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Reflection on the Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (November 5)

by Greg Swiderski

The readings for this Sunday:

Wisdom 6:12-16

I Thessalonians 4:13-18

Matthew 25:1-13

The full text of the readings can be found here.

Many of the early followers of the Way believed that the Messiah would return soon. Thus Paul in this earliest of his letters writes about this trumpet blast. Now his exhortation has become one of the traditional readings during a funeral liturgy. If you have ever heard the entire performance of Handel's Messiah you would hear this trumpet exhortation.

It seems fitting to reflect upon death and its mysteries as the Church celebrates November as the time to prayerfully recall and connect with those who have gone before us; some, marked with the sign of faith; others connected in the sacred bond of friendship and love.

Some folks say that death is a taboo topic. Try discussing it during a dinner party and see how soon people move away or change the subject.

Yet, a book by Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking is a finalist for the National Book Award; The New York Times Book Review, the New York Review of Books, and Harper's Magazine have all devoted many words heralding its value as a literary triumph. Charlie Rose and Terry Gross have interviewed her. What is so magical, so intriguing? It is her journal and reflection about the death of her husband of 40 years, John Gregory Dunne.

She begins her book with these words, the first she wrote after he died: "Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends. The question of self-pity."

Joan and John had just returned from visiting their daughter Quintana in the hospital; she was preparing dinner and looked over to see him slumped in his chair while reading.

When my father died in February 1977, I was in the mountains with a youth group. So his passing, to me, seemed unlike Joan's experience.

I was there on June 4, 1975 when David, age 14, disappeared beneath the dark waters of that pond to which I had brought him and others for a day to enjoy and work. As I read Joan's details about the paramedics and the hospital, I recall so vividly the strange experience of that day. I continued doing what I needed to do, even thinking that I had brought David there, and would need to take him home. Makes no sense to me now, but then it seemed natural. Such seems the way of the human spirit when interrupted, confronted with the bizarre loss of life right before your eyes.

Years passed from which I could write so much; David seems etched in my consciousness as though he were a guardian angel.

On another day, a Saturday at twilight, I was listening to Garrison Keilor on Prairie Home Companion. He beguiled me as he compared the moment of death to the moment of conception. Wow, I whispered to myself. That seems so right. But could I ever say it; who would ever hear this comparison and not judge me a nut.

Shortly afterward, a family asked me to meet their mother struggling with cancer. I visited her a few times and then celebrated our faith and her passing with the family. At some point I felt comfortable enough to suggest the sacred connection: conception and death.

They did not look at me as though I were from Mars. They seemed to even welcome this mystical happening.

Sister Wendy Beckett, a contemplative nun and art critic, was quoted in the New York Times Magazine (26 January 1997) in an article by Marshall Sella: "Sister Wendy suggest how terrific death must be--'to leap into darkness!'". Most conception takes place in darkness as well. That moment of exaltation might even seem like Paul's trumpet blast!

(Please feel free to share your comments or questions.)