Answering the question: What is it like in the day of a priest?
Sometimes priests struggle with having to take care of elderly 
and sick parents just like anybody else. For a while I had to deal with this situation alone. But this past year a blessing came by way of one of my sisters moving back to town (after 30 years of living in the south and making it back to Ohio just in time for one of our worst winters in many, many, years.)
So this past Monday the phone rang in the middle of the night. It was the hospital. This is not an unusual occurrence in a rectory. What made it different was that this time it was concerning my father. He was in the hospital. (Before you become too concerned, he is doing well now.) I grabbed my oils and jumped in the car and met my sister in the emergency room. Normally I would go on in to see the patient/parishioner but we were in for the long haul and so a seat was taken out in the waiting room until we should be summoned by the nurse.
Lots
of interesting things happen in an emergency room at night. The highlight was an elderly couple leaving the ER in much joy (their emergency apparently dealt with.) They were laughing hysterically for when the ambulance brought the husband in, they forgot to bring along shoes and so he left the hospital on that slushy night wearing socks and latex gloves on his feet.
As for us, eventually a nurse came out and invited us to the bedside of our Dad. He was pale and mostly unresponsive. I reached down and touched the oil stock for the anointing of the sick that was in my pocket. If you have read this blog for a spell you know that my Dad is at best tolerant of God and religion though more lately there have been cracks in that facade. It was several months ago that he let me pray for him anointing him with oil, even thanking me for it. This could quite possibly be the worst time in his life as he does not believe in an afterlife. That brings with it the realization that not just life, but existence is coming to an end. Period. There is no more excitement to look forward to in this life or in one to come. He is just surviving until nothingness.
So do I anoint him? In the end my sister and I decided to do so. A couple of times he stirred and I found m
yself actually uttering a prayer that he would stay unresponsive as his reaction might just as easily be snappy (rightful?) anger as it might be great relief and appreciation. There was no way of telling.
The next day, my day away from the parish, I sat by his bedside reading the book about Padre Pio (reviewed in this site last Thursday.) Dad was bouncing back like a super ball. There is nothing to make you fight for life than the thought that earthly death means complete annihilation. What a contrast to what I was reading. Padre Pio who had an overwhelming love for God and a belief in the life to come begged to be released of the bonds of this earthly life so that he might enjoy the company of his God and the saints in heaven. “I desire death,” he says, “only because it will unite me with indissoluble chains to the heavenly Spouse.”
As a priest you see many people come to the end of their earthly path. It is difficult to be with people who do not have faith in or have a very weak relationship with God. Perhaps it happens, but I have never seen anyone go to his or her death in peace in that situation. It is tragic. What else can it be? There is no hope. Eventually the one who says they are Okay with being dead will face the abyss and may be brave, but has no hope. And if there is no hope there can be no joy.
The flip side of that coin concerns those who believe in God and have worked on their relationship with Him. There may still be a certain amount of fear (I fear dying more than death I suppose) but in the end there can be peace, hope, even joy. Mom went like that. Though she was in pain, she went as they said John Paul II went, as if she passed from one room to another. Dad however will go kicking and screaming into a dark night.
and sick parents just like anybody else. For a while I had to deal with this situation alone. But this past year a blessing came by way of one of my sisters moving back to town (after 30 years of living in the south and making it back to Ohio just in time for one of our worst winters in many, many, years.)So this past Monday the phone rang in the middle of the night. It was the hospital. This is not an unusual occurrence in a rectory. What made it different was that this time it was concerning my father. He was in the hospital. (Before you become too concerned, he is doing well now.) I grabbed my oils and jumped in the car and met my sister in the emergency room. Normally I would go on in to see the patient/parishioner but we were in for the long haul and so a seat was taken out in the waiting room until we should be summoned by the nurse.
Lots
of interesting things happen in an emergency room at night. The highlight was an elderly couple leaving the ER in much joy (their emergency apparently dealt with.) They were laughing hysterically for when the ambulance brought the husband in, they forgot to bring along shoes and so he left the hospital on that slushy night wearing socks and latex gloves on his feet.As for us, eventually a nurse came out and invited us to the bedside of our Dad. He was pale and mostly unresponsive. I reached down and touched the oil stock for the anointing of the sick that was in my pocket. If you have read this blog for a spell you know that my Dad is at best tolerant of God and religion though more lately there have been cracks in that facade. It was several months ago that he let me pray for him anointing him with oil, even thanking me for it. This could quite possibly be the worst time in his life as he does not believe in an afterlife. That brings with it the realization that not just life, but existence is coming to an end. Period. There is no more excitement to look forward to in this life or in one to come. He is just surviving until nothingness.
So do I anoint him? In the end my sister and I decided to do so. A couple of times he stirred and I found m
yself actually uttering a prayer that he would stay unresponsive as his reaction might just as easily be snappy (rightful?) anger as it might be great relief and appreciation. There was no way of telling.The next day, my day away from the parish, I sat by his bedside reading the book about Padre Pio (reviewed in this site last Thursday.) Dad was bouncing back like a super ball. There is nothing to make you fight for life than the thought that earthly death means complete annihilation. What a contrast to what I was reading. Padre Pio who had an overwhelming love for God and a belief in the life to come begged to be released of the bonds of this earthly life so that he might enjoy the company of his God and the saints in heaven. “I desire death,” he says, “only because it will unite me with indissoluble chains to the heavenly Spouse.”
As a priest you see many people come to the end of their earthly path. It is difficult to be with people who do not have faith in or have a very weak relationship with God. Perhaps it happens, but I have never seen anyone go to his or her death in peace in that situation. It is tragic. What else can it be? There is no hope. Eventually the one who says they are Okay with being dead will face the abyss and may be brave, but has no hope. And if there is no hope there can be no joy.
The flip side of that coin concerns those who believe in God and have worked on their relationship with Him. There may still be a certain amount of fear (I fear dying more than death I suppose) but in the end there can be peace, hope, even joy. Mom went like that. Though she was in pain, she went as they said John Paul II went, as if she passed from one room to another. Dad however will go kicking and screaming into a dark night.
That is the gift of God to us. We are asked to contemplate that this Holy Week. Becaus
e of Christ, death has been redefined. A good Christian may still fear leaving the known for the unknown, but at least there is still an unknown awaiting you as opposed to nothingness. Even if we face a firing squad and there is no chance of escaping it, we still have hope and that hope awaits us on the other side of the Cross.
e of Christ, death has been redefined. A good Christian may still fear leaving the known for the unknown, but at least there is still an unknown awaiting you as opposed to nothingness. Even if we face a firing squad and there is no chance of escaping it, we still have hope and that hope awaits us on the other side of the Cross.
6 comments:
Wow. That's some intense stuff...it must be very hard on you and your sister.
That's the sad thing about atheism/agnosticism....to be living for no true end, to not recognize that to which we are all directed.
I like your last line..."the other side of the cross." That's such a great way of putting it, definitely worthy of meditation!
Good heavens, your dad must've won the Best Looking Man in Ohio award. Repeatedly. :-) No doubt a number of us have remembered him in prayer these past few months. No doubt we all have a resister-of-grace in our families, too. But what is human resistance to God Who desired everyone into being? And what is that to Mary, who has obtained graces for them, her children from the Cross. When our insides seize up in fear for someone's soul, she can hear it. She's a mom. She hears it best in our prayers. The Rosary (in a way) is like 5 loaves we offer her to give to Jesus, with which to feed the crowd. What mother can stand a hungry one amongst us?
Sometimes--perhaps even most times--we aren't aware of what is going on in our soul, so least of all can we know what's going on in another's, for that is God's domain. It would be like entering the shroud of a caterpillar. We can't. Those around this chrysalis, even when it looks bad, when it looks like death has won, can only hope for a butterfly to come, somehow.. somehow. But we Catholics can pray and make offerings for that transformation. We always have hope. We'll remember your dad and all our own cocooned, this week.
Though a sinner like me may have prayers of little value, I will pray for your father.
Fr., what a very interesting post. I pray that your father finds his way back to God.
Fr,
I found your site through New Advent and I love it, especially the Monday Diary. Unfortunately, it might become an ersatz for interacting with my local priest; I'm an American in Germany, and besides seeing him from the back of the church (my 2-year-old comments too much on mass to get closer to the altar), I only see our priest scurrying from one appointment or duty to another.
So in this day of drive-by priests, thank you for your blog!
Bless,
Anika
ps I recently read Graham Greene's "The Power and the Glory" - the end of your post reminded me of it. I hope your dad finds his way...
You are a neat guy - your father must be very proud.
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