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On Holy Ground
By Fr. Dennis | March 16, 2005
Bobbi (not her real name) was 81 years old when she died this past Monday. I was there at her bedside in the Intensive Care Unit at Norton Hospital in Louisville, KY, when they removed Bobbi’s ventilator at 1:15 in the afternoon. With her were her nephew and two of her best friends. Her niece, Brenda, arrived a short time later, and Nathan decided that he couldn’t stay, his grief was so overwhelming.
Bobbi had grown up and had spent her whole life in rural Kentucky, and she was country. Bobbi was not her given name, but she had hated the name “Ada” as a child, and so one day she had announced that her name was now “Bobbi,” and so it was. “Bobbi” was the name on her Social Security card and on her two marriage licenses. She had been married twice, and, according to Brenda, had run both of her husbands off. One of them she tried to kill by sawing through the boards on the stairs in the hopes that he would fall and break his neck, but when he was merely injured and did not die, she eventually settled for letting him escape with his life.
She was a tough lady, who didn’t mind telling people what she thought of them, and who had a soft spot for her dog Charlie, who preceded her in death by about 2 years. She kept her house immaculate and organized, and had no trouble giving other people advice on how to do likewise with their own lives. She would sneak out to the garage for cigarettes, and refused to give them up, despite her respiratory problems.
Now she lay in a hospital bed, struggling for every breath, gurgling softly with every exhale, so full of fluid was her lungs. The people in the room alternated between crying in grief and telling funny stories about this remarkable woman whom they loved and whom they would miss dearly. We watched the video monitor from time to time, seeing her heart rate slowly fall, seeing the oxygenation levels in her blood dip below 40 percent.
And then she stopped breathing, it seemed, for almost 20 seconds. Brenda shook and cried, and then there was another breath, and another. The small plastic tube that ran between an oxygen tank and Bobbi’s nostrils was laid carefully across her neck, and I could see it moving up and down ever so slightly with every heartbeat. And then she sighed a deep sigh and did not breath again.
I was there with them at 3:30 when the nurse announced that Bobbi had died, and I led us all in a prayer that God would receive his faithful servant into his kingdom, that he would turn our afflictions into joy, that he would grant that Bobbi rest eternally in peace, and that perpetual light would shine upon her, and that God might bring us all together into everlasting life. It was all I could do to keep my voice under control. It was a holy moment. It was a moment of God’s revelation, and I did not want to miss it.
I had spent the entire previous weekend with 700 youth at a Youth 2000 retreat in Owensboro, KY. There, the Most Blessed Sacrament was exposed for 40 hours, while teens sang hymns of praise, listened to speakers, confessed their sins, and received the precious Body and Blood of the Lord at mass. I was on holy ground all weekend, and I had been looking forward to it for weeks. I knew I would be in the presence of the Lord. I did not know, however, that I would be in the presence of the Lord in a different way on Monday. I was surprised and amazed. I still am.
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March 17th, 2005 at 4:20 am
beautiful … i hope all your future similar experiences are as revered - that it never becomes perfunctory and that you always yield to the Christ in you … that Jeshua ha messhiah is continually shared with those to whom you are priveledged to minister
March 17th, 2005 at 9:43 pm
Well, thank goodness you were there to organize an impromptu canonization committee. If we had to wait for the cause to make it to Rome there’s a chance someone might object that a woman who planned a murder might not be the best candidate to appear in the liturgical calendar. Others, benightedly, would point to her two divorces and her tendency to be an uncharitable busybody.
No mention of sacramental confession, last rites or even the barest reading of Scripture at the deathbed. No need–she was a saint. Just ask her grieving relatives anytime before the funeral and they’ll tell you (after the grief wears off there’s a chance the relatives may start to remember what a pain in the backside she was, so you have to hurry).
Do me a favor if you happen to be at my deathbed–Get me a priest! If you are a priest by that time, try not to stand around looking stupid–pull the oil out and get to work. I don’t want to risk spending eternity in Hell because you were emotionally bonding with my family while I was shuffling off my mortal coil.
March 17th, 2005 at 11:00 pm
Speaking of uncharitible busy-bodies…
Not everything relates to the dangers of living in the post-conciliar Church. Did I say she was in heaven? Carefully re-read what I wrote. I can be sentimental and emotional (it was a moving moment for me) without committing errors. You presume that all “novus ordos” are guilty of canonizing people when they die becuase you’ve seen some priests do it at funerals.
No, I never expressed any presumption one way or the other as to Bobbi’s final disposition. I prayed that God receive her into his kingdom. I prayed that she be granted eternal rest. I prayed that perpetual light would shine upon her. Nowhere did I give anyone the impression that she was assuredly in heaven. I did not assert that God had done these things; no, we prayed that he WOULD do these things. That is, we were begging, knowing that it was up to him.
These are the very prayers any Catholic would make at the graveside at any funeral, Catholic or otherwise, whether we have great cause or litle cause to hope for their final salvation.
By the way, did you bother asking if she was Catholic? It turns out she was not. We offered to send for a priest and the family said that Bobbi was not Catholic and so it wouldn’t be necessary. The sacrament of annointing would not have been appropriate for this woman, nor would confession, nor would viaticum. Not to mention the fact that she was unconscious, so only annointing could have been performed, and ONLY if she were Catholic.
God’s presence is at work in the dying because there is judgment. God’s presence is in the dying because we call down the Holy Spirit to be with the living and the dead both. God is always revealing himself to us (though public revelation is closed, he is always calling to us), and when someone is dying right in front of us, it’s hard to ignore him. Saying that God was present does not canonize anyone or presume anything.
When we are around the dying and their families, we do not say things like, “Oh, please stop thinking she’s going to heaven. You have no idea and neither do I so just knock it off and stop your crying and bitching. Now where’s that oil?” Instead, we do well to control our urge to say something that, while true, would be full of pride and void of all charity. Something about a clanging gong comes to mind.
March 18th, 2005 at 11:13 am
I understand the sacred nature of the moment from my mother’s death (who, by the way, WAS a saint in every way and perfectly worthy of the canonization heaped upon her at her funeral Mass.) The priest who came to sit and pray with us called it the Holy Hour, when God reaches out across the divide to take us home and the portal between heaven and earth is briefly opened. I have talked to many priests who are in awe of the moment of death. I’ve only experienced it once, but I think I get it.
March 18th, 2005 at 12:51 pm
That’s some rebuke. Glad to see they haven’t extinguished your fire up there. You may make a worthwile priest yet. lol
March 18th, 2005 at 2:44 pm
Very high praise from Bill. I’m overcome. Verklempt, even.
March 18th, 2005 at 3:45 pm
Verklempt, even.