Patricia Higgins belongs to Slí-Eile Volunteering. She says: “I attended the funeral some years ago of the brother of a friend from college, who had committed suicide. It was a really tragic occasion, and I was disturbed more than comforted by the funeral Mass. The repeated references to praying for those ‘who had fallen asleep in Christ’ bothered me. What was the story for those who don’t actively or consciously believe in God when they die? What happens to them? I got no clear answers and the questions stayed with me, somewhere at the back of my mind.”
One November I organised a meeting for young people interested in volunteering. Part of the purpose of the meeting was to introduce them to the notion of reflecting on their work in order to become aware of the impact of it on themselves and not just the people they were working with. As an introductory exercise, they were asked to think about an event that had affected them emotionally during the week and to share it with the people beside them. I was with two 18-year-old lads, the same age as my friend’s brother. One of them spoke about helping a blind man across a street and the whole mixture of not wanting to appear too pushy in offering help and yet not wanting to do nothing. The other spoke about playing a game of soccer and having decided before he went out on the pitch to play for the team and not just for himself and the difference that made to how he felt as he played, and how special it made his goal, which he scored at the end.
What stayed with me most though, was not the stories themselves, but the surprise and almost relief these lads seemed to have at being given the chance to talk about something real. I realised something of the power of giving people the space, simply to say what’s true for them, and how rare these opportunities can be, particularly for young people. I had always thought the phrase “I am the way, the truth and the light” meant that the only real truth was Jesus. But now, I begin to understand it a little differently. Whenever people speak about what’s really true for them, they experience something of God, even though they may never choose to call it that. That idea took root and grew, and what I’ve expressed below is, I believe something of God’s answer to the questions that have been lurking in the back of my mind since that tragic funeral…
I thought of Your kingdom, God, and how the creation of space to be real is part of building it.
And then I thought of how familiar You are, God, when people die –
Even for those who never would have claimed to known you
Or for those who would actively have denied your existence and distanced themselves from any mention of your name.
You are the truth
And each life can’t but at some stage be impacted upon by truth –
through the truth of a real conversation
or a song of poem that captures exactly how an experience was;
through the truth dissolved in salty heartfelt tears;
the truth of a still moment holding a new born baby in your arms;
the truth of the real pain at the heart of every loss.
Even these painful truths
Those difficult to name and acknowledge,
– maybe even especially those –
Leave an impression strong enough and deep enough
That in meeting You – who are the essence and source of all truth –
Their ‘eyes will be opened’ and they’ll recognise you in the re-telling of their own truth.
In the breaking of the reality of their experience
They’ll realise they saw glimpses (and more) of You at these times
And realise that they have finally reached home.
