Being Present

Vig-il - noun; ecclesiastical a devotional watching, or keeping awake, during the customary hours of sleep. 

In my ministry as a deacon I am rarely called upon to preside over a funeral liturgy, though in my seven years of service there has been one time that I did so, and a few times more where I have assisted a priest at a funeral. However, it is common that in the course of a year I will inevitably preside at a funeral vigil on several occasions.

Typically I will get a call to provide a vigil service for a stranger who happened to reside within the parish boundary. On other occasions I will preside where the deceased was a parishioner but was someone with whom I was not acquainted.

My ordinary, and admittedly sometimes somber, service of prayer and word usually concludes with an invitation for those present to spend some time with one another, and perhaps to share their memories from the podium. Meanwhile I offer my condolences to the immediate family and then exit quietly.

I recall years ago, while studying for pastoral ministry, I heard something about being present. Sometimes, I learned, the best thing we can offer is simply to be present: I interpreted it as meaning to be there when needed. However, this being present isn't as easy as it may seem, and it goes far beyond just being there physically. In ministry being present to others can be extraordinarily difficult, for it takes a meshing of hearts. Without the help of the Holy Spirit, being truly present to someone in time of great need might be next to impossible.

Recently I received a last minute request to take time from a busy weekend and provide a Sunday evening vigil for a recently deceased member of the parish. Once again, it was someone whom I had not known well personally. I had actually never met the family. Something important that they wanted was their own opportunity to speak on behalf of their father and friend when I concluded the rite. My original intention was to depart as soon as my part was finished. It seemed like it was going to be a typical vigil service.

However, ministry is something that sometimes requires us to wait for a while when we don't expect it. In a way that surpasses any reasons I can give, I decided not to leave after the final amen of the vigil rite. I sat and listened to the recorded music—there were three pieces, popular and sentimental—and then I waited while friends, grandchildren, and a daughter shared a little of their own hearts.

Something came to me at this vigil. I let the Spirit have its way. I slowed down and tried being vigilant, just as in my homily I had invited friends and family to be vigilant. I felt a blessing just waiting; just listening—not necessarily saying anything but being present instead.

When everyone had finished saying their farewells I was invited to say a final prayer. I closed my eyes and waited a moment… the words were not written on a paper in front of me, rather I let them come from my heart, and the tone was much less somber. I prayed words of gratitude—for the gift of life, of family, and of friendship. In my heart of hearts I prayed a secret prayer of thanksgiving to the Holy Spirit for teaching me a lesson on being vigilant, and most importantly, one on being present.

Comments

[Gabrielle]

How beautiful, dd; it will be a treasured memory for the family as well as for you. This is generosity of spirit. The more one pours out, the more one receives.

[JustMe]

Amen, DDW, and amen, G. I think a somberness is fine in any church service, most especially in the fragile face of grieving, when some may be in a state of shock. It is mysterious ground tread upon then, and solid commemoration to acknowledge the Personalness in that is welcomed even when we can't articulate so. Even 'though we ultimately expect a butterfly from a seemingly lifeless chrysalis, we can't go into or beyond that shroud. That is where our feet must stop.. but not God's.

Back when my mom was dying, the unexpected judgmental conversation and impatience of the priest as we waited for her to come out of the bathroom to receive Viaticum was one more wound for me suffered for two. It was even harder, now, to forewarn him that she had vomited about an hour before that.. I wished Fr. Kelly had still been around, but the important thing was the sacrament, and then later, the Mass.

Come the day we gathered round her now covered in a seemingly different yet same linen of her baptism, I was heartened to see that some other priest would send her off--the regular one had been suddenly called away. Only later did I realize what the Lord had done for us. Only later did I realize that this priest from a friary was in bare-footed sandals, and with his close-shaved head and glasses, had looked much like Fr. Max Kolbe. All these solaces! He didn't know her, either, but He knew God and knew God's heart for her, and her life was sweetly solemnized; hence, when he spoke to me later, he could've recited the alphabet, and I'd not have heard anything but Love, and would have felt Love Itself's hand on my arm as he spoke. Those little things, the things of presence, oh yes, matter very much.