Funeral Envy

Throughout my life, whenever someone has hurt or rejected me, I get even by fantasizing about my future funeral.  I picture scads of people talking about how much they love me and how wonderful I am, and there is the offending party in deep anguish, saying, "If only I had been nicer to her when she was alive!  If only she were here so I could tell her how much I love her and how sorry I am for having hurt her!"  It's my imaginary way of building up my wounded pride, I suppose, and I admit that I take more than a bit of comfort from it.  It's definitely a self-esteem booster.

But in reality, I really do have the perfect funeral planned out in my mind.  When I die, I want Roses for Our Lady to lead the congregation in the rosary right before the Mass.  Panis Angelicus, Ave Maria, and Pie Jesu have to be sung.  And years ago I made up my mind that I want three priests to concelebrate and they must all cry because when my aunt Monica died three priests all cried for her at her funeral.  I thought that was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

With each funeral that I attend, I add or subtract another element from my dream funeral. 

A few weeks ago I attended the funeral of Mary Ann Kitzke, the mother of  Fr. Tim Kitzke. Clearly,  Mary Ann was a warm and loving woman of strong faith who did much good in this world.  There were one thousand people, two bishops and 40 priests in attendance, all praying fervently.  It put my three priest dream right to shame, although I'm not sure that any of the forty priests were actually crying.  The funeral choir was outstanding, with all three of my required funeral songs perfectly performed.  I cannot fathom how a priest is able to say the funeral Mass for his own mother, but Fr. Tim was well composed, sharing humorous stories that he fondly recalled about his mother and his family life.  At the final commendation,  Archbishop Listecki mentioned that each priest present at the funeral represented a Mass offered on behalf of Mary Ann's soul.  I left that funeral thinking about how much I want to be the mother of a priest!  How I would love to know that there would be 40 Masses offered for my soul upon my death, all by priests who knew me personally.  And I am certain that my soul will need those Masses with all of the sinful spiritual avarice and funeral envy that dwells within  it!  It looks like I'm going to need a lot of help in getting to heaven!

Then I thought about my own parent's funerals, both lovely Masses, with lots of prayer and the rosary, and a delightful luncheon, but only one priest present at each.  Both of my parents, Elmer and Mary, were holy and prayerful people.  They had pre-planned most of the details of their funerals well in advance.  But most important to both of them was that there would be lots of Masses prayed for their souls after their death.  They knew that a period of purgation was inevitable before they could rest eternally in heavenly joy and peace, and they further knew that it would take a lot of prayer to help them get there.

And so ultimately, based on the example of my parents,  I know that whether I have one, three or forty priests at my funeral, whether the Ave Maria is sung off-key or Pie Jesu is omitted, whether anyone laughs or cries, whether I'm laid to rest in a mahogany casket or a cardboard box, all that really matters is that my family and friends who know and love me, band together to pray my soul from purgatory to heaven, offering Masses and rosaries as well as the joys and sorrows of their everyday lives.  With that promise of prayer I will have the richest funeral of all.  And to that end, why wait until I'm dead to ask for prayer for my soul?  Why not begin right now?  Here's a beautiful prayer for a good death.  Let's pray it together!

Eternal rest grant unto Mary Ann Kitzke, Monica Geiger, and Elmer and Mary Reindl, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May their souls, and all of the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

For a Good Death

O most merciful Jesus, I praise and thank Thee for Thy most bitter death, and I beseech Thee, by Thy death and by the breaking of Thy Heart, to grant me a happy death. When my soul leaves my body, may it be immediately delivered from all sin, set free from all debt, and mercifully received into eternal joy. I know, O Lord, that I ask of Thee a very great favour, and a sinner like me ought not to presume to ask it; but it is as easy to Thy goodness to forgive few or many sins. It is not, indeed, our merits, but Thy infinite mercy that procures for us even the least share of heavenly beatitude. In order to be made worthy and fit to receive this favour, grant, O good Lord, that I may now truly and completely die to the world and to myself. From this time forth, may all appear to me worthless that is not Thee. May nothing interest me but Thee alone. For Thy sake may I look on everything with contempt, and may I rejoice when I am despised for Thee. O good Jesus, may I ever be wounded with Thy most pure and fervent love; may all that is not Thee be bitter to me, and may all that is pleasing to Thee become dear to me. Be Thou, my Lord and God, dearer to me than all besides, or rather, be Thou truly all in all to me." 

~Dom John of Torralba, Ancient Devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus

Open Up the Roof

"Unable to get near Jesus because of the crowd, they opened up the roof above him." ~Mark 2:4
















Each day as I spend a few early morning moments in prayer with the daily readings before I attend Mass, I pick out one line to reflect upon throughout the day. Some days that line becomes more meaningful to me than others and the words of scripture with which I have prayed come back frequently as a gentle reminder of God's presence in my life. Yesterday's gospel reading from Mark contained one line, "open up the roof" that seemed to make a particular impact upon me.

My weekends are usually unbelievably busy and this weekend in particular was exceptionally packed with activity. Within our family schedule we had seven basketball games which included my required 8 volunteer hours in the concession stand all to be managed around the weekend work schedules of my husband and I and our three oldest sons and our son Justin's Confirmation retreat, a funeral,a birthday party and the seasonal chore of snow removal. Sometimes it is really difficult to get everyone where they need to be when we are scattered into so many places at once and even with four drivers in the house we still only have two cars so our busy weekends end up being a combination of divide/carpool/conquer!

And somehow, in the midst of all that chaos, I was able to open my roof and allow God to find his way in and to make a profound impact on my life.

On Friday afternoon I raced from work to the funeral of Pat Jakus, a friend of mine from Roses for Our Lady. Pat was such a beautifully holy and energetic woman who always gave her all for God and even the way she died was a testimony to the joys that God offers to those who love Him. Pat was a lector at her parish and last week while offering her service as a lector during a funeral Mass at her parish, she proclaimed this beautiful passage:

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." ~Romans 8:38

Then she looked over to the priest, offered a big smile, and as she proceeded to climb the steps to the choir loft she suddenly felt tired and out of breath. She sat on the bottom step, rested her head against the wall and died while the choir was singing "Alleluia."

What a beautiful way for Pat, or for anyone, to die! Clearly Pat lived her life with her roof wide open and so even in her death it was easy for Jesus to find His way into her heart.

Later that night, with thoughts of Pat and the funeral still working through my mind and heart, I was serving up hot dogs and popcorn at my son Jack's basketball game while two teams were battling it out on the court. The sounds of shoes squeaking, fans cheering and coaches calling out plays were ringing through the air. The plays that the coaches call are usually the names of college basketball teams, but at one point I was sure I heard a coach call out "God's will!" Maybe it was just my over-tired imagination having it's way with me at the end of a long day but I thought whether or not that was actually what the coach said, "God's will" would be the perfect name of a play for shouldn't we all plan out every action of our lives with God's will as the ultimate playbook behind our movements? And so the words that I imagined the coach to say became a reminder to me to keep my roof open at all times to allow the will of God to reach me.

I was feeling a bit of sorrow that I wasn't able to convince my boss to let me have Saturday morning off from work because there was a big pro-life rally planned in our Archdiocese and I had really wanted to attend, as if I didn't already have enough going on this weekend! So when I awoke on Saturday morning and opened my email, I found a message from our local 40 Days for Life leader inviting early arrivals to come pray at the abortion mill as there was word that a 14 year-old-girl might be coming for an abortion today. I wanted to open my roof and respond.

My oldest son John was my designated car-pool ride to work, so he and I left home early so that we could spend some time praying at the abortion mill before I would have to leave for work. We arrived at the abortuary at 7:15 AM dressed for the arctic tundra as the temperature was only 16 degrees outside. (Hard to believe that it had been an unseasonably 60 degrees just a few days before!) When we arrived we were the only ones at the clinic but we were soon joined by a woman and three men holding signs. Just before we left, three clinic employees arrived ready to begin the work of death. All morning while at work, my heart remained in those frigid temperatures outside the abortion clinic praying for that young, pregnant girl and all of those affected by abortion including those three employees who seemed so cheerful about beginning their work day. And I prayed, "Dear God, open the roof of the hearts of the abortion mill employees and those seeking an abortion to allow the light of Your love and truth to enter in!"

It seems so strange to consider the differing locations of a beautiful funeral, a rowdy basketball game and a desolate place of death as places where God's will can be heard and acted upon equally and yet this weekend I found it to be very true that it really doesn't matter where we are or what we are doing, if there is joy and love in our hearts and a desire to please the Lord, He will always have His way with us and it is His will that will be accomplished in all things and all ways if we only open our roofs to allow it.

And When I Die

"And when I die, and when I'm gone, there'll be one child born in this world to carry on, to carry on." ~Blood, Sweat and Tears

No visit to my hometown would be complete without a visit to my parent's grave site in Evergreen Cemetery. The highlight for my kids is in finding the trees the grow in the middle of the road in the shaded and well-cared for burial grounds. (Who plants a tree in the middle of the road?) The highlight for me is the opportunity to share memories of my parents with my children and to gather around their headstone in family prayer.

Visiting the cemetery always prompts Paul and I to talk about what types of funerals we might like to have when our time comes to pass and how we would like to be remembered. Paul is always sure to make a somber discussion into something joyful by making the family laugh as he talks about his desire for extravagant coffins and huge gravestones with life-size statues beside them. That is so not Paul!

I can never quite understand the need to show off once we're dead; does it really matter that a body without life is surrounded by silk in the finest mahogany casket only to be placed six feet below the ground where it will rapidly decay? I heard about "green" funerals not too long ago and I've decided that I want to be "green" when I'm dead. I tell the kids to bury me in a cardboard box out in the woods somewhere and whenever they miss me, they can just go for a walk in the woods to remember and pray for me.

Paul again, forever the lighthearted one, tells the kids to gather six banana boxes from the Aldi grocery store, line them up side by side, and just put me in there. It sounds strange and makes me laugh to think of it, but actually, it's quite fitting as those sturdy boxes are practically a symbol of my life! You see, my father worked at Weyerhauser Box Factory for many years and he had a fondness for boxes. I swear we had a whole room in our basement that was filled with boxes in which he organized everything from important files to my family's childhood toys. And he always brought his groceries home in a recycled cardboard box instead of a paper or plastic bag. He was "green" long before it was fashionable to be so.

Well, you know the saying, like father, like daughter, or the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, or should I say banana? Banana boxes are my favorite means of carrying home the family groceries from the Aldi Store each week as I always lug four banana boxes from my basement to the store, fill them with nutritious foods and lug them back home. They are useful for so many other carrying jobs as well, that it's not unusual to find me carrying a banana box filled with prayer books, donation baskets and rosaries to a Roses for Our Lady Holy Hour, or setting them out for the Salvation Army Thrift Store Pick Up Truck filled with the families discarded clothing! It makes sense that the boxes that are filled with so many symbols of my life would make a suitable container for my body as it leaves this world.

But as for the funeral Mass on the other hand, that's where my desires do become extravagant. My aunt Monica was the holiest woman I have ever known. She single-handedly and joyfully raised thirteen children and ran a farm by herself after her husband suddenly died when the youngest child was still a baby. She was a lay Carmelite, active in her parish, prayed outside of abortion clinics, and kept a weekly holy hour(her kids would tease her and say "Mom, we think you're just going to a happy hour each week," to which she would reply, "Child, when I'm keeping my holy hour, I am happy!") Monica was a daily Mass attendee and frequent world traveler in her later years. She died while leaving daily Mass on one of her travels. What a beautiful way to go, having just received the Body of Christ in Holy Communion and then immediately enter into eternal communion with the Lord!

At Monica's funeral the church was packed with over 400 people who stayed in the church for nearly three hours to share the stories of her life. There were three priests who officiated and every one of them was crying. It was a beautiful and holy occasion celebrating the life of a beautiful and holy woman.

And that is how I hope to leave this earth as well; lovingly remembered at a large funeral Mass with family, friends and at least three priests who all cry for me, and then bury me in six banana boxes in the woods, preferably near Lake Michigan where my remains will always be near the glistening water and the sparkling sea glass. Then, each time my family misses me, they only need to go for a walk in the woods near the lake and search for sea glass while they pray. My spirit will always be there.



For a Good Death

O most merciful Jesus, I praise and thank Thee for Thy most bitter death, and I beseech Thee, by Thy death and by the breaking of Thy Heart, to grant me a happy death. When my soul leaves my body, may it be immediately delivered from all sin, set free from all debt, and mercifully received into eternal joy. I know, O Lord, that I ask of Thee a very great favour, and a sinner like me ought not to presume to ask it; but it is as easy to Thy goodness to forgive few or many sins. It is not, indeed, our merits, but Thy infinite mercy that procures for us even the least share of heavenly beatitude. In order to be made worthy and fit to receive this favour, grant, O good Lord, that I may now truly and completely die to the world and to myself. From this time forth, may all appear to me worthless that is not Thee. May nothing interest me but Thee alone. For Thy sake may I look on everything with contempt, and may I rejoice when I am despised for Thee. O good Jesus, may I ever be wounded with Thy most pure and fervent love; may all that is not Thee be bitter to me, and may all that is pleasing to Thee become dear to me. Be Thou, my Lord and God, dearer to me than all besides, or rather, be Thou truly all in all to me." ~Dom John of Torralba, Ancient Devotions to the Sacred Heart of Jesus

Eulogy

driving home under
a blue sky,
blue with angel wing clouds
and Funeral for a Friend
on the radio, remembering the day...

church filled with red and white roses
brought to every funeral by my Godfather
a reminder of His blood shed to make us pure

prayers and memories offered for a man who
couldn't remember anymore
final years spent in the childlike
oblivion of Alzheimer's disease

long-forgotten relatives
shyly work to carry on a
conversation, struggling
to remember one another

"Ah, you're a Reindl"
I'm told again and again
family of origin features
prominently on my face
but no one remembers which
one of the nine I am, exactly,
just a vaguely familiar
face in the crowd

kolaches on the dessert table
in honor of the now-deceased aunt
who always made them
the warm, loving and holy woman
widowed young with the passing of her husband
while child thirteen was still a babe

nearly 500 crammed into the church
for her funeral back then with
Mass lasting over three hours
containing many loving, tearful memories
and three priests all crying
for the loss of her life

I make kolaches, too-
will I be remembered with
hours of tears and stories
when my time comes to pass from this life?
Will three priests cry for me
when I'm gone?

"She must have been a Reindl-
now tell me which one."
and some will answer,
"You know, the baby of the family,
the one who made kolaches."

But what does it matter whether or not
his memories were stolen by a disease
or she is lovingly remembered by many
or I am only remembered by my place in the
family line and my baking skills?

for the Father in heaven
holds all of us together
in the palm of His hand
and He will never forget...
not one little cell in our body
goes unnoticed
not one hair on our head is
uncounted

I am known
I am known
and will always be
remembered
for who I am
and for what I've done...
to my Father in heaven
I am known