FROM the Pastor’s Desk
Dear St. Mary’s Parishioners:
(The following account is shared with permission)
A few days ago, I was called to the home of a parishioner to give them the Anointing of the Sick and Holy Communion. These are part of the prayers we colloquially call the “Last Rites”. It prepares the soul to stand before the Judgment Seat of God. When I walked out of that house, I thought to myself, “I think I just anointed a saint.” Wow…
After ringing the doorbell, her husband came to the door. “Thank you for coming”, he said to me as he reached out to shake my hand. “She will be happy to see you.” We both put on our medical masks due to her delicate immune system. He led me down the hallway to the master bedroom, as I glanced at the framed family photos to my left and my right. Wide smiles of young faces covered each picture. This is a family that loves to smile. As the entry way into the bedroom loomed closer, a little apprehension came over. I’ve done this routine hundreds of times over the years as a priest but it never gets easier. I never know what to expect when I walk through the door of someone terminally ill. Sadness? Anger? Tears? All of the above perhaps?
As I walked into her room, the white curtains were drawn closed over the large window directly behind the head of the bed. It casted a diffused, warm light over the whole space. A wooden statue of the Blessed Mother stood on a nightstand beside her. She greets me with the utmost reverence and gratitude. "Father!" she says struggling, as her teeth chatter against one another uncontrollably. Her medication gives her fevers and numbing chills. Her husband grabs a gray blanket and gently places it over the other layers for warmth. The battle with cancer has taken its toll understandably, but the chemo seems to have devastated her body worse than the disease.
We talked briefly about the trip to Lourdes she and her husband took last year, as they begged the Blessed Mother to help them pray for a miracle. It wasn't so. She looks up towards Heaven and says, "My only hope is that I'm ready Father. I don't want to be separated..." At first I thought she meant her two children. "I don't want to be separated from Our Lord. I can't even stand the thought of Purgatory. I just want to finally see him." Her teeth chatter some more. She smiles with what meager energy she has left, "You're always in my prayers Father."
I can’t help but marvel at people like this. As the world goes about its hectic pace, hidden souls are quietly living their own Calvary, right here in Vacaville.
In Christ,
Fr. Brian J. Soliven
