The Voice of Christ
The Catholic Online Magazine
My wife and I stood quietly around Grandma’s bed in the parlor late that December afternoon. It was her time and we knew it. The call had gone out to several other relatives as well but we were the first to arrive. The advancing darkness required the Doctor to turn on the lone ceiling light; a single bulb without a shade. She looked over at us and mouthed a few words which we couldn’t understand. I moved closer.
“It’s too short” she whispered; and with that she died.
“What did she mean?” my wife asked. “Life?”
“Knowing Grandma, I think she meant your skirt”
The dark months of the year seem to be the time when members of the clan go gentle into that good night. Hospital visitations and the funerals of my relatives are always more plentiful during this time of short light.
As I’ve grow older and increasingly aware that the road ahead is shorter than that which I’ve traveled, I find myself reflective and increasing more tolerant. I am less likely to raise that black flag, grab my cutlass and start slitting throats than I was a scant few years ago. The sound of hoof beats can now be heard by this writer. It is for this reason, as well as some recent personal experiences that I undertake the narrative.
Those among you who suffer through these lamentations of mine know that I am a displaced worker who now roams the corridors of office buildings at night in the guise of a Security Guard. This reversal of fortune has introduced me to a most unusual group of men. My fellow Guards are older than I and well-off financially for the most part. Despite fading and failing health they are, to a man, devoid of any outward signs of Christian comportment. I would charitably categorize them as mean spirited and sarcastic. Over the past year I’ve found their characteristics and mannerisms curious-er and curious-er.
What is their problem? Is it that the end seems near and the regrets are piled high? I, like they, am new to this arena and these emotions. Some have had more time to practice being angry but we are all new arrivals in one sense or another. The term Grumpy Old Men is not associated solely with Jack Lemon & Walter Mathau movies; they are played for laughs, this is played like Hamlet.
Could-a, would-a, should-a. We all have those feelings and wonderings about the road not taken. When questioned most would not have done much different. They seem resolved to a spouse rather than committed to their spouse and appear happier when on separate ends of the town from one other. Religion is a topic scorned. The amount of bitterness oozing from that topical wound rises like the specters from the Ark of the Covenant in "Raiders of the Lost Ark." All except me are veterans of WWII and Korea. They speak of the cruelty of man to his fellow man and the seemingly irreconcilable gulf between man and God. People who read a lot of history or receive the gospel according to Hollywood tend to become agnostic. “Why does God let this happen?”
I’ve worked in steel mills and in a variety of male-dominated professions but the profanity and taking of the Lord’s name in vain would cause a Longshoreman to blush. When emotions like these are so overt, even in this secular society, there has to be reasons behind them. Fear of the unknown mixed with male pride can make a powerful and stupid concoction. I was confronted with the statement recently “If you believe in God why are you afraid to die?” “Why is that old woman in the hospice, riddled with cancer, still praying her Rosary for relief of pain and restoration to health?” Every type of conundrum is hurled down to me including "Can God make a rock bigger than he can lift?"
Clearly God is at the root of their problems but will they attend church or seek answers? No! It’s better to snuff one candle and curse the darkness. The Catholic Church is not the friend of the faithless it used to be. In this area getting a Priest for a hospital visit is a hard thing to arrange. There is a distinct shortage. That’s when the Mormons ride in on their white horses. Mormons will conduct a funeral or visit the dying without being asked twice. I’ve told people that their ulterior motive is the Baptizing of the Dead but it falls on deaf ears.
The guards believe that Kevorkian was ahead of his time and that Oregon’s Hemlock Society is the way to go. I’ve argued against euthanasia until my lips were sore. These men may be old but they have endurance in an argument.
Possibly I will have the effect of water on a rock and erode their resolve if time permits. I have regrets over personal choices and for the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes but they have not weakened my faith. The carryings on of a gay Priest did damage to my attendance record but the kindness of a young Priest did much to restore my faith.
I am still healthy and mobile. Possibly should I become infirmed my tone will change and I will sit and complain like my peers. I hope not. My lovely wife will not sit idly by and let that happen. I envy you Catholics who grew up in other eras when Priests and Nuns spoke often and at length of the Catechism. My RCIA class was a touchy-feely, warm-fuzzy Catholicism that left me ill-equipped to defend matters of faith or counsel others. A good friend (sometimes an Angel) stopped by unexpected last night with a timely selection of literature. I hope it affords me the knowledge I need to help fight the good fight.
Some prayers from you would help as well. A constant barrage of anti-Christian rhetoric can be destructive to all concerned.
People are scared of the dark…I am too.
Robb Trappen
© 2002 The Voice of Christ
