Dear Friends,
As a young priest, I met a young Catholic theologian, Rick Gaillardetz, who was doing research on and thinking about the Catholic Church and how ministry happens in the church. He was a few years younger than me and was doing amazing work around the country and writing quite a few books. He died last year after fighting a brief battle with pancreatic cancer. Like many others who are dying, he kept people abreast of his illness by offering reflections on CaringBridge.
His reflections have been compiled into a book which bears the title with which he ended each reflection on CaringBridge: Dum spiro, spero, Latin for: While I Breathe, I Hope. I have been prayerfully reading the book between things and it is filled with good insights for those who are ill and for those who walk with them. I will probably share more in the days ahead, but with this Sunday’s readings, this seemed appropriate:
For the most part, I have genuine and abiding peace regarding the prospect of my approaching death, whether it comes in three months or a year. I don’t feel cheated by this cancer. I would love another couple of decades, but my life has been full. I can discern in it a meaningful story arc that is coming to a sudden, yet not too scandalous ending. I have loved and been loved by a marvelous woman for over thirty years. We have successfully launched the adult lives of four sons and their spouses, each of whom fill me with pride and bear my spirit up with their love. I am supported by the most faithful of friends. I am no ground-breaking scholar, but I’ve made a few contributions to my field, and I’ve been deeply touched to hear people telling me of the positive impact I have had on their lives. I have had the good fortune to mentor a number of promising young scholars. Cancer or no cancer, by any reasonable measure I am a most fortunate human being. Most of the time, I abide in a spirit of simple gratitude for what has been given me across the years. Most of the time.
Yet there are days when, in the face of death’s approach, I contend with my ego’s stubborn resistance to God’s gentle work. I wish I could say that these occasional bouts with a grasping, thrashing ego are recent, but those who really know me wouldn’t be fooled. This battle commenced long ago, perhaps even as a teenager when I first discovered that I had certain gifts for leadership and public speaking. From that time on, I have grappled with a longing to be successful, significant, influential…
…put bluntly, after a suitable mourning, the world will go on after I die. I will become, I trust, a cherished memory for those who have loved me, but I will no longer be a central figure compelling attention in the ongoing drama of people’s lives. This is entirely right and natural, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
It is my deepest hope that in death an unimaginable wonderous eternity awaits me, one in which I will be plunged into the ocean of infinite love as Pope Benedict so beautifully put it…precisely because that eternity is beyond my imagining, it is difficult for my hope in eternal life to liberate me from my inordinate attachment to the more immediate and tangible love, esteem, and affection that I have received on earthly pilgrimage. My struggle to relinquish the lingering fears and obsessions of my flailing ego and its longing to remain at the center of the lives of those around me impedes my inability to relax into the unconditional love of God…such days remind me of my need for further conversion…
Whether we are near death like Rick or far away, it would be good if we could let go of so many things and cling to God alone. Then life would be rich and full. The storms would not matter nor the losses…only God matters.
Peace,
Fr. Damian