When the phone rang, I answered with the customary and simple “Hello.” The voice on the other end of the line inquired, “Hello, John?” As soon as someone addresses me as “John,” I know that I am in trouble. My cousins still refer to me as “Johnny Boy,” a childhood nickname invented to distinguish me from my grandfather John, my uncle John, and several other family members labelled John. My closest friends usually refer me to as “Kiley,” a tradition going back to LaSalle and seminary days. Any reference to “John” exclusively dates back to my first priestly assignment at the former Sacred Heart parish in Pawtucket where the wise guy teenagers decided that addressing the new young priest as “Father” was pretentious, especially when we were all gathered at a pizza parlor after a CYO basketball game or enjoying a ski trip at Mount Snow. So to be nominated “John” even after fifty years means that someone from that era is in need of a favor or is sharing some fateful news.
In this particular instance my caller was sadly revealing that he had been ailing from bone cancer for about three years. He had gone through the customary treatments with some beneficial results but it was clear to him now that the end was near. He revealed that the pain was especially acute, frankly unbearable. He was honestly ready to die. He then requested that I celebrate his funeral services. My connection with happy times years ago would no doubt ease the misery of his final days at least a bit. I assured him that my presence as officiant at his funeral was guaranteed and I pledged a remembrance in prayer in the meantime.
After the phone call ended, I thought that perhaps it would be prudent and possibly comforting to make a visit to the man’s home to pledge my assurance that I would be there to usher him into eternal life. I also thought that I could at least send a letter to offer some comfort until I was able to visit this man and his family. The letter arrived the day he died providing more solace to his family than to my former parishioner. The text of the letter is printed here:
“It was good to hear from you the other day, even if it were under difficult circumstances. Your physical pain as well as your limited capabilities must be quite a burden for someone as active and as in-charge as you have been over the years. Be grateful that your wife, son and grandchildren are there for you as a comfort and a support. Of course I will be glad to offer a prayer and say a few kind words when the occasion arises. Most of the shenanigans that went on in Pawtucket fifty years ago are probably not the stuff for a memorial service, but they are fondly remembered from time to time by all of us who enjoyed those days. Certainly, your thoughtfulness in requesting a prayer or two for the consolation of your loved ones and, hopefully, for the salvation of your own soul will certainly be well-received by our heavenly Father. God has mysteriously asked you to endure much pain and much incapacity. I’ll boldly suggest that you offer your pain to the Father in heaven as Jesus did when he was on the Cross, knowing that the miseries of this life will be greatly outweighed by the consolations of the next life.” Of course, I signed the letter, “John.”
Like my friend from years ago, St. Paul was clearly faced with imminent death, not by disease but by certain martyrdom. St. Paul instructs the church at Philippi in this Sunday’s second reading that whether he lives or dies, his relationship with Christ is paramount. “Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by death.” Should St. Paul “go on living in the flesh,” he would be able to glorify God and serve Christ thorough “fruitful labor.” On the other hand, St. Paul personally longs “…to depart this life and be with Christ, for that is far better.” St. Paul has a dilemma between life and death: “…I do not know which I shall choose.”
St. Paul may easily be envied by other Christians for his intense commitment to the Church’s apostolate but also for his penetrating convictions about eternal happiness. Do the challenges of this life, be they church tasks or personal sufferings, please God and benefit man best? Or does the heavenly worship of the Trinity in eternity benefit God’s creation more effectively? The answer to the dilemma — life or death — does not rest in the hands of any man or any woman. Life and death are Divine decisions; they are not human choices. In the memorable words of Job, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” In the meantime, St. Paul insists that his Philippian faithful “conduct themselves in a way worthy of the gospel of Christ,” and leave all end of life issues in the hands of God.
