Made for More
Thoughts on Death, Life, and Consolation Among the Communion of Saints
The Beauty of the Body of Christ
This past weekend the Church honored the period known as Hallowtide, or the three days more commonly known as All Hallows’ Eve (Halloween{, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day. For some reason, these beautiful liturgical days have impacted me more this year that in all my almost 27 years as a Catholic. I have pondered and prayed about the ‘why’ of this and I don’t have a clear answer.
Perhaps it is something rather incidental, such as the poignant reflections I’ve been blessed to read, or the fact that the timing of Hallowtide fell over weekend and gave me more time to lean in and reflect on the beautiful scripture readings tied to these days.
It could also be something a bit more personal and closer to my heart, such as recently joining my family in laying to rest my last living grandparent, or the sudden and tragic death of my stepsister earlier this year.
I don’t know for sure the why, but I do know this: I am more convinced than ever about the beauty of the body of Christ. I love remembering, reading about, and asking the intercession of our saint friends in heaven, and somehow the notion that I can ask ALL of them to pray for me and my family brings my heart extraordinary peace. And perhaps because this has been a particularly tender season of struggle and pleading with God in my heart, I have been experiencing deep consolation praying with the communion of saints.
They were once here, too, struggling and striving and suffering. They were flawed and imperfect and very, very human just like us. And now they have finished the race and kept the faith and are beholding a new life in heaven where they take their places among the King of Kings, singing and dancing with the angels. What hope this should give us!
All You Saints
But they are in peace. For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself. —Wisdom 3: 3-5
I have so many saint friends that I rely on as I walk this earthly journey. I have trusted in their intercession for myself, my marriage, my children, my friends, my ministry, and many other life circumstances. They encourage me by virtue of the ordinary yet oh-so-extraordinary lives they lived: Maximilian Kolbe, Rita, Therese, Stanley Rother, Padre Pio, Josephine Bakhita, Gemma… I could go on, but each one of them lived with bold confidence and courage in this world. And each of them experienced intense pain, heartache and at times unimaginably difficult trials. And yet. They pressed on. Kept going. Kept fighting the good fight. I am so encouraged to know their stories, and so excited to meet them one day when I am called home.
Memento Mori
And even more than remembering our canon of saints, I was particularly moved by All Souls Day this year. The intention behind this day, and the Latin phrase associated with it, memento mori (remember your death), is meant to remind us of our mortality and the inevitability of death, and to help put into perspective the fact that our earthly life and pleasures will cease one day. It is a sobering and humbling reality that is also an occasion for soul-filling reflection.
As I prayed throughout this day, and reflected on memento mori, there was no morbidity or fear in my pondering of my death. Nor did I feel extreme sadness thinking about my loved ones who have gone before me to eternal life. Odd as this may seem, mostly what I felt was relief. I sensed deep and authentic humility tied to the realization of my ‘littleness’ in the scope of God’s overarching plan for my life.
With crystal clarity, God whispered truth to my heart, and I was absolutely convicted that I was created by my Father in heaven, made to live and love and serve and strive to reflect His light in this life so that one day I can rejoice forever in heaven with Him.
And so were you, my sister in Christ. We were made for more.
What an extraordinary gift.
I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to speak to anyone who is not feeling particularly at peace or consoled as we commemorate our beloved dead. Know that as I close this reflection, I am praying for you. I am asking God to console you in your loss, grief, and pain. I am lifting you up and trusting that He will keep you close to His heart and carry you when you lack strength. He wants you to lean in and receive His peace. You are known, and seen, and loved.
All you holy men and women, pray for us.