REAGAN VOETBERG

At a Catholic Bible study I used to attend in my hometown we were discussing the scripture readings for the following Sunday when the topic of prayer for the dead came up. The priest told us that most Protestant Christians do not pray for the dead.

Many in the room were shocked to hear that. I was not.

I had converted just a couple months before that from Protestant Christianity. I once thought it shocking that Catholics pray for the dead–what did the dead need prayer for? The souls of the dead were in one place or the other depending on whether they had accepted Jesus or not. Praying couldn’t change the fates that had already been decided through their earthly lives.

That thinking of heaven and hell in such black and white terms leaves a lot of questions unanswered. For instance, what happens if a baby dies before they can consciously accept Jesus? Or what of the fate of isolated tribes that have never heard of Jesus, that are never given the chance to accept him?

On the other hand, it gives a great amount of comfort to Christian families whose relatives die professing Christ. That is a comfort that now is difficult for me to accept as a Catholic Christian.

When my Papa died in August, my family was assured that he was in heaven. He was a believer to his last breath.

While I couldn’t be sure that he had entered the pearly gates, I had reason to hope. The Catholic Church teaches that we cannot assume salvation. A person that sincerely repents of their sins, accepts the Lord’s mercy, and dies in a state of grace will go to heaven or purgatory.

Purgatory could be described as the ladder to heaven. Anyone on the ladder will make it to heaven eventually, but they need some extra time for their souls to be purified. The ladder goes no farther down than the ground. It cannot take you lower.

What strikes me most about the Catholic belief of salvation is its dependence on the Lord’s mercy. We may not have an answer for what happens to a person who’s never heard of Jesus, but we do know that we can depend on God to be merciful and just.

While I give up the comfort and assurance that Papa is in heaven, I gain something beautiful. I get to pray for him, and if he is before our Lord in heaven as I write this, I know he is praying for me. Our relationship does not end while we exist on either side of the veil.

I kept my thoughts to myself while my family and I grieved Papa’s loss. An argument about theology would certainly not have helped matters, although I wished I had someone to confide in the burden I felt praying for his soul.

The last time I saw Papa was about two weeks before he passed away in hospice. I went to see him on my own before driving back to Alpena after a weekend downstate. My mom told me that most likely he would be sleeping and wouldn’t be able to talk, as if that was the reason I wanted to see him.

I didn’t mind if he was asleep, in fact, I almost preferred that. I wanted to sit beside him and pray and let the experience of death wash over me in the quiet.

When my dad first told me Papa was in hospice, I did not rage against it, praying for him to live. I could see that he had lived a long, full life, and it was time to let go. From that moment I prayed for a peaceful death, and that as he became unresponsive the Lord would sanctify him even in his dreams.

The Lord turned a grave into a garden, allowing me to recognize his mercy in the sorrow of death.

Not so many months later, I found myself at another grave.

I met Michelyn last April at the Light of the World retreat that All Saints puts on about once a year. Michelyn was my small group leader.

We found out we lived across the street from each other. She told me I could come over any time, and if I never needed anything to just ask. I didn’t accept those offers as many times as I wish I had.

The last time I spoke to Michelyn, I told her that I had broken up with a guy I’d been dating for close to two months. She said to me, “Well, now I have to pray for your vocation!”

Even though she was the one ill and in need of prayers, she thought to pray for me–and not just me, but everyone else in her life too.

In the midst of Lent, vocation and finding my future spouse have been a focus of my prayer. Grief over Michelyn’s death amplified the sorrow I felt being single. I longed for a companion to face the darkness with.

When she passed so suddenly, sooner than any of us expected, it shouldn’t have made sense, and yet it did to me. Her husband told us at the visitation that Mary was there when Michelyn passed, and that Father Aloysius said that “Mary does not escort people to purgatory.” As a priest he could not say with certainty that Michelyn was in heaven, but the signs pointed in that direction.

In his homily at her funeral mass the next day, Father Aloysius repeated that Michelyn had said “Don’t worry, Momma is here.” She always called Mary, Momma.

I am certain that Michelyn has far more important work to do in Heaven than she could do here on Earth–and that’s not to minimize the work she did on this side of the veil, and would have continued to do had she lived. The Lord took her home so she could continue to serve in an even greater capacity; he turned her grave into a garden and provided an intercessor to pray for my vocation, and for the intentions of all who knew her.

Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon Papa and Michelyn.