Not unexpected, but still unwelcome news

Just before Mass ended tonight, the priest asked everyone to sit down and he went back to the ambo. We knew this could not be good news. He read a letter written by St. Ignatius of Antioch who was telling his followers not to interfere with his impending death sentence.

We were all a little confused, but then he explained that our pastor, who had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer a year ago, had just informed his family that he would not seek further treatment, but would eventually go into hospice care.

The priest who told us this has been the administrator of the parish for the past year, doing a lot of the pastor's work. He had been our pastor's professor in the seminary, and he got kind of choked up delivering this news.

We knew the pastor was getting worse. At 6’4” he had always had a little paunch—he was a big guy, but now he was down to 125 pounds and just looked so gaunt. He hadn’t been able to eat very well all year and probably lost about a hundred pounds. In the past few months, try as he might, he could not work. He was very tired all the time. The last time I saw him, he was coming from the church, crossing the parking lot to the rectory. I knew he wasn’t feeling well and I certainly didn’t plan to engage him in a long conversation, but in reply to my inquiry into his health, he simply said, “I’m tired—I’m going to take a nap” and he kept on walking without breaking stride.

There we all were in church, just kind of stunned. I could hear people sniffling, and saw women leaving with reddened eyes, clumps of people standing with tears on their cheeks. The pastor will be staying with his parents for the time being, but will move to a hospice if necessary in the coming weeks. So he’s that much closer to heaven.

So why are we crying? I have a relative who had a “Coming Home” party for our grandmother when she died, complete with a cake that she made for her children. I can’t quite do that. I was inconsolable when my mom died ten years ago, and if anyone was bound for glory, she was.

Maybe I’m not walking by faith but by sight—stumbling over obstacles that block my way to seeing God’s promise clearly. Wonder if I’ll ever get over that?