Pastor’s Desk ~ January 21, 2024

       Those of us familiar with the old catechisms and Catholic tradition remember the Corporal Works of Mercy, the Spiritual Works of Mercy, etc. These were a (largely scriptural) Catholic response to the Reformation/Counter-Reformation controversy regarding faith v. works. One of the Corporal Works of Mercy is “burying the dead.” Often enough, after Christmas and New Year’s, there is a surge in funerals and memorial liturgies. Part may be due to the cold, wet weather and – who knows? — part may be due to a post-holiday letdown.

       Very recently, I conducted a rosary chapel service which, despite the inherent sadness, was full of life. It was one of the largest I’ve ever conducted in a funeral home. There were four generations of mourners, from great-grandparents to infants, crammed into the chapel area, out the front door, and up the hallways to the offices and conference rooms. As I led the first half of the rosary prayers, in traditional call-and-response fashion, the response was resounding from all but the youngest of those present. Even in the sadness, the strength and conviction of the response from the

mourners was deeply moving. Anyone who thinks that the rosary is repetitive and boring has never experienced it as a communal prayer and meditation. The responses washed over the chapel and all those present in waves of prayer. The rosary, when prayed reflectively, always takes you somewhere.

       By contrast, many years ago I was asked to lead a rosary for an elderly woman who, with her husband, formed an active and sociable couple in the parish. Lovely people who had no children. At some point, they attended less frequently, and then disappeared altogether from Sunday Masses, due to declining health. First, the husband passed on, and then his wife. By the time the wife died, many of their friends had either gone before them, or were dealing with the infirmities of old age.

       When I arrived at the funeral home to lead the rosary, the chapel was empty. Just before I began the prayers by myself, a parishioner who had known her, though not well, appeared dressed to the nines. She told me she came because she was afraid that no one else would attend, and she couldn’t bear the thought. The two of us did the full vigil service, including the rosary, just as if there had been an overflow crowd. That was also a moving experience for me, one I will never forget.