A Night to Remember

On Friday night, I attended a mass for the deceased of the parish of our family home. The church of St. Denis in Douglas is taken from the name of the first bishop of Paris, France, and the church on Montmartre was the site of the first vows of Ignatius and his lay companions. It was a homecoming of sorts for me to return to the parish of my hometown. I was expecting to be a participant in the audience, but when I arrived at the church, my name was listed as a concelebrant. 

The mass and service of remembrance was beautiful. After the homily and before the prayers of petition, family members were called up from the congregation to light a candle in remembrance of the deceased. Some approached solemnly, some had tears streaming down their cheeks, some were in disbelief that a loved one has gone so young. I learned by older sister's classmate was among the deceased. When I talked with the people before mass, I found out some parents lost their children far too young. I learned that many people remembered me and my siblings from the days of our youth.

During the prayers, I remembered a litany of names of people who died recently. The names kept pouring forth and as the incense rose to the rafter, I felt my prayers being lifted up as well. I kept remembering more names.

After the mass, the parish bereavement group hosted a fine reception. These women were very generous and showcased their baking skills very well. Even a woman who was 102 years old baked dozens of Italian cookies. At a certain point, it is good to go home. I felt nourished.