Sister Death
John Michael Talbot

I recently attended the funeral of a dear friend of almost 25 years. She was the wife of another dear friend and close ministerial associate. As might be expected, the experience was most moving for me in many ways. Some might be appropriate to share here.

St. Francis called death, "Sister Death." She was not his enemy. His body had been ravaged by sickness, and the treatments of the doctors of his day. He had also weakened his body through his constant fasting and vigils to the point that he asked forgiveness from God and her at his death. He was only about forty-five years old. His ministry has lasted barely twenty years. What more could he have done with another twenty?

Likewise, we often find our loved ones and friends ravaged by sickness and disease. The treatment of cancer through chemotherapy is sometimes as rough as the sickness itself. Sometimes it is worth it because of the cure it brings. Sometimes it adds precious months and years that are beyond price. Sometimes treatment simply doesn't work. Sometimes death comes for those we think too young. Death comes in a way that seems unpredictable and unstoppable. We are not in control.

My friend died rather young, after a relatively short, but agonizing battle with cancer. The cancer was painful. The treatments were also painful. In the end nothing seemed to work. We all had to let her go to God.

She and her family and friends went from an appropriate positive attitude of expecting a miracle of physical healing in Christ directly or through medical science, to a resigned attitude accepting the many wonderful spiritual healings that took place. In the process of death attitudes were healed. Old unresolved relationships were healed. Resurrection came bursting forth from the frail life of a dying woman.

Friends came out of the woodwork to thank her for her many little acts of kindness. We discover that it is rarely the big things of life that leave the lasting impressions. It is the little things that reveal the greater and deeper truths.

The local church shined in the darkness of these days as they rallied to the side of the whole family, bringing meals, friendship, encouragement, and simple presence. The Taoists say that community exists primarily so that someone will be there to bury you when you die. When I was younger I thought that was a bit shallow and simplistic. Now I see the wisdom of it. Those who are spiritually in and out of our life at church or in Christian community are, indeed, the very ones who often show up at this final hour of need. We discover how precious our love for one another in Christ has been.

I got to the hospital room just moments after she slipped away. Family and spiritual friends surrounded her. I was asked to lead the small group in prayer. Tears flowed, as did a rich appreciation for her life, and thanksgiving that her suffering was now over. One by one the friends dispersed. We all found time for short little visits and prayers at the body which just minutes before was still warm with spirit and life. The family still embraced her with tears of grief at the reality of the loss they had expected for weeks. The hour was now upon them.

At this moment my friend, her husband, looked up through his tears and spoke the profound question: right now all the theories and doctrines don't mean much, do they? I answered that they did not. All that mattered at this sacred moment of the passing of a life to God was the love of God. All else flows from this. I just embraced him as he wept.

St. John of the Cross said that when we stand before God he will ask us only one question: How well have you loved? Nothing else has much eternal significance. All of the doctrines, sacraments, and ecclesiologies of the Church are given by God to get us through the normal things of life, and to point us to this one greater eternal reality. The Incarnation, the Paschal Mystery, the giving of the Holy Spirit, the Sacraments, and all else in the Church, only exist to prepare us for this final truth: the eternal truth of love.

I mediated on her spirit in those moments right after she died. I found myself in awe that she was going through a door that none of us has yet to go through. I wondered: what is it like my sister? Just as Jesus went to prepare a place for all of us, so she was now going before her family and friends to make ready a place for them in Christ. Through my own personal grief and sorrow, I could not help being a little envious.

This article was part of a 20-week series originally published in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette newspaper between July 14 and November 24, 2001