we have lived, and which we receive. Who, at the time of death, would not gladly forfeit fortune and fame for a single tear shed for sincere love for him?
So, to my good friend … a good man: “fair winds and following seas, shipmate”, as was our farewell in the naval services. I bid thee, and all the dying … a-Dios, a-Dieu, Godspeed … to the bosom of Abraham … to the embrace of God … may you go, forever and ever. Amen.
