Sister Death

 

Reflection on the Death (Transitus) of St. Francis. Offered at Our Lady of the Woods chapel at Bellarmine University on October 2, 2014. 

Readings: https://www.franciscanpenancelibrary.com/transitus-of-saint-francis

I have come to know St. Francis through the Franciscans here at Bellarmine and through reading about his life.  I would like to share some of the lessons that I have learned about his life and death.

St. Francis teaches us how to die well. 

If you were able to able to the Campus Ministry office today, you received a pot filled with Brother or Sister Plant.  This afternoon in the quad, the friars blessed our pets, which we call, “Brother Dog,” “Sister Cat,” or if you are my wife, “Sister Hermit Crab.”  This evening, as our prayer began, perhaps you noticed Sister Moon glowing down at us.  St. Francis praised God through all of these creatures and creations of God. Tonight we also recognize and commemorate the one that he called, “Sister bodily Death.”

It seems somewhat morbid to look deeply at death. We live in a culture that venerates a cult of youth and pretends that we will never die. If you are young, as many of you are, perhaps you have never given much thought to your own death.  When someone dies in our country, we usually say that they “lost the battle” with cancer, heart disease, or whatever it may be.  Ultimately, though, each of us ‘loses the battle.’  Benjamin Franklin said only two things in this life are certain: death and taxes.  Francis teaches us how to embrace death not as something to be feared but welcomed after a life well lived.

St. Francis is sometimes called the “Mirror of Christ” because of how perfectly he followed the teachings of Jesus. One of the ways that he differs most starkly from Jesus is the manner of his death.

Take a moment to contemplate the crucifix and the way that Jesus died. Most of do not look on the Passion and think, “I’d really like to die like that.”  Some Christians in the early centuries actually did, but as time passed and persecution eased our expectations for death have changed. St. Francis’ death is far more approachable to our modern sensibilities.

Francis approached death after a longer ministry than Christ. He died surrounded by friends, and yet in pain.  He was blind, his eyes seared by an attempt to cure his cataracts. He was suffering from sickness and the ‘gift’ of the stigmata.  He asked to be carried home by his little brothers to where his incredible movement began: a small chapel in the hills of central Italy, as different from the grandeur of St. Peter’s Basilica as can be imagined. Towards the end, he asked to be laid down on the earth, naked as the day he was born. Naked as the day he threw off his clothes and the wealth of the world. Thinking about the end, he said, “welcome my sister death. I go to meet you joyfully.”

Let us take a moment to contemplate our own deaths and how we will meet our own end.  [Pause]

When I think about death, I think about my grandmother’s passing two years ago.  She was a woman of deep faith.  When a priest came to anoint her, she was struggling with Parkinson’s, shaking very badly and not mentally present.  Yet she made the sign of the cross and folded her hands in prayer because of her long practice. She lived a good life.

I picture a poignant moment between her and my mom.  My grandma was lying in her bed and my mom very tenderly washed her face. For a second, I pictured the future when roles will be changed: it will be my own mother in that bed, and I will caring for her.  And then it will be my own turn. 

If, however, we live our lives well, we need not fear this moment.  We, too, can address death as our sister who glorifies God.  And we can affirm with St. Paul: 

“Death is swallowed up in victory.

Where, O death, is your victory?

Where, O death, is your sting?”