There are some people who are truly inspirational, models of faith and of trust. We celebrated the funeral of one such lady today.
A few years ago, I watched a documentary film entitled Into Great Silence. The film, released in 2005, depicts the daily life of the Carthusian Monastery of the Grand Chartruse located in the French Alps. It’s quite a lengthy film: almost three hours long if I remember correctly, and the most striking feature is that there are absolutely no words spoken except in the final five minutes. One of the final scenes depicts an interview that the director conducted with one of the monks: the most elderly one who lived in the monastery. There was only one question asked: Since you are nearing the end of your life, I wonder, are you afraid of what is to come? The monk sits in silence for a few seconds, calmly blinking his eyes, and then speaks: Why should I be? This is the moment I’ve been preparing for all my life.
I think I first met Doreen standing at the door of this church. She had arrived for Mass, but needed to rest, just for a while, to catch her breath, before continuing down the aisle toward the front seat, right there. For as long as I’ve been here, that’s been her pew, although I must admit that I’m not sure whether it was her pew before she needed to carry an oxygen tank or not.
A few months ago, Doreen called and said that she wanted to talk about some of the details of her funeral. This is a woman who was always very practical: she didn’t hesitate to tackle any issue, and she always faced it head on. I sat with her one day in her kitchen and she immediately set the score straight: she wanted to make sure that all the details of this celebration were sorted out. As we went over the details, I couldn’t help thinking that she knew the gravity of the situation, and she wasn’t afraid of it. She wasn’t afraid of death; she knew that this is the moment we are all preparing for, all our lives. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where she was headed too. The words we have heard today in Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians could easily have been spoken by Doreen herself: We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and that it will be the same for all of us: God will bring us with him, and we shall stay with the Lord forever.
I don’t think we spent a very long time sitting in the kitchen that day, but the time we did spend was enough for us to get to know each other, just a little bit, and for me to get a glimpse into the heart of a woman who loved her family very much. There was so much love in her heart! Her heart had been moulded by the joys and sorrows of life, the successes and the challenges that she had encountered. I couldn’t help thinking that day that she must have asked herself some pretty challenging questions throughout her life, and yet there was a serenity about everything she did and said.
Throughout the months that have come and gone since that day, our paths have crossed on a few occasions, most recently this past week when I met her in the hospital room. Even as she sat on the side of the bed, obviously weak, she still managed to smile. She patiently listened as I recounted a few brief details about the recent trip to England and Ireland, and the only thing she needed to say was that she felt that there were still some details that needed to be dealt with, but that we would have to deal with them sooner rather than later. The look in her eyes told me that she knew then that her time was near. It was a look that spoke with no words, and yet it said everything. In that moment, it was as though she was saying to me: don't worry; all is as it should be. Jesus said similar words to his disciples too: do not let your hearts be troubled. I wonder if those chosen few had the same sense that I did: that something was about to change, but what, when?
Each one of us who is here today can tell stories about the many ways our lives have been intertwined with Doreen’s. Ron, Tracey, Melanie and Jason certainly can. Her brothers and sisters certainly can. So can her grandchildren, her sisters in the League … all of us who have had the privilege of knowing her can recall the moments when we have witnessed her telling us: I know the way to the place where I am going.
Not all of us have the gift of such certainty, such a depth of faith, but thankfully we are all on a journey, coming to understand and to believe the promise spoken of in the prophesy of Isaiah: The Lord God will destroy death forever; he will wipe away the tears from every cheek, he will take away his people’s shame everywhere on earth and we will see him face to face. On that day, we too will say: This is our God in whom we hoped for salvation; the Lord is the one in whom we hoped.
Until that day comes, let’s try our best to use the lessons Doreen has taught us, the example she has left us: let’s do our best to be people of deep faith; let’s do our best to listen compassionately to others when they call to us for help; let’s do our best to call a spade a spade; let’s do our best to love the people God places in our lives – to love them deeply, so deeply that it hurts; and let’s do our best to exult and rejoice in the knowledge that our loving God has saved us. If we do, then when our time comes, we too will be able to say: Why should I be afraid? This is the moment I’ve been preparing for all my life.
Funeral homily for Doreen Marie Walsh
A few years ago, I watched a documentary film entitled Into Great Silence. The film, released in 2005, depicts the daily life of the Carthusian Monastery of the Grand Chartruse located in the French Alps. It’s quite a lengthy film: almost three hours long if I remember correctly, and the most striking feature is that there are absolutely no words spoken except in the final five minutes. One of the final scenes depicts an interview that the director conducted with one of the monks: the most elderly one who lived in the monastery. There was only one question asked: Since you are nearing the end of your life, I wonder, are you afraid of what is to come? The monk sits in silence for a few seconds, calmly blinking his eyes, and then speaks: Why should I be? This is the moment I’ve been preparing for all my life.
I think I first met Doreen standing at the door of this church. She had arrived for Mass, but needed to rest, just for a while, to catch her breath, before continuing down the aisle toward the front seat, right there. For as long as I’ve been here, that’s been her pew, although I must admit that I’m not sure whether it was her pew before she needed to carry an oxygen tank or not.
A few months ago, Doreen called and said that she wanted to talk about some of the details of her funeral. This is a woman who was always very practical: she didn’t hesitate to tackle any issue, and she always faced it head on. I sat with her one day in her kitchen and she immediately set the score straight: she wanted to make sure that all the details of this celebration were sorted out. As we went over the details, I couldn’t help thinking that she knew the gravity of the situation, and she wasn’t afraid of it. She wasn’t afraid of death; she knew that this is the moment we are all preparing for, all our lives. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt where she was headed too. The words we have heard today in Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians could easily have been spoken by Doreen herself: We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and that it will be the same for all of us: God will bring us with him, and we shall stay with the Lord forever.
I don’t think we spent a very long time sitting in the kitchen that day, but the time we did spend was enough for us to get to know each other, just a little bit, and for me to get a glimpse into the heart of a woman who loved her family very much. There was so much love in her heart! Her heart had been moulded by the joys and sorrows of life, the successes and the challenges that she had encountered. I couldn’t help thinking that day that she must have asked herself some pretty challenging questions throughout her life, and yet there was a serenity about everything she did and said.
Throughout the months that have come and gone since that day, our paths have crossed on a few occasions, most recently this past week when I met her in the hospital room. Even as she sat on the side of the bed, obviously weak, she still managed to smile. She patiently listened as I recounted a few brief details about the recent trip to England and Ireland, and the only thing she needed to say was that she felt that there were still some details that needed to be dealt with, but that we would have to deal with them sooner rather than later. The look in her eyes told me that she knew then that her time was near. It was a look that spoke with no words, and yet it said everything. In that moment, it was as though she was saying to me: don't worry; all is as it should be. Jesus said similar words to his disciples too: do not let your hearts be troubled. I wonder if those chosen few had the same sense that I did: that something was about to change, but what, when?
Each one of us who is here today can tell stories about the many ways our lives have been intertwined with Doreen’s. Ron, Tracey, Melanie and Jason certainly can. Her brothers and sisters certainly can. So can her grandchildren, her sisters in the League … all of us who have had the privilege of knowing her can recall the moments when we have witnessed her telling us: I know the way to the place where I am going.
Not all of us have the gift of such certainty, such a depth of faith, but thankfully we are all on a journey, coming to understand and to believe the promise spoken of in the prophesy of Isaiah: The Lord God will destroy death forever; he will wipe away the tears from every cheek, he will take away his people’s shame everywhere on earth and we will see him face to face. On that day, we too will say: This is our God in whom we hoped for salvation; the Lord is the one in whom we hoped.
Until that day comes, let’s try our best to use the lessons Doreen has taught us, the example she has left us: let’s do our best to be people of deep faith; let’s do our best to listen compassionately to others when they call to us for help; let’s do our best to call a spade a spade; let’s do our best to love the people God places in our lives – to love them deeply, so deeply that it hurts; and let’s do our best to exult and rejoice in the knowledge that our loving God has saved us. If we do, then when our time comes, we too will be able to say: Why should I be afraid? This is the moment I’ve been preparing for all my life.
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