When Death Comes Early

Death in old age, whilst still leaving sorrow in its wake, seems reasonable. We reflect on lives well lived, a ‘good innings’ in cricketing terms. 

Sometimes though it seems to arrive too early. When a young person dies, when parents have to bury their child and there is an empty seat at the table; it is more difficult to process. 

I heard a story once about just such an incident where a 17 year old girl died. She was beautiful, clever, a joy to be around, loved by all, God-fearing and virtuous with what seemed a bright future ahead of her. But her life was snatched away in a heartbeat, in a fatal accident. 

Everyone was devastated by the loss, especially her mother. She was heartbroken and despite being a firm devout believer, she couldn’t let go. It is seldom that God answers the question ‘Why?’ 

In this instance though He gave her a rather wonderful favour and consolation. Her daughter visited her in a very vivid dream. She appeared to her more beautiful than ever before and told her that she was now with God. Then she explained to her the reason she had been taken so early. The time she died was the last point at which she would have gone to heaven. Had she lived beyond that time she would have taken decisions which would have led her down an entirely different path and her immortal soul would have been lost. This way she was saved and they would see each other again. 

This transformed the Mother’s view entirely; she could rejoice now in the knowledge that her daughter was safe, happy and that they would meet again. 

We don’t see as God sees; only He has the big picture and we can trust Him to deliver everything on time in our best interests as we are united to Him in life, in prayer, in surrender and in trust. If we can apply the same belief to our sometimes unanswered prayers, then we can avoid frustration and instead redirect any disappointments into thanksgiving for whatever disaster was averted and little by little our prayers will converge with His wishes and we can remain in the flow of His spirit.

 

 

My friends had one last request: Would I help them get to Heaven? (from Aleteia website)

 

How a "nudge" to take a walk at an odd time allowed the Holy Spirit to bring about something wonderful

The following is a true story. Ever since it happened it has been a part of me. It is a love story written by the hand of God Himself.

It was the spring of 2014. Ed and Cathy had been my neighbors for less than a year. They had met when Ed was 60 and Cathy was 40, and neither had ever been married. They fell in love, tied the knot and had just celebrating 25 years of wedded bliss.

However, there was a problem. Ed’s prostate cancer had returned and was destroying him quickly. Meanwhile, Cathy had been diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma. She told me about it when she had “maybe” six months to live. Being a prostate cancer survivor, myself, and as my first wife had died of melanoma, I was able to discuss their cancers openly with them. They knew I understood.

My daily routine usually starts around 5:00 a.m. with a one-hour walk. For some reason one Thursday, I felt nudged to take another walk in the heat of the later afternoon. Reluctantly, I obeyed it.

I headed down the street and there was Cathy, standing on her front lawn, supported by her walker. Realizing that she was fighting to hold herself up I hurried over, asking if everything was all right.

“I was waiting for you, Larry. I need to talk to you.”

I was dumbfounded. “I never walk at this time of day and you say you were waiting for me?”

“I just knew you were coming by. I can’t explain it.”

I had a chill run down my back. I leaned against her SUV as she leaned heavily on her walker. “You know Ed is dying, right?”

“Yes, Cathy, I know, he talked with me about it. And your prognosis? Any change?”

She smiled and looked me right in the eye. “They told me I only have a few weeks left.”

I tightened my lips, took a breath, and asked, “What can I do for you?”

They knew I was Catholic and an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion. Cathy asked me if I could bring a priest. She told me that they were non-practicing Catholics and had not been to church in years. It was time for them to “make things right with God.”

I promised to put in a call to Father as soon as I got home. Cathy thanked me saying “That’s why I was out here, waiting for you.”

As I slowly walked her back to the house, she spoke on of her husband — how she wished she could ease his suffering and how wonderful it might be if they could go for a bicycle ride just one more time. “I thank God for every moment we had together,” she said.

I checked in on Ed, and, as Cathy excused herself, we chatted for about ten minutes. Ed’s conversation was all about Cathy: how he wished he could ease her suffering and how God had been so good to him allowing him to find such a great woman to share his life with.

When God is present sometimes it is hard to breathe. I took a deep breath.

Once home, I called our newly ordained priest, Father Scott. He came over the next day and spent about an hour with Ed and Cathy. Ed and the young priest both had roots in Roanoke, Virginia, and talked and laughed and had a raucous good time together. Even though more than 50 years separated them, it didn’t matter. It was like they’d grown up together. It was beautiful.

Father heard their confessions, anointed both Ed and Cathy, and gave them Holy Communion. He told them he would come back the first chance he could, but with Holy Week coming up, he would be busy. They all hugged and said good-bye. That Palm Sunday I had the honor of bringing them Holy Communion.

Easter Sunday I was again privileged to bring Ed and Cathy Holy Communion. They were lying next to each other in bed, holding hands. Ed smiled and said, “Larry, we are so happy. This is the greatest Easter we ever had.”

He turned and looked at his wife, who was smiling lovingly at him. She reached over and wiped his wet, happy eyes. They stared into each other’s eyes and I thought they were seeing into each others very souls. It was a moment filled with a shared spirituality I had never seen before, or experienced, but I could actually feel it. I have no doubt that at that moment Jesus was there with them holding their hands in His.

Ed died the week after Easter. A week later Cathy moved into hospice. She lived another two weeks.

As for me, I thank God for their friendship and for being a part of their final journey. Sometimes I like to think that I took two people in love to the airport and watched them get on a plane for a a true flight to paradise.

The Mysterious Chambers of the Human Heart

My doctor informed me of a 'blip' on my ECG scan, picked up as part of a routine annual physical examination. I was reminded of a saying by the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius:- 'death stands at your elbow' and for a moment I could feel the grip of his icy fingers.

What followed was a series of heart tests to determine the problem. One in particular built on the incident and is only amusing with hindsight.

As I checked-in at the clinic for the treadmill stress test I was asked to sign a waiver, the gist of which was that if I died during the test that it wasn’t their fault and they would not be sued. Although they would make every effort to resuscitate me.

On entering the room the test was being conducted in, I observed little to offer any reassurance. There was an enormous treadmill, a bench; presumably to lay out the corpses of those who don’t complete the test and the menacing hum of a conveniently located defibrillator.

The only thing missing, as I later emerged undefeated, was a disappointed looking undertaker handing me his business card for the 'Happy Ending' funeral parlor and the quip, ‘see you later’.

Medieval art often contains a skull or skeleton to remind the viewer of death. And in a way it’s good to reflect on its inevitability so that our hearts are prepared for it by living lives of faith, adorned with works of mercy. Perhaps especially now in November, we have that chance to reach out to the Holy Souls through our prayers; they were once as we are, and we will soon be as they are …but not yet.

Purgatory, heaven & hell....a story from India

Set out below is an account of the experience of a priest who died and was shown Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. It is of course only his personal experience but there is nothing in it which is contrary to faith and I trust that some of you might find, as I did, that it was a warning and an encouragement.

On Sunday April 14, 1985, the Feast of the Divine Mercy, Fr Tom Maniyangat was going to celebrate Mass at a mission church in the north part of Kerala, and he had a fatal accident. He had a head on collision with a jeep. He was rushed to a hospital about 35 miles away but he died on the way.

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Fr Tom's soul left his body and he experienced death. He saw his body and the people who were carrying him to the hospital. He heard them crying and praying for him.He then met his Guardian angel. His angel said to him: "I am going to take you to Heaven, the Lord wants to meet you and talk with you." He also said that as part of that journey he wanted to show Fr Tom hell and purgatory. 

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This is how Fr Tom describes his visit to Hell and Purgatory Hell"First, the angel escorted me to hell. It was an awful sight! I saw Satan and the devils, an unquenchable fire ,worms crawling, people screaming and fighting, others being tortured by demons. I was told there are seven "degrees" or levels of suffering in the netherworld. Those who committed "mortal sin after mortal sin" in life were suffering the most intense heat. They had bodies and looked very ugly, so cruel and ugly, horrifying. They were human but like monsters: fearful, ugly-looking things. The angel told me that all these sufferings were due to unrepented mortal sins.Then, I understood that there are seven degrees of suffering or levels according to the number and kinds of mortal sins committed in their earthly lives. The souls looked very ugly, cruel and horrific. It was a fearful experience. I saw people whom I knew but I am not allowed to reveal their identities. The sins that convicted them were mainly abortion, homosexuality, sins of the flesh, euthanasia, hatefulness, lack of forgiveness and sacrilege.

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The angel told me that if they had repented they would have avoided hell and gone instead to purgatory. I also understood that some people who repent from these sins might be purified on earth through their sufferings. This way they can avoid purgatory and go straight to heaven. I was surprised when I saw in hell even Priests and Bishops, some of whom I never expected to see. Many of them were there because they had misled the people with false teaching and bad example.

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After the visit to hell, my Guardian angel escorted me to Purgatory. Here too, there are seven degrees of suffering and unquenchable fire. But it is far less intense than hell and there was neither quarreling nor fighting. The main suffering of these so is their separation from God. Some of those who are in Purgatory committed numerous mortal sins; but they were reconciled with God before their death. Even though these souls are suffering, they enjoy peace and the knowledge that one day they will see God face to face.I had a chance to communicate with the souls in Purgatory. They asked me to pray for them and to tell the people to pray for them as well, so they can go to heaven quickly. 

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When we pray for these souls we will receive their gratitude through their prayers and once they enter heaven their prayers become even more meritorious.

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Next, my angel escorted me to heaven passing through a big dazzling white tunnel. I never experienced this much peace and joy in my life. Then immediately the heaven opened up and I heard the most delightful music, which I never heard before. The angels were singing and praising God. I saw all the saints, especially the Blessed Mother and St. Joseph, and many dedicated holy Bishops and Priests who were shining like stars.

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And when I appeared before the Lord, Jesus told me: "I want you to go back to the world. In your second life you will be an instrument of peace and healing to my people. You will walk in a foreign land and you will speak in a foreign tongue. Everything is possible for you with my grace." After these words, the Blessed Mother told me, "Do whatever He tells you. [John 2:5] I will help you in your ministries."Words can not express the beauty of heaven. There we find so much peace and happiness, which exceed a million times our imagination. 

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Our Lord is far more beautiful than any image can convey. His face is radiant and luminous and more beautiful than a thousand rising suns. The pictures we see in the world are only a shadow of His magnificence. The Blessed Mother was next to Jesus; she was so beautiful and radiant. None of the images we see in this world can compare with her real beauty. Heaven is our real home: we are all created to reach heaven and enjoy God forever. 

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Back to Earth. 

As they were moving my dead body to the morgue, my soul came back to the body. I felt an excruciating pain because of so many wounds and broken bones. I began to scream and then the people became frightened and ran away screaming.One of them approached the doctor and said: "The dead body is screaming." The doctor came to examine the body and found that I was alive. So he said: "Father is alive. It is a miracle - take him back to the hospital."

Unlikely Evangelists

Evangelism by the laity is a recurring topic that always left me feeling a bit clueless as to what a practical application of it might look like. In one sense I was quite impressed by the way protestant churches approached this. They trained their congregations, had programs, strategies, were quite creative and yet what emerged was often cloned evangelists with stock rhetoric, there was something missing.

I discovered what it was when I worked for a chemical company years ago in the tea room on one of the plants I visited. One of the managers, who also had his tea break there, was very antagonistic towards God and the church and like many atheists and God-haters would deliver his anti-God sermons almost every day. It was clear that a conversation would be pointless so I prayed for him instead, sometimes out of pity, and other times out of annoyance. Month after month!

I was not the only player in the piece of theatre that was about to unfold though. The next was ‘the tobacco man’ who used to tour the plant selling pouches of tobacco smuggled in from Europe on the Lorries. His role was that he had a full forearm tattoo of the crucifixion scene. Each time he came in, the atheist winced as his eyes were inexplicably drawn to the cross.

One afternoon God fielded a ringer, the head chef of the canteen. A man with a volcanic temperament, made worse by a punitive financial settlement following a recent divorce which occupied his every waking moment. As the atheist began his daily rant against God I could sense that the chef was in no mood for it and without even delaying to put his teeth back in he declared “You ungrateful bastard; He died for your sins’

Whether or not there was silence in heaven, I don’t know; but there was in the tearoom. The atheist was glued to the spot, head bent over and visibly shaken. The chef put his teeth in and thought about his ex-wife. The tobacco man took a long drag on his roll-up and lowered his tattooed arm into position on his knee and the atheist looked into the image of his savior’s eyes without wincing this time.The gospel had been preached to him in its fullness, his own soul’s condition revealed to him like a violent lightning bolt, the sword of the Spirit had found its mark and his life would never be the same again.

God is always looking, always preparing, assembling teams of evangelists, creating a space to do His work and completing the task, often with people who are not religious at all, untrained, and even totally  unaware. He is the prime mover in evangelism.

Is hell real ? .. a story from the gates...

 

1. Is Hell Real...a story from the gates of Hell
   
   I gave my heart to the Lord April 22, 1933 at 7:40 p.m. in Texas. Earlier that evening, my heart had stopped beating and the spiritual man who lives in my body had departed. When death seized my body, my grandmother, my younger brother, and my mother were sitting in the room. I had time only to tell them "goodbye." Then the inner man rushed out of my body and left my body lying dead, with eyes set and flesh cold. I went down, down, down until the lights of the earth faded away. I don't mean I was unconscious - I have proof that I was actually dead.
   
   My eyes were set, my heart had stopped beating, and my pulse had ceased. The Scriptures tell us about the lost being cast into outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth (Matt. 25:30). The farther down I went, the blacker it became, until it was all blackness - I could not have seen my hand if it had been one inch in front of my eyes. And the farther down I went, the hotter and more stiffling it became.
   
   Finally, far below me, I could see lights flickering on the walls of the caverns of the damned. The lights were caused by the fires of Hell. The giant, white-crested orb of flame pulled me, drawing me as a magnet draws metal to itself. I did not want to go, but just as metal jumps to the magnet, my spirit was drawn to that place. I could not take my eyes off of it. The heat beat me in the face. Many years have gone by, yet I can see it just as clearly today as I saw it then. It is as fresh in my memory as if it just happened.
   
   I came to the entrance of Hell. People ask, "What does the entrance of Hell look like?" I cannot describe it, because if I tried, I would have to have something with which to compare it. Coming to the entrance, I paused momentarily, because I did not want to go in. I sensed that one more foot, one more step, one more yard, and I would be gone forever and would not come out of that horrible place! Upon reaching the bottom of the pit, I became conscious of some kind of spirit being by my side. I had not looked at him, because I could not take my gaze off of the fires of Hell. But when I paused, the creature laid his hand on my arm to escort me in. At that same moment, a voice spoke from far above the blackness, above the earth, and above the heavens. I don't know if it was the voice of God. I did not see him, and I do not know what he said, because he did not speak in English; he spoke in some other tongue. When he spoke, his words reverberated throughout the region of the damned, shaking it like a leaf in the wind, and causing the creature to take his hand off my arm. I did not turn around, but an unseen power, like suction, pulled me up, away from the fire, away from the heat, and back into the shadows of the absorbing darkness.
   
   I began to ascend until I came to the top of the pit and saw the lights of the earth. I saw my grandparents' home, went through the wall back into my bedroom, and it was just as real to me as it was any time I had entered through the door . I slipped back into my body as easily as a man slips into his trousers in the morning. It was the same way in which I had gone out - through my mouth. I began to talk to my grandmother. She said, "Son, I thought you were dead."
   
   "Granny," I said, "I am going again. I am dying. Where is Momma?" "Your mother is out on the porch," she replied. And about that time I heard my mother praying at the top of her voice as she walked up and down the porch. "Where is my brother?" I asked. "He ran next door to call the doctor," Granny answered. If you're not ready to go, you want somebody with you. You're afraid! I said, "Granny, don't leave me! Don't leave me! I'm afraid I'll go while you're gone! I want somebody with me! Don't leave me!" So she gathered me into her arms again. I said, "Tell Momma I said goodbye. Tell Momma I love her. Tell Momma I appreciate everything she has ever done for me and for all of us. And you tell Momma that I said if I've ever put a wrinkle in her face, or a grey hair in her head, I'm sorry, and I ask her to forgive me." I felt myself slipping. I said, "Granny, I'm going again. You were a second mother to me when Momma's health failed. I appreciate you. Now I'm going, and I won't be back this time.
   
   "I knew I was dying, unprepared to meet God. I kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye. My heart stopped beating for the second time. I leaped out of my body and began to descend: down, down, down. I began to descend again into the darkness Down below, the same experience occurred. The voice spoke from Heaven and again my spirit came up out of that place - back into my room and back into my body. The only difference this time was that I came up at the foot of the bed. I began to talk to Granny again. I said, "I will not be back this time, Granny." I asked, "Where is Grandpa? I want to tell Grandpa goodbye." I've never known what it means to have a daddy. He's been the nearest to a daddy I've known. Tell him I appreciate him. Tell him I love him. Tell Grandpa that I said goodbye." Then I left a word for my sister and two brothers, and my heart stopped for the third time and I leaped out of my body and began to descend.
   
   Until this time, I had thought, this is not happening to me. This is just a hallucination. It can't be real! But now I thought, this is the third time. I won't come back this time! Darkness encompassed me , darker than any night man has ever seen. I wish I had adequate words to describe the horrors of Hell. People go through this life so complacently, so unconcerned, as if they will not have to face Hell. But God's Word and my own personal experience tell me differently. I know what it is to be unconscious - it is black when you are unconscious - but there is no blackness to compare with outer darkness. As I began to descend in the darkness this third time, my spirit cried out, "God, I belong to the church! I've been baptized !" I waited for Him to answer, but no answer came - only the echo of my own voice as it came back to mock me. It will take more than church membership - it will take more than being baptized in water - to miss Hell and make Heaven.
   
   The second time I cried a little louder, "God! I belong to the church! I've been baptized in water!" Again I waited for an answer, but there was no answer. I came again to the bottom of that pit. Again I could feel the heat as it beat me in the face. Again I approached the entrance, the gates into Hell itself. That creature took me by the arm. Thank God that voice spoke. I don't know who it was - I didn't see anybody - I just heard the voice. I don't know what he said, but whatever he said, that place shook; it just trembled. And that creature took his hand off my arm. It was just as if there was a suction to my back parts. It pulled me back, away from the entrance to Hell. I began to pray �.. (he recovered and became a preacher..)

To die gloriously

Many years ago I was with my mother-in-law in her kitchen as she was eating a midnight snack when one of her daughters came in and scolded her, (there is an old wives tale that if you eat a lot before bedtime, you’ll die in your sleep). She responded quite candidly that if she did then she would ‘wake up in the arms of Jesus’ and then filled the room with her laughter as she always did.

In that moment, although rather amazed at her confidence, I felt that it was probably true in her case, and a couple of seconds later contemplated my own chances; an unfriendly encounter with a pitchfork seemed more likely at that time.

We seldom think of death, at least not in the right way. Outside of the medical profession people rarely see it up close which adds to its mystery.

I heard once that we manufacture many of our crosses in life in our own hearts; I think there is an awful truth in that and it seems to me that the manner of our death is also by design, sometimes by our choices in lifestyle but also a heavenly purpose too.

As a boy I always imagined dying gloriously in battle, pierced through the heart by a sword or riddled with bullets in a noble cause. Every afternoon the living rooms and backyards of our neighbourhood were littered with corpses, and whilst immortality was frowned upon, we believed in the resurrection, a few seconds on the floor and we were up and back in the fray.

In my mother-in-law’s case I have seen her gradually lose her strength; in the last 5 years she has dispensed with her walking frame in favour of the wheelchair, then to the confines of the bedroom. The laughter that filled her house has stopped now as has her voice entirely, she can no longer stand or move, she has to be fed and changed. After the anointing of the sick she now mostly sleeps, opening her eyelids is a rare occurrence and seems to take all her strength.

Her service is almost over. She has had a beautiful life though; she made it so by being that. A wife and mother, primary school teacher, but mostly remembered for her charity and kindness to others. She always visited anyone in the neighborhood who was sick, armed with soup, bananas and money, and her daughter in tow to lead the prayers for healing.

As I watch I sense that these last years have not been cruel, but rather just the completion of a process started long ago; one that she has cooperated with and even now in submission to losing every faculty and ounce of strength and becoming utterly dependent, as she gives up her life in order to receive it again. I hope that the flames of purgatory will not need to touch her; perhaps her spirit will soar like a cool breeze as she passes through there and ‘wakes up in the arms of Jesus’.

It doesn’t look glorious, but it is.