from the bishop

by Bishop Francis I Malone, Diocese of Shreveport

THE PARISH CHURCH WHERE I WAS BAPTIZED WAS NOT ONLY THE CHURCH OF MY YOUTH, BUT ALSO WHERE I RECEIVED ALL OF MY SACRAMENTS, INCLUDING WHERE I WAS ORDAINED A PRIEST. Between my baptism and ordination, it was also the place where I spent a good deal of time as an altar server. I was drawn there more times than I can count, but the memories of that parish Church placed an indelible mark on my life. One of the many times I went there was to serve at Mass, not only daily and Sunday Masses, but weddings, and funerals. Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary was her name, and generations of my family called her our spiritual home. Looking back, I think the frequency of serving at funerals marked most of my visits there…you see, the population of the membership was close to ten thousand parishioners, and in addition to plenty of baptisms, there were plenty of funerals. To be honest, it was not just the beauty of the funeral Masses that drew me there, but the added blessing of getting out of school that made funerals so attractive. I still remember so much about the funeral Mass. It was in Latin, the priests wore black vestments, the Scriptures and the hymns were also in Latin. By the time I had reached eighth grade, I think I could have celebrated that Mass by memory.

Of course, with the liturgical reforms of Vatican II, all of that changed. Vestments were now white, the Latin was gone, and I remember how much I missed the solemnity of the service. There were those who welcomed the changes, saying that it was time the Church emphasize the resurrection over the reality of death, and while I love the way we celebrate the Mass of Christian Burial today, I think there were some who mistook the funeral Mass of former years as being too somber. In reality, if you were to go back and look at the Roman Missal that was used in former days (I have one of those by the way), the message was then, as it is today, an emphasis on Jesus, the Resurrection, and the Life. Years passed when I was able to understand (or translate) the meaning of the Latin words that were used so many years ago, and was surprised that so much of what was done in a language we did not

speak, was uplifting, like Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians, and the Gospel story of the raising of Lazarus, preceded by the dialogue between Jesus and Martha, Lazarus’ sister. I can still hear the deacon singing from that chapter of John, “Ego sum resurrectio et vita,” “I am the resurrection and the life.” When I celebrate a funeral now as a priest, I am always drawn to the presence of the Paschal Candle standing near the casket – in much the same way it did generations ago. That candle – that light – represents Jesus Himself, calling us out of darkness into the light of eternal life. The smell of the incense and the visible sign of its smoke rising to the rafters of the Church today – as then, represent our prayers rising up to the Lord for the one who has died, and symbolize what we pray about in the psalms, “Lord let my prayers rise up to You like incense.”

At my last parish assignment in Arkansas, there were five women who attended every funeral, whether they knew the deceased or not – telling me that they wanted to make sure there was always someone there to pray for the dead, a visible sign of the work of mercy.

And as we find ourselves praying through the month of November, a month liturgically and spiritually dedicated to lifting up our beloved dead, we should recall the words of St. Paul who reminds us that “we do not mourn like those who have no hope.” We have a wonderful tradition as Christians to visit cemeteries – not to continue an endless time of mourning, but to remember that like those who have gone before us, we too shall rise from the graves –and that cemeteries are sacred, beautiful places where so many of our saintly relatives and friends who have gone before us await the day of resurrection. Be mindful, dear brothers and sisters, that what we do as Catholics when one of our own pass from this life to the next, is a sign of our own hope that our prayers for them are the same ones we pray will be lifted up for us when that time, our time, has come. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen