Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time
February 2, 2003


What do you need to do to be ready to die?

We were reminded in a tragic way yesterday how thin is the line between life and death. As the images of the space shuttle blazed across the sky in that bright, almost angelic point of light, you knew that somewhere in that flight, 5 men and 2 women met their Lord in a final and irrevocable way. I can’t help but wonder ‘how ready were they?’ Astronauts, because of their profession, know perhaps better than any of us how fragile their life is – flying into space on the back of that nimbus of flame, breathing oxygen generated by electrical reactions, totally reliant upon the machines that carry them into space. Each take-off and landing is done with held breath. After yesterday we know again why… And, as with every death, the question comes to us again: “What do I need to do to be ready to die?’

Nunc Dimittis. “Now, Lord, you dismiss your servant in peace.” It is the opening prayer of a man ready to go home, of a man ready to die. ‘Lord, I am ready, I can go home now. You may dismiss me’… proclaims Simeon. And as he continues, you know why he is ready. Holding the child, he says: “Now my eyes have seen your salvation, a light for your people and the glory of Israel…” And in that moment, in the freedom which only hope gives, he is at peace. In a moment of hope, he knows what he is most passionate about – the glory of God and the salvation of his people – will be fulfilled. That is what makes a person ready.

Her name was Barb Reilly, and she had more wrinkles on her face than any other person I had ever met. She also was the Kempf family baby sitter on more than one occasion. We called her Aunt Bobby. The last time I saw her alive was on one of her pilgrimages to Epiphany parish, where she had grown up, and spent almost all of her life. She was praying in front of the shrine that honored Mary. A brief flicker of her eyes let me know she knew I was there, but she was still praying. And you don’t interrupt Aunt Bobby when she was praying. When she was done, like a sigh, came the shocking words to me. “When is God going to let me die? I am ready to go home. I don’t understand why he keeps me around.” A long pause. Then a sigh. “I guess there are still more people he needs me to pray for?

Nunc Dimittis. Now Lord, you may dismiss her in peace.
It is not a question often at the forefront of our society and lives – any of the questions about death. Yet this Sunday, as we celebrate Jesus as the revealing light to the gentiles, we are invited to look upon the question again – what do I need to do to be ready to die. And like Simeon and like Aunt Bobby, I propose that at least two things need to happen.
1) There is a need to see our hope carried on. Simeon recognized his hope carried on in the life of the child brought to the temple. In the follow up listening sessions, the item that most often made the TOP FIVE list was the issue of a youth/young adult ministry at St. Ann’s – seeing and knowing and believing that the faith is being passed on to the next generation. What might you be willing to commit so another generation is ready to lead the church?
2) To look at what is unfinished in your life. The tragedy of the space shuttle, the tragedy of any life ended prematurely is all that is left undone. If God were to call you home tonight, what would feel left undone for you? Aunt Bobby realized there was still some praying to do. What is still left for you to do?

It is no accident that in the night prayer of the church, the canticle that is always recited is the Nunc Dimittis. Now, Lord, you dismiss your servant in peace. Each night, reminding those who pray that prayer that their eyes HAVE seen the glory, the love of God. Each night reminding us that we have to go home some day. Each night, preparing us through this prayer of Simeon for that final letting go of death. Nunc Dimittis. Now Lord, dismiss us in peace. “What do you need to do to be ready to die?”