Today would have been my father‘s 56th birthday, but he died suddenly in November so it’s not.
And maybe I’m heartless and self-obsessed, but I’m mostly okay. Oh, when total strangers push for gruesome details of his death1 I sometimes lose it, but most of the time remembering him is more sweet than bitter, and I think I have theology to thank for it. More specifically, the doctrine of purgatory.
Every time I miss him, I pray for him. It’s not a discipline I’ve imposed on myself, it’s the natural reaction of a heart far from the one she loves. And suddenly I’m not so helpless in the face of death. If he needs anything, I can do something. I can pray for him. Purgatory helps me keep loving him–not just a feeling, but true love: sacrifice for the good of the other.
My father was a very broken man and reminiscing about him often shines a light on his flaws. One almost feels compelled to ignore his faults, but purgatory gives you permission to be real about them, to acknowledge them without despair. As far as I can tell, he died in a state of grace. But he had a tendency to revel in resentment and self-pity, among other imperfections. “Nothing unclean can enter heaven,”2 the Lord tells me, but not to worry. I don’t have to whitewash his memory to be confident in his salvation, because God’s bleaching his soul in preparation for his marriage feast. He’s stretching him and healing him and turning his weeping into joy. In purgatory, the Lord makes all things new. My father wasn’t perfect, but he’s being made perfect by the blood of Christ.
In so many ways, he was a wonderful father. But there were years when it seemed as though he couldn’t be my daddy because he was so caught up in himself. I have no desire for revenge, but with real relationships–especially when death is sudden–there’s a feeling that it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he didn’t have to make up for his failings, not fair that he never knew how he hurt me and now he just gets to be done and go be happy with Jesus. But in purgatory he knows. God help him, he sees every least way he hurt those he loved (and those he should have loved) and he’s praying and suffering to make up for it now, by God’s grace. It’s just the way he would want it, this opportunity to atone, and it brings healing and closure to our relationship because I know that he’s still working at it just as much as I am. His death doesn’t make our relationship any less human, and as I continue to heal and forgive and ask forgiveness, I know he’s walking beside me along the same path of healing.
There’s joy, of course, in our communion with the Church Triumphant. Whether he’s in purgatory or heaven, he’s praying for me. He’s praying hard for my unbelieving brothers.3 Whether he’s a saint or a suffering soul, I can speak to him. I can ask his forgiveness or laugh at something with him or just tell him I still love him when I see the little bald guy on the Tonight Show, the guy he and I always cheered for and I never knew why. There are no “if onlys,” not really, because there is no true separation among those who love the Lord, even if a veil divides us for a time.
The communion of saints is a joy indeed, the logical result of a God who is love. But purgatory is such a gift, a gratuitous outpouring of God’s mercy on the deceased and those who mourn. I need this–I need to know that I can do something for him, that he’s growing, that the Lord won’t leave him as he was. I need to hear my Church stand with me in praying for him day in and day out. I need to rejoice in mercy while rejoicing also in justice.
For some people, purgatory is a stumbling block. For others, it’s a temptation to aim for mediocrity. For me, purgatory is a consolation, a spiritual necessity, and a grace. I don’t expect everyone to be cool with tragedy because of this doctrine of purgatory, but it sure has given me peace. Before, it was always something I’d argued for, never something I’d rejoiced in. Now, I’m so thankful to belong to a Church that recognizes that not even death can separate us because not even death can stop the merciful love of Jesus.
Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer, happy birthday! Rest in peace.
- WHY is this your business??? [↩]
- Rev 21:27 [↩]
- Seriously, if Jesus can be annoyed, my dad’s annoying him now. [↩]
Beautiful:). I lost my Dad 7 years ago- Thank you for the reminder to pray for him too- Like most there is a need for healing- and it’s brought through prayer on both ends:)
What a wonderful take on purgatory, Meg. I always like reading your blogs because you are so real and relatable. Thank you for sharing with us, I know this must be hard. Sending love and prayers.
Thank you, honey. This blog post makes things much easier for me today. {{{{Meg}}}}
Melissa H-K recently posted…In Which Rotting Organic Matter Thrills Me
Beautiful tribute Meg to your Father and Holy Mother Church.
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“And maybe I’m heartless and self-obsessed, but I’m mostly okay.”
No. Quite the opposite, Meg. You have a solid understanding of the BIG picture. To those less spiritually mature, that seems off. In an RCIA class I had recently about The Last Things, a priest at my parish told us that when he is with family members of the recently departed, he tells them. “Congratulations.” And, we all must have looked quizzically at him because he said something like, “Congratulations, because your loved one is with Jesus. He is were he is supposed to be. He is happier now than any of us shall ever be on earth.” (They probably were able to receive viaticum- and I assume this to not be the case with your father. Not to worry, he will get there).
Blessed are you to understand this so deeply. Do not be ashamed to mourn, but never lose sight of the BIG picture.
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Thank you for giving me another way to look at purgatory and it was a great reminder that we are not alone in our prayers.
so beautiful. thank you.
What a great way to view the entire big picture. Obviously you loved your father very much, but also accept the truth about some of our biggest flaws, especially when it can come to men who are quite happy with themselves. Been through the same journey.
I came upon your post while searching purgatory, and while looking for something a little different, your post caught my attention. The ancient and symbolic meaning of purgatory is symbolic of the soul being purged through experiences of suffering and sorrow, and we all have to work it out in this earthly life, even as God did.
Hebrews states that even Christ had to learn obedience through the things that he suffered. He will have that chance. Many blessings.