This evening we gather together, people of many faith traditions, but united in our prayer for the people of Haiti in this time of their grief and suffering.
It is an ancient tradition of many Christians to pray for the repose of the souls of those who have died, and to see in the wall of death a gateway to another dimension of life, to another and more glorious portion of the vineyard of the Lord. Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls, and the souls of all of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
All of us join in prayer for our many brothers and sisters in Haiti who mourn the sudden and violent loss of those whom they love. We pray that God will strengthen and console them in this time of sorrow, and our own prayers, and those of so many people throughout the world, reach out to them in the solidarity of love. Times of great suffering such as this call for a simple union of prayer that is deeper than mere human words.
Like the friends of Job in his affliction, we act most compassionately when we silently seek to be at one in heart and mind with those who suffer. This is what compassion means: to suffer with another, and this is what we are called to do in each experience of grief which we share during our journey through this life. When the grief is so great, and the suffering so vast, the call for simple compassionate prayer is all the greater. This evening we come together in such prayer.
II: A Time for Wisdom: Lord, Teach me the Shortness of Life, That I may gain Wisdom of Heart
This time of grief and of solidarity in prayer should also be for all of us an occasion to grow in holy wisdom as we reflect upon the significance of this great catastrophe, and seek to discover what light it can shed in our own lives, so that we in our own situation might live more justly, and with greater love. Any experience of the death of a person we know and love, and certainly any massive disaster in which so many die, surely reminds us of the fragility of life in this world, and the brevity of our earthly journey.
A monk stood before the King in ancient England, as a small bird flew in through the window from the dark night outside the hall and, after briefly passing through the brightly lit chamber, flew out the window on the other side. Such, said the monk, is our passage through this world. And so it is. We need to learn from that. As the ancient psalmist said: “Lord, make us know the shortness of our life, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” (Psalm 90:12).
We need such wisdom, especially we who live in the cocoon of technology, bewitched by the illusion that we are in control of life. Like the captain of the Titanic, we can rush ahead, too confident in our machinery. But this world is immensely dangerous, with natural forces we only imagine that we control, and our passage through this life is short.
The death of a friend or relative breaks in upon our dream of earthly security, and so too does the news of great natural disasters, such as the tsunami a few years ago, or the more recent earthquake in Aquila, or the hurricane that destroyed New Orleans, or the terrible earthquake in Haiti, which has caused such misery. We need to ponder the fragility of earthly life, whether death or suffering comes through disease, or through the violence born of human iniquity, or through the sudden terror of natural disaster. We know that so often times of catastrophe bring forth in some what is most noble in the human spirit, and in others what is most vile.
From that, too, we can learn. Lord, teach me the shortness of life, that I may gain wisdom of heart. Knowing that at any unexpected moment I may come suddenly to the end of this earthly pilgrimage, may I live each moment generously and with integrity, loving God and serving neighbour. This life is, after all, like a runway that is only the first stage of the flight home. It may be relatively long or short, by our human reckoning, but it is never more than a brief instant in comparison with what lies ahead once we “let slip the surly bonds of earth.”
The brevity or the apparently long length of earthly life, by human reckoning, never has any relationship to the quality of life that matters, that which is measured by love and not by years. I often think of two great and saintly women: Mother Theresa of Calcutta lived to an advanced old age, and Saint Therese of Lisieux was struck down by disease when in her early twenties, and died. Both are great saints, because whether granted a few years or many, by human reckoning, both filled every precious day with practical love for others, and so should each of us.
Lord, teach us the shortness of life, that we may gain the wisdom of heart to treasure every day as an occasion to treat each person we meet with the reverence that is due to a child of God, and to find in the sacrament of the present moment the focus of a generous life of service.
If we do that, then we will truly be alive, and will escape what the Apocalypse calls “the second death”, which can begin on this earth, and which consists in the extinction of generous love in a heart ruled by the ego. The ancient Christian writing, the Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, or Didache, begins with words that put the choice before us: “There are two ways, the way to death and the way to life, and there is a great difference between them.”
III: A Time for Action: Seeing the Face of Christ in Those who Suffer
We live wisely, and are fully alive, during our brief earthly pilgrimage through this valley of tears when we act daily with practical love, seeing in each person the face of Jesus. Thus will we spend wisely our scant treasury of time. In the vision of the last judgment which was read this evening, from the twenty fifth chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus speaks of those who are hungry, and thirsty, and naked, and in prison, and of those who are sick, or who are strangers in need of welcome.
Such are the sufferings of this life, and Jesus speaks of them just before we hear of his own torture and violent execution at the age of thirty three. He did not cling to his divinity, but entered into this world of suffering, himself experiencing the pain of death, even death on a cross, and calling upon each of us to recognize his face in those who suffer, and to act accordingly.
We do this now as we seek in as effective a way as possible to bring practical aid to the people of Haiti. Each of our religious communities is engaged in raising money to help, and we will have the opportunity this evening to contribute to that cause. In the suffering people of Haiti, struggling after the great earthquake, we see the face of Christ, and we need to respond.
We gather this evening a few metres away from the graves of hundreds of Irish refugees from famine, a natural disaster made worse by human failure to deal with it, who died in the terrible summer of 1847. Go to Ireland Park to read the names of the victims, each one a precious child of God, called by name, and to see evocative statues that convey their misery.
Our ancestors in faith reached out to help them in those terrible days. At a time when religious tensions were often destructive, Catholics and Anglicans, and people of other faiths, led by their spiritual leaders, united in sacrificial love for the afflicted, and some gave their lives in acting on their conviction that it was the face of Jesus that they could see in each suffering victim. Our ancestors in faith set a standard of love which we should never forget, and which we must emulate.
We can do so now by reaching out to assist the people of Haiti in any way we can. But we do not need to look far away to find occasions for filling the brief moments of our earthly journey with acts of loving service. In our own city, not far away at all, we can too easily find those who are hungry, and thirsty, and naked, and in prison, and of those who are sick, or who are strangers in need of welcome. In each person, if we will only open our eyes, we see the face of Jesus. We do not seek him only in far off places, for he is close at hand. All of our religious communities are deeply engaged in caring for those in our society who are most vulnerable. We need together to increase that engagement.
Life is short. None of us has much time, and none of us knows the day or the hour when we will be called to account for how we have used the precious moments entrusted by God to our stewardship. The experience of the fact of death, as at this time of great natural calamity, shatters our illusions of security and indulgent self-sufficiency. Lord, teach us the shortness of life, that we may gain wisdom of heart, and that we may not waste the gift of time through the ultimate death that is found in the gratification of ego, but be fully alive by filling each moment with the generous service of others.
In the sacristy of St Michael’s Cathedral there is a sign that says: “Priest of God, celebrate this Mass as if it were your first Mass, as if it were your last Mass, as if it were your only Mass.” It is intended to focus the attention of the priest on the sacredness of what he is doing, something so easily forgotten when repetition becomes routine, and consciousness is dulled.
We can so easily take for granted those realities which are most important, but which are so close at hand that we do not see them. We miss the many splendoured thing that lies before us, in the hidden presence of God, or in the personal dignity of each of our brothers and sisters.
When we reflect upon the brevity of this life, as we are forced to do when confronted with the harsh fact of death, we would each benefit from a sign within our minds, exhorting each of us to live to the full as God invites us to do, through reverence for each person, whom we receive as Christ, and through filling each day with the practical love which will reveal the authenticity of our faith: “Child of God, live this day as if it were your first day, as if it were your last day, as if it were your only day.”
Photos: Reuters, CNN
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