death of loreto, a mother, a parishioner
Today we bury a familiar sight in the cathedral for so many years. She was my parishioner for 3 years and a half when I was first assigned here 15 years ago, and she was my neighbor for eleven years when I was assigned in the seminary. Our meetings were not really that long to permit me to know her intimately. It was always passing, literally passing – usually on that street corner as Seminario St. turns right to the Cathedral.
We usually met on that street, either as she was going to the Cathedral from her home or when she was coming home from the cathedral. Like any of us trained in the old school she would respectfully hold my right hand and give the besa mano in reverence to the hand of a priest who gives her, her daily supply of spiritual food.
Now she is no more. She has gone home to the Father, to her true home – a home she awaited, and a home she anticipated as she goes from her house to this cathedral. Now that home is not just an image. In death, that home, which the cathedral might have symbolized for the duration of her earthly life, has now become a reality. It ceases now to become just a shadow. It ceases to be a merely looking into a dark glass. She is now home, a home promised by Jesus, prepared for by Jesus. And this home can only become a reality in this passage called death. Thus, we say because of our faith, that death is truly conquered. Like St. Paul we now cry mocking death itself, “O death where is your sting?” For death has ceased to become a punishment but is now the passage to our true and lasting home.
The death of a mother is always difficult. It is more painful than any other. The bonding is just too difficult to sever, a bonding that started in the intimacy of the womb. And yet we are consoled by the assurance of our faith. Our faith tells us that that bond is never severed. Our faith tells us that life continues, and so does relationships, especially relationships that really mattered. She is still mother, she is still the doting lola to her grandchildren, she is still caregiver number one, she is still for us a reminder of things essential, she is still the rock of stability and strength, the image of traditions, the teacher of beautiful lessons. Her person, her stories, her values, her memories are still and will be treasured until we die.
Mothers never die. They just fade away, for in reality her sons and daughters carry her along with them through life, in the choices they make, in the values they uphold, in the traditions they hold, even in the simplest of chores - in the way they cook. For mothers will always become a point of reference. No, they never die. They just fade away from our sight, for they remain always in our hearts and even so in our minds.
Death is a homecoming. And homecomings are homecomings precisely because we are going to some place familiar. We are going to meet a person now vaguely familiar perhaps, but nevertheless familiar. Through her close contact with the Eucharist in the mass and in the adoration chapel, in her communion, in her coming and going to church – Jesus has become somebody familiar to her already, heaven has become a familiar place to her, God is someone familiar as she hears and listens to his word in this church. Thus Loreto has gone to her homecoming, to a place already familiar. Death ceases to become a sad reality but a joyful and exciting occasion.
May she rest in peace in that home prepared for her by God from the beginning of time, that home which she herself prepared for in her own time – may she rest in peace. Amen.
We usually met on that street, either as she was going to the Cathedral from her home or when she was coming home from the cathedral. Like any of us trained in the old school she would respectfully hold my right hand and give the besa mano in reverence to the hand of a priest who gives her, her daily supply of spiritual food.
Now she is no more. She has gone home to the Father, to her true home – a home she awaited, and a home she anticipated as she goes from her house to this cathedral. Now that home is not just an image. In death, that home, which the cathedral might have symbolized for the duration of her earthly life, has now become a reality. It ceases now to become just a shadow. It ceases to be a merely looking into a dark glass. She is now home, a home promised by Jesus, prepared for by Jesus. And this home can only become a reality in this passage called death. Thus, we say because of our faith, that death is truly conquered. Like St. Paul we now cry mocking death itself, “O death where is your sting?” For death has ceased to become a punishment but is now the passage to our true and lasting home.
The death of a mother is always difficult. It is more painful than any other. The bonding is just too difficult to sever, a bonding that started in the intimacy of the womb. And yet we are consoled by the assurance of our faith. Our faith tells us that that bond is never severed. Our faith tells us that life continues, and so does relationships, especially relationships that really mattered. She is still mother, she is still the doting lola to her grandchildren, she is still caregiver number one, she is still for us a reminder of things essential, she is still the rock of stability and strength, the image of traditions, the teacher of beautiful lessons. Her person, her stories, her values, her memories are still and will be treasured until we die.
Mothers never die. They just fade away, for in reality her sons and daughters carry her along with them through life, in the choices they make, in the values they uphold, in the traditions they hold, even in the simplest of chores - in the way they cook. For mothers will always become a point of reference. No, they never die. They just fade away from our sight, for they remain always in our hearts and even so in our minds.
Death is a homecoming. And homecomings are homecomings precisely because we are going to some place familiar. We are going to meet a person now vaguely familiar perhaps, but nevertheless familiar. Through her close contact with the Eucharist in the mass and in the adoration chapel, in her communion, in her coming and going to church – Jesus has become somebody familiar to her already, heaven has become a familiar place to her, God is someone familiar as she hears and listens to his word in this church. Thus Loreto has gone to her homecoming, to a place already familiar. Death ceases to become a sad reality but a joyful and exciting occasion.
May she rest in peace in that home prepared for her by God from the beginning of time, that home which she herself prepared for in her own time – may she rest in peace. Amen.
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