A Lonely Death

Homily for the Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
Isaiah 35.4-7a Psalm 146 James 2.1-5 Mark 7.31-37

About a year and a half ago, I was asked to say some prayers at a funeral home for an elderly woman who had died. As I found out, this woman did not have any immediate family; she had been in a health-care facility for several years and had seemingly lost touch with any family or friends she had once had. And she was poor – not just poor, but destitute. Toward the end of her life, she had no money or possessions of her own and had been declared a ward of the state, with the government paying for the minimal amount of comfort and care during her dying days. Somewhere in her files at the health care facility, there was a mention that this woman was Catholic. So, when she died, the funeral home handling her arrangements called and asked if I would do a brief prayer service at the funeral home before her simple burial in an unmarked plot. I was told that there were some distant relatives they were trying to contact who might be there, plus some of the nurses who had cared for her, and her state appointed guardian – but probably only a few people. In the end, no one showed up for her funeral – it was just me and the funeral director. So I said the prayers, blessed her body, and entrusted her to God’s care – in all respects, a Christian burial. But it was heart wrenching to imagine that anyone’s life could come to this. No family, no relationships, no money. Just a priest and a funeral director saying some prayers.

Hopefully stories like this should make us uncomfortable – how can we as a society, as a church, as individuals let something like this happen? Where is the human dignity, the respect for each person’s life, created in the image of God? But it is all too real and all too common, and too often we ignore the reality of the poor, the lonely, and the abandoned. St. James gives us one scenario in today’s second reading. If two people walk into a church, one visibly wealthy and one visibly poor, we are likely to treat them very differently. It seems that we are often naturally attracted to money or possessions – almost like being drawn to wealth by a magnet. Those who are rich want to be richer, and those who are poor want to be rich. And we think that the way to get there is to surround ourselves with people and things that make us look wealthier than we are. Or at the least, we judge people based on how much money they appear to have. Where is the human dignity in this, the respect for each person’s life, created equally in the image of God?

To be poor does not just mean that you lack material goods. Being poor can also be a lack of basic human rights, a lack of love, a lack of faith, a lack of recognition by the society or the church. The US Bishops have put it very simply: “That so many people are poor in a nation as rich as ours is a social and moral scandal that we cannot ignore” (Economic Justice for All 16). And it’s not only far away, it’s people right here – in this very parish, in this very church today – people who struggle to eat, who struggle to pay their bills, who struggle to live a life worthy of human dignity. The gospel calls us to treat all people with love and respect, but to show a special love, a preferential option, for the poor. Catholic Charities USA has called for a campaign to reduce poverty in the United States by 50 percent by 2020. In the coming months we will talk about specific ways that we as a diocese and as a parish are working to spread hope and love in our communities. But it must all start in our hearts. It must start with an attitude that does not judge people based on appearance or possessions. It must start with a love that treats everyone the same. It must start with a faith that shows no partiality. Then, and only then, can we begin the hard work as individuals, as a church, and as a whole society to make sure that no one dies alone and destitute – with no family, no relationships, no money – with only a priest and a funeral director to send them forth into God’s kingdom. Or worse than that, with no one.