We are Your Bone and Flesh

I unexpectedly ended up giving a homily today, just when I thought my preaching days were done for a while. We were having breakfast when Derry suggested I preach at the Mass we were going to celebrate in the Presentation Convent later.

Looking at the readings, the words that jumped out at me were these, "Behold, we are your bone and flesh", spoken by the tribes of Israel to David before anointing him king. Bone is a strong word.

Bone and flesh, flesh and blood. It is what we might say to Jesus, the Word become flesh and bone and blood in us. Not just what we might say but it is what the Spirit prays within the temple of our bodies in groans beyond all utterance.

"For we are members of His body, of His flesh and of His bones." (Ephesians 5:30 NKJV)

Our bones tell the truth, as does our flesh. They are real, what they feel is real and there is no disguise. We pray with our bodies as much as with our spirits. In spirit and truth.

It is significant that Christ the King is presented to us on the Cross. The agony of his bones and flesh and blood poured out. Anguish of His Spirit. His mind and heart  All of which reaches out to the agonies that we endure.

I've inherited my mother's knees. They cry out in pain from time to time. My feet call out through the night. My gums, sensitive to the cold, release relentless pain through my throat and entire head for days and nights at a time, creating a different kind of prayer.

People often say that you should pray when you're well, because when you're ill you can't pray at all. True and not entirely true. Our pain becomes our prayer. It has no words. It is a different kind of Rosary, with it own rules. Another form of contemplation. An offering up, an act of union with the suffering of Christ.

We are like the 'Good Thief' praying, "Jesus remember me." And He responds to all of us with a promise - "Indeed I promise you today .." For that man in that moment, it was the promise of Paradise. For each of us on our own particular day, there is a promise that is personal and appropriate. 

Both these elements make the prayer whole and complete - our "Jesus remember"  and His "indeed I promise." It is my prayer for the day. And the Promise that I await.

Being with Derry in Cork was an unexpected blessing, at home in the house where he grew up. Being with his family again, though it was sadness that brought us together. The death of his brother-in-law Colman, a man of exceptional courage and grace who was praised for his sense of justice and his gentle masculinity, among many other great qualities. He was of course primarily a great husband and dad.

My journey to the funeral was somewhat taxing as I had to take the notorious 51 Expressway bus that stops everywhere along the way. But that was nothing compared to Derry's journey that took him from India via Doha via Rome, before which he had been on official visitation in Australia and Taiwan. Don't know how he does it all and he led the funeral Mass as if he had only just crossed the street.

We are blessed as Catholics to have the funeral Liturgy to carry us through the awful loss brought about by death and I pray that even those who do not believe find some comfort in it.

Irish funerals are incredibly powerful experiences. They are immediate, happening very soon after death, so that the emotions are quite raw and there is a lot of physical connection between the bereaved and the sympathisers.

What is missing here that we have always had in Hastings is the tribute or eulogy given by a member of the family. The Irish Church seems to be quite strict on this, except maybe in the case of celebrity funerals. But its absence is, in my view, a great lack.

Certainly eulogies can go off the wall and go on too long but there are ways of working with people in advance to ensure dignity and discipline, though this is easier in England where you have a few weeks and not two days to prepare.

There is a sacredness to every human life, a unique expression of the presence of God in the world that ought to be honoured within the Liturgy by someone who is intimately familiar with that life. For St. Vincent Pallotti, and for us his disciples, being created in the image and likeness of God is what gives every person their first dignity. And in many cases the deceased has been a living exposition of the Gospel of Christ that ought to be proclaimed.

In this instance the eulogy was delivered beautifully at the post-burial reception by the three sons-in-law.

Bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh! This is what Adam said of Eve and it expresses the closeness, the one-ness of a married couple, so that the separation that comes with death must seem like the separation of bones and flesh that have been woven together over the years.

This is true in the separation of spouses and also in the separation of siblings and close friends. Very well expressed by Justine Picardie who wrote that her sister Ruth's name was carved upon her bones. So close was their relationship. 

I felt something similar following Maura's death.

Grief brings the longing for the touch of the other, the sound of their voice. The emptiness and the silence are not easy to negotiate and these too can become the truest of prayers. In my experience, it is better not to go looking for the one who has died because they are on their own journey home to God and in their time they can make their presence felt and their voices heard through simple signs, as God might will.

Jesus remember...

Indeed I promise...