Death of a Trappist

Br. Alban died and his body rests in the church. Around the clock one of the monks will be with his body, reciting psalms, until the burial tomorrow. Fr. James told me Alban had MS for over thirty years. Thirty years is a long time to tolerate a wasting disease. Many people knew him, and the funeral will likely be packed.

It was beautiful to see the monks in choir, and Br. Alban's body, in his cowl, layed in the aisle. There is a great deal of dignity in that. In life, as in death, he was a trappist. At his head is the crucifix, at his feet the paschal candle. On the floor a tasteful arrangement of flowers. He is not forgotten amongst the monks, and his physical presence in the church drove that point home.

The whole thing speaks of loving care, and makes me feel the presence of those who suffer and die alone. They do not have loving care. It causes me to ask myself what can I do to help with the loneliness and suffering? People lay in hospitals, in nursing homes, in their own homes, and they are alone. It must feel like the whole world has forgotten you.

The problem is just too big. There are too many lonely people, forgotten people, discarded people. How do we respond to this?