Fr. José Juan Sánchez Jácome / ACN.- There are tragic deaths, unexpected deaths, deaths that question and hurt so deeply. There are foreseeable deaths, ones that in some way are already expected. There are less dramatic deaths, yet equally painful. There are deaths that reach the soul and deaths that do not leave us indifferent, even when they do not involve people truly close to us.
There are occasions when someone dies peacefully, without much turmoil or pain, almost like falling asleep. At that moment, we are comforted knowing that those people did not suffer much, yet the death still hurts us because every death is painful and leaves in its wake confusion, loneliness, frustration, and a deep sense of orphanhood. We long for such a death, less painful and almost like a dream; that is what we express when we dare to speak of this uncomfortable subject.
Although there are less painful deaths, the death of a loved one in itself generates an experience of suffering, confusion, emptiness, and frustration. No matter how much faith we have, it will not stop hurting and may even shake the foundations of our believing life.
A priest and great writer, Henri Nouwen, to be precise, used to recount how he experienced his mother’s death. When he was told that his mother was dying, he did not hesitate to leave immediately to be with her in the final moments of her life and to assist her, as a priest, with the anointing of the sick and viaticum for eternal life.
On the way home, Henri Nouwen imagined that his mother would have a peaceful, calm, and painless death. He expected for her a kind of idyllic death, for she had lived a righteous life, close to God and the Church; she had lived in such a way that in everything she had followed Christ.
In his religious categories, he thought that such a life deserved a peaceful death. He was certain of his mother’s goodness and holiness. However, upon arriving at his mother’s bedside, he was shaken to realize that she was suffering greatly, that she was dying not as he had imagined, and that spiritually the marks of struggle were evident.
It was then, after passing through a moment of darkness, protest, and turmoil in faith—as happens to us when we witness the suffering of the sick and the dying—that suddenly illumination came to him as he recognized that a life like his mother’s, given to her faith and unconditionally following the Lord, was the best response to calm the anxieties of his soul and, above all, to understand what was happening: the trembling of the body, the spiritual suffering, the inner restlessness his mother faced before departing this world.
Indeed, he came to discover that his mother was dying like Jesus, whom she had so loved and followed throughout her life. If his mother had lived like Jesus, why would she not die like him? His mother had asked Jesus to allow her to live as he lived and to die as he died. Apparently, her prayer was heard. She died like Jesus, who sweated blood and experienced abandonment in the final moments of his life.
Most of us ask that, when the time comes, we may have a peaceful death, that it not be prolonged nor pain settle in, and that this moment not generate greater suffering either for ourselves or for our families. We would not want to cause so much trouble, we sometimes say. Only those who come to love Jesus and follow his steps unconditionally also dare to ask him for the grace to remain faithful until the very end, even amid the suffering that accompanies death.
Thus, in the face of the death of a loved one who, at that final moment, spiritually experiences abandonment and the darkness of faith, the question is not: Why is this happening if he has been a good Christian? Why must someone who was good throughout his life suffer? It is a time to be rescued and sustained by the Lord who went before us through suffering and death.
In this way we can face the death of our loved ones and that of so many others: without scandal, without questioning God, without allowing ourselves to be surprised by the enemy who, in that moment of greatest spiritual vulnerability, draws near to suggest that God is not with us.
I would now like to refer to the tragic death of Fr. Patricio Sánchez Molinari, a Redemptorist priest from Ecuador, who died while celebrating Holy Mass in his parish of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Guayaquil, when the crucifix fell on him after detaching from the apse of the sanctuary.
As happens in this type of tragic death, where the tempter takes advantage to poison and confuse, unfortunately there have been interpretations suggesting divine punishment, tarnishing the merciful face of God and revealing hardness of heart in the face of the pain of so many who truly suffer before tragedies like this. Some even seize upon this tragedy to promote the petty propaganda of their religious groups, disparaging the Catholic faith.
Like Henri Nouwen’s mother, Fr. Patricio Sánchez Molinari was a priest of humble heart and deep faith, as his superiors highlight. The day before, he had celebrated his priestly anniversary. The words he spoke at his last Mass stand as a kind of spiritual testament:
“All of us here will one day die… Life is not only work, money, and worries. We must give time to God and to those we love.”
Just as many people wish to die without pain and in a peaceful way, there are priests of deep and unshakable faith who ask for the grace to die while celebrating Holy Mass, discovering it as the moment of greatest union with Christ Jesus, where we live heaven on earth. In the face of danger, if we are at the altar, where else would we run if we are safe beside the Lord who continues to offer himself for us in the sacrifice of the Mass?
The holy priest Brochero, an Argentine priest, used to say: “I would congratulate myself if God takes me from this planet seated, confessing and preaching the Gospel.” Fr. Patricio, as a good priest, died at the altar where so many priests long to be taken by the Lord. One desires to follow the Lord and share in his light and his cross, in his resurrection and in his passion for us.
In the face of speculation and temptation, especially when a tragic death occurs, it is time to continue trusting in the Lord and surrendering ourselves to his divine designs. Perhaps the moment of our death is the moment when we are called to live faith fully: unconditional trust in the Lord.
Cardinal Carlo Maria Martini said: “I have made peace with the thought of having to die when I understood that without death we will never make an act of full trust in God. In fact, in every challenging choice we always have emergency exits. Death, on the other hand, forces us to rely totally on God.” We have seen how so many brothers and sisters, despite their sufferings, have fought to the end and have lived the moment of their death thanking and glorifying God, as St. Ignatius of Loyola indicates: “As in all of life, so also in death, and much more, each one must (…) strive and endeavor that God our Lord be glorified and served in it, and that our neighbors be edified, at least by the example of his patience and fortitude, with living faith, hope, and love of eternal goods.”