Sorrow

It's easy to speak about sorrow in abstract terms. It's easy to give cheap advice on how we can just "cheer up." When we face reality, though, we are easily broken. Our confidence turns to confusion. Our smugness turns to heart-wrenching.

I just got done serving Mass. Three days before Christmas, a local family was driving out of town to visit family on the East Coast. Just about thirty minutes away from here, they got in a car accident. In the car was a mother, who was driving, and several children. Her thirteen year old son died. Today was his funeral Mass.

Going into the Mass I had heard several things. I knew the young man was from a divorced family, and I heard that his father was an atheist. When I vested for Mass and stood in the doorway, this young man's death hit me hard. Before Mass some of his relatives were talking about their memories of him. His sister was crying as she spoke. She was limping, too, because she was in the accident. As I saw the older sister cry, then his younger brothers cry, then his mother, I thought to myself, "God, this isn't supposed to happen! This isn't supposed to happen!"

In his homily the priest spoke about how we all came to church to ask God one question, "Why?" But there is no answer to that question. We aren't permitted to know why God allowed it to happen.

I just thought I'd share this sorrowful part of my day with you, as a reflection that we shouldn't take the life God has given us for granted. That a young man who is just beginning to know who he is and what his place in life is should die for no reason isn't fair. It's sad. It's very sad. But, maybe instead of asking ourselves, "Why did God allow him to die?" we should rather ask ourselves, "Why has God allowed me to live to this day?"

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord.
And let everlasting light shine upon him.