As Sure As The Next Day's Sunrise

It is said that there are certain things that are absolute in this world of ours... Death, taxes, laws of thermodynamics, and the like, are all as sure as that next day's sunrise.  One of the joys of my ministry is serving funerals.  Whether they be small or large, or whether the deceased in widely known, or not, the celebration of a life spent on earth trying to do one's best to live for all that is good and decent is as unique as the dawn of each new day.

This past Monday I served yet another one of those celebrations of life.  The blessings God gave to this wonderful woman were evident in the love she gave to her family, the smiles in the many pictures arranged on the table outside the doors to the sanctuary, and the joy of knowing her carefree spirit, especially when she did the things she loved to do.  This woman was loved by her many family members, and as my faith reassures me, now rests in the arms of her loving Father in heaven.

At funerals, many people spend some very poignant moments (all crammed into a very short period of time) trying to piece together all that makes a person a true witness of not only their faith, but also what it means to be a great person.  At funerals you find out things about people that make you smile or touch your heart.  There are stories that are shared in the vestibule before the first song, and memories touched upon in the eulogy offered just before the last song.  Meanwhile, during the service, that hour celebrating Mass and the everlasting life in our midst, there are even more stories, for behind every pair of eyes looking to the focal point of a casket or an urn, and the mortal remains reverently placed at the foot of the altar, bathed in the light of an Easter Candle, there is an infinite source of love and goodness, reflecting on the blessed life of a wonderful child of God.

The certainty of death, and the promise of tomorrow's sunrise is something we should all reflect upon.  Fall is upon us now, and the leaves must change and gently let go their grip on the only thing they've ever known.  We too will be called to let go from time to time, and the wind, that gentle breath of God, will carry us to a place where it wills; a place where He can embrace us and say, "Well done my good and faithful servant!"

For My Dad!
John Edward Thompson
September 9, 1938 - September 23, 1997