“God never abandons his children, never. Even when our age advances and our powers decline, when our hair grows white and our role in society lessens, when our lives become less productive and can risk appearing useless…God discards no stone; indeed, the “oldest” are the firm foundation on which “new” stones can rest, in order to join in erecting a spiritual edifice.”
– Pope Francis
Friends of mine recently received an award from the Little Sisters of the Poor at a local gala. I showed up to the event knowing a little about the sisters’ ministry in caring for the elderly, but frankly, I was looking to make an appearance, congratulate the honorees, and dip out before dessert. From the moment I walked into the venue, I was overwhelmed by a constant flood of incredible testimonials—not just about what these fierce and simple sisters do, but more importantly, how they do it. I was blown away by the way people described how these sisters love.
One of the honorees shared how even people with means struggle to give their elderly parents the dignity they deserve. I couldn’t help but think about how my own grandparents ended their earthly journey. They were well cared for, and we loved them, but I wished they had experienced the love of these sisters.
The emotion (and my hero complex) prompted me to make an imprudent but worthwhile winning bid during the live auction. As Sr. Veronica came to thank me at the end, she shared a story about another family who had helped the sisters. It wasn’t a noteworthy story per se, but the sister shared one phrase that struck me. In describing the family, she said, “Their mother, she died with us.” I don’t know that anyone else at my table caught it, but it resonated with me. She could’ve said the woman “was a resident” or even “we cared for her,” but I found her framing so naturally indicative of the sisters’ vocation—to love and value these individuals, not based on how the world or even their family may value them, but how the Lord values them; with a dignity worthy to die for.
As I drove home, strategizing how to tell my wife about the big check I just dropped and worrying I might be the next to die, I found myself wondering how far my love goes. In relationships at work or at home, how ready am I to die with someone? How often do I choose to suffer, not just because I need to, but to accompany others in their suffering—because their journey has meaning and deserves dignity?
To live for those at the end of their life and die with them, like the sisters, is no doubt a special vocation. But when it comes to my own vocation, how am I responding to the daily call to journey with others on their path home to the Lord? Do I see my accompaniment as a burden or, like the sisters, as the greatest honor the Lord could give?
Thankfully, when I got home, my wife was supportive—not necessarily of me, but definitely of the sisters and their mission. As we talked about what our family was living for in the weeks and months ahead, we decided it would be good to pray about who the Lord might be calling us to “die with” as well.
Prayers for all those you will accompany this week, and for those who will accompany you. Remember, if you ever need a visible sign of what the Lord’s love might look like, the sisters are waiting to welcome you at Holy Family Home in Philadelphia.
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