Photo by Mathurin NAPOLY / matnapo on Unsplash
Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
One of the things I dread most is getting a phone call in the middle of the night. My phone sits on the nightstand by my head, and it can be loud especially when everything else in the house is quiet and still. And my heart is likely already racing before I decide where I am and whether I’m just dreaming. I was once parochial vicar with a pastor who did not mind taking such calls. So when the phone rang, I just rolled over and went back to sleep. But for the next 25 years, calls in the middle of the night were seldom harbingers of good news. What horrors cross your mind when your phone rings at an ungodly hour? I’ve gotten phone calls from people who decided just then they needed an exorcism. My first thought is to remind them that evil enters our lives because we left a door open and invited it in. Shut that door! And if they know exactly what I’m talking about, they hang up. And they don’t call back after.
Here at St. Therese our emergency calls go first to Deacon Bubba. Thank you Deacon Bubba. He lets me know later if the emergency was real. But what’s to stop those who already have my number? The first thought that crosses my mind is I won’t be going back to sleep soon, although I do my best not to give that impression when I do take the call. Thank God for caller ID.
Occasionally, especially when I am aware of who is gravely ill either at home or in the hospital, that call in the early morning will tell me the fight is over and the battle done. I had probably visited with the sick person several times before, celebrated the sacrament of the anointing of the sick, encouraged family members to say their last goodbyes, and prayed with them the commendation of the dying, prayers sending their loved one home to God.
But the call that comes at two in the morning is usually the first time I am being asked to a sick person’s bedside, who is often no longer alert or responsive, usually after an auto accident, a stroke or a heart attack, and once by the wife of a man who just stopped breathing as he slept in bed. Occasionally, the call comes from the ICU or the hospital chaplain, because the sick person is Catholic but no one else is, or a powerful instinct kicks in when the Catholic who no longer goes to church realizes there is yet one more thing that needs doing. It is interesting to note that other clergy are seldom if ever called to a sick person’s bedside like Catholics will call a priest in the middle of the night. What people forget is that they can call their priest during the day and not have to wait till two in the morning. It is also preferable that the sick person is still alert and responsive. When a priest gives the Last Rites, he gives communion, and a person who is unconscious cannot receive communion. But that’s also not the time to tell you that.
The first time I was asked to anoint a person in a nursing home, no family was present. I dressed in my black shirt, very priestly and professional, I thought. When the woman in the bed saw me, she became upset and started screaming. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I don’t speak Slovak. And I was unable to assure her I was only coming to visit, that I wasn’t actually bringing death. She must have thought I knew something more. So now I make sure a family member is present when I visit for the first time. The most peaceful passing usually happens when we are present to one another, and when we are able to express our care, our fears, our hopes, our faith.
We may not remember our first day in this life. But every time it comes around each year, we are accustomed to celebrate it fondly with friends and loved ones. It is a day of thankfulness, wonder, and hope. It is likely we will not remember our last day in this life either, but mostly because we won’t know it until we’re there. And when we get there, it will be over quickly, and we will be bound no more by the restrictions of the calendar. Although millions of people begin life on the same day everyday all over the world, we have never considered birth a collective experience. It is always personal, always distinct and unique. So will it be on our last day of life. I suppose millions pass from this life everyday as well. And although we commemorate the passing of many using collective terms like war, famine, epidemic, crime, accident or disaster, death still remains a most personal experience for each individual, always distinct and unique. And if we live to see that day after which there is no tomorrow, we will still have to experience it personally, distinctly, and uniquely.
The last day of our lives and the last day of the world have somehow turned into days for which we greatly fear. Jesus was aware of such a fear in his time, when people imagined great distress, suffering, and upheaval. He tells his disciples not to be afraid, as these events are bound to happen. But it is ultimately not a sign of the end time. Instead he tells us to focus attention on all the other days before the last, days like today and tomorrow, when we will experience some distress, some suffering, and some upheaval, and also some wonder, some excitement, and some deep satisfaction. It is in these days that we do our best preparation for our last day. Our God speaks to us of hope. Each spring, we see the renewal of nature and the rebirth of life. Children in our midst remind us that God is not weary of us, because where there are children there is laughter, joy, song, and hope. There is always opportunity for mercy, reconciliation, and forgiveness, that we can change and come to healing, that salvation is within reach. Each day the sun rises is a new beginning. We can get so caught up in the expectation of things to come that we miss the wonders of life unfolding before us.
Scripture reminds us today that all things will pass, that nothing in this world is permanent. And we are assured that the important realities endure because we still witness the renewal of hope with each passing generation. In 2 weeks many families will gather for their version of a Thanksgiving feast. It is a chance to stop and look back on the year behind us, especially our life of faith, to regain perspective, reset priorities, that in the end it matters more that we have lived as God calls us, with joy, kindness, forgiveness, generosity, compassion, honesty, and justice. St. Paul encourages the Thessalonians to hold on to hope, to look forward to Jesus’ return with eagerness, yet to live to the full in the present time. Do not conduct yourselves in a disorderly manner, work quietly, and quit minding the business of others. Live each moment with full awareness. Make the choices that express who we are and what we believe. And extend intentionally the hope, compassion, and care that God generously shares with us.
I will always dread getting calls in the middle of the night. But do not hesitate to reach me if you have to. And more important still, do not hesitate to live in the present without fear of the inevitable, because the end will come to us all. Death is a door that opens to a better life. That is what we prepare for. But we believe God knows our fears and our concerns. God has answers to questions we have not yet even begun to ask. God has covered bases we didn’t even know existed. When we live with hope and courage, we trust in God’s goodness and in God’s willingness to act on our behalf. No need to fear. And when the phone rings in the middle of the night, it’s just someone on the west coast who forgot we were three hours ahead, or it’s a friend just really excited to be the first to tell you happy birthday.
Rolo B Castillo © 2025