Memorial of Saint Charles Lwanga and Companions, Martyrs

 Lectionary: 301

Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.”
He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God. And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”

In the epilogue to Saint John's Gospel, the Lord describes "the kind of death" Saint Peter would suffer. It is not hard to apply the Lord's prediction to our expectations. Few of us know, and none can predict, the "kind of death" we will face. Given the likelihood of advanced age failing strength, chronic illness, and dementia, most of us can expect someone else to take charge. If we're blessed, caring people will lead us to the death room and death bed. Tragically, many Americans, clinging to their independence, die in solitude. Their bodies are discovered afterward by strangers.

How shall I glorify God by the manner of my death, given that I don't know what kind of death I will face? I suppose it will reflect the manner of my life. 

If I could call the shots about my dying, I would ask someone to give me Viaticum before I pass into the stupor that often anticipates death, and then read the Commendation of the Dying, with its Litany of the Saints and final farewell, "I commend you, my dear brother, to Almighty God...." Perhaps the last voices I ever hear will be reciting the rosary. Saint Francis heard the friars reading the last chapters of Saint John's Gospel. If we live by the worship of God we can hope to die within a prayerful setting. 

More important than our death bed ceremony is our readiness to go obediently where we are led. Adult children sometimes find themselves struggling with their aging parents as their roles are reversed. The parent must obey the child, and they find that very difficult. 

I used to drive an elderly man to the doctor in a small Minnesota town. No matter how many times we made the same trip, he would tell me to "turn here" and "park the car there." It was rather maddening. I wondered if he ever, as a young man, played team sports. He had hunted deer and was known for his golf game; but had he ever moved with a team, impelled by the spirit which would overcome a less inspired squad of hockey or basketball players? He certainly could not play team with me as we navigated a small, familiar town. Nor was he happy about his final placement in a nursing home. 

I often coached patients in the Veterans Hospital, reminding them that they are captains of their caregivers. As captains they have to understand what their team can do for them and with them. I also urged them to, "Ask for what you need. We don't know what you need unless you tell us." (Some people, even as children, never learn to ask for anything; they always have to take what they want.) "And don't forget please and thank you."

In the end, if we're fortunate, the Lord will send us like missionaries to a death room and death bed, which might be in a private home, nursing home or hospital. There we will bless the people around us with our grateful, compliant spirit. We might confess our unworthiness again through the Sacraments of Penance and Eucharist. We will thank God for our lives; and then our loved ones and our professional caregivers for their kindness.  

The manner of our death will be precisely like the manner of our life, only more so. We will not conform to anyone's expectation of how we should act. We will no longer play act like the people we pretend to be. All shoulds will be left far behind during that final drama. 

A woman told me of her husband's final days. They had raised several children, faced many difficulties together, and practiced their faith devoutly. During his final days, Betty stayed by his side continually as he suffered much. She struggled valiantly to ease his pain but nothing helped, and his mood only worsened. He sometimes yelled at her, and she bore that patiently. But finally exhausted, she retreated to the hallway and stood by his door weeping. A nurse found her there and asked what was happening. When she explained, the nurse said, "You don't have to put up with that! You're his wife; he's supposed to take care of you. Now you get right back in there and tell him to stop treating you like that."

My friend gathered her courage with a dollop of anger and returned to his bedside. The dying man, listening to her and seeing his reflection in the mirror of her distress, immediately apologized and atoned for his unkindness. He died several days later, after the happiest week of their married life. 

We choose the kind of death we die. Let's make it a blessed one.