Somber Weather and Somber Thoughts

Another cold and gloomy day. I suppose one should fight the gloom with sunny thoughts. But my thoughts today center around the reality of hell. At least those are hot thoughts unlike the frigid temps we are facing in the coming week. Hell is usually depicted as the unquenchable file, but what if, instead, it's absolutely frigid. Which would be worse do you think?

But I digress.

St. Robert Bellarmine instructed his priests to preach on hell once a month. It is, after all, one of the four last things: death, judgment, heaven, and hell. It certainly would be more enjoyable to listen to a sermon on heaven and the best strategy for getting there. I imagine that too was preached. But if no one believes anyone goes to hell, why preach at all? "Eat, drink, and be merry" for tomorrow you will die and be met at the pearly gates by the candy man with his cart full of sugar. 

No worries!

And that, of course, is one of the devil's cleverest deceptions. He hisses to Eve and Joan, and Adam and John and all mankind that a good God would never send anyone to hell, if there even is such a place. All will be well. All will be forgiven if, in fact, there is any need for forgiveness at all. There is no hell; there is no sin. All is well. Your murder of the unborn, your sex trafficking of children, your greed, gluttony and lust? Pooh-pooh! Not significant. Enjoy yourself; sleep well. 

The reality, of course, is quite different. There is indeed a hell and, as Mary pointed out at Fatima, souls fall into it like snowflakes in a blizzard. 

Yesterday, my husband and I visited my poor sister who lives in a relatively decent nursing home in Frederick, MD. We decided last Lent to up our once a month visits to once a week and have continued that commitment for a year with no regrets. She gets few visitors and looks forward to seeing us. Sometimes our time together is pleasant sharing some memories from the past. Sometimes they are funny. A conversation begins and devolves into Who's on First like this:

Me: I was just talking to Charlotte (another resident) who was waiting for the elevator when we got off.

Jeanne: Charlotte's Web. 

Me: She is always smiling and happy when we see her.

Jeanne: Who?

Me: Charlotte?

Jeanne: Who's Charlotte? 

My sister is becoming more and more like a child. She's had a number of small strokes and I expect she has vascular dementia although she still knows who we are and has an incredible memory for many things -- better than mine, in fact. She does, however, confuse dreams with reality. Yesterday she told me she fell out the window. "That's a long fall," I said. (She's on the third floor.) "You would be dead if you fell out the window." I think perhaps if she says that again I will simply say. "Wow! Were you hurt? That must have been very frightening!" Her conversation often shows fear. Maybe she needs to talk about it.

I used to visit a nursing home here in Woodstock. There was a sign on the locked entry door of the Alzheimer's wing reading, "You are entering Alzheimer's World" with several recommendations, e.g., not contradicting the residents. And so, I think it's time to remind myself, as I enter my sister's room. that I'm on an adventure into Jeanne's world. I would like to bring cheer and humor there along with pretzels and the Boston creme doughnut she asks for. It seems sometimes like I'm at the Mad Hatter's tea party as I feed her whatever on her lunch tray she's willing to eat. 

I used to see these visits as a burdensome duty. I now see them as a blessed gift. She said yesterday, "I'm in hell!" And her situation is certainly difficult and loaded with suffering. Do our visits bring a small shaft of light into her dismal day? I hope so.

Suffering is an opportunity to be united to Christ's suffering, an opportunity to, in Paul's words, "Make up for what's lacking in the suffering of Christ." But how difficult it is to see that when one is in what feels like a torture chamber. It seems sanctimonious to preach to my sister at this point. I'm not experiencing her pain. While she won't pray with us, she doesn't object to our offering a decade of the rosary for her during our visit. So that will become a habit during our time together - that she will receive comfort and peace. 

Please pray for my sister. We sometimes create our own hell by rejecting the cross. It never makes our crosses lighter. In fact, embracing the cross, thanking God for it, emphasizes the paradox. It makes the yoke easy and the burden lighter.

May God give all suffering souls the grace of long-suffering perseverance. Rather than seeing it as hell, may they see it as the Purgatory here that will hasten their entry into heaven.

May Jesus Christ be Praised!