By Sister Constance Veit, lsp

Five years ago this month, life as we knew it came to a standstill.

COVID-19 cast a pall over the entire world, forcing us to face our radical vulnerability and our powerlessness in the face of death.

About a week after we had gone into lock-down, the COVID virus invaded the first of our Little Sisters’ U.S. homes.

I was asked to go and help the Sisters cope with this tragic situation. “Was I sure I was willing to go? … Would I like some time to think about it?” My provincial superior asked.

Despite a certain fear of the unknown, I didn’t hesitate. I felt it was an honor to serve in this way, even if it might cost me my life!

Several residents passed away during my first few days in this home; thirteen had died by Easter. At the same time, I received news of the first COVID-related deaths back home in Washington. I felt that I was surrounded by death but I was not afraid.

I have been caring for the elderly since I was 15 years old.

Over the years, many Residents have told me, without the slightest hint of depression, that they were looking forward to death. Some have spoken of their longing to see God; others of how much they were looking forward to being reunited with their deceased loved ones.

A few told me they feared God had forgotten about them … why else had he left them on earth for so long?

The seniors I have known, cared for and loved over these many years have taught me important lessons about living and dying. They have expressed their belief that death represents a passage to a better place.
As the pandemic stretched on from weeks to months, and then years, I have often thought of all these elders, drawing consolation from the countless faces that pass through my memory.

Now, as we look back at the pandemic, we are confronted with death in a new way as we watch Pope Francis struggle through a period of serious illness.

As I write this, he seems to be improving – thank, God – and while I pray that God will return him to full health so that he may continue his ministry, I am also confident that whenever God does call Francis to himself, he will be prepared.

In a Sunday blessing written during his hospitalization, the pope wrote, “I feel in my heart the ‘blessing’ that is hidden within frailty, because it is precisely in these moments that we learn even more to trust in the Lord; at the same time, I thank God for giving me the opportunity to share in body and spirit the condition of so many sick and suffering people.”

In a series of talks on old age given in 2022, Pope Francis spoke confidently about death.

“Our existence on earth is the time of the initiation into life: it is life, but one that leads you towards a fuller life, the initiation of the fuller one; a life which finds fulfilment only in God,” he wrote.
“Dear brothers and sisters,” he continued, “Old age is the phase in life best suited to spreading the joyful news that life is the initiation to a definitive fulfilment. The elderly are a promise, a witness of promise. And the best is yet to come.”

“When Jesus speaks of the Kingdom of God, he describes it as a wedding feast; as a party with friends; as the work that makes the house perfect. It is the surprise that makes the harvest richer than the sowing … Our whole life appears like a seed that will have to be buried so that its flower and its fruit can be born … Not without labor pains, not without pain, but it will be born (cf. Jn 16:21-23). And the life of the risen body will be a hundred and a thousand times more alive than we have tasted it on this earth (cf. Mk 10:28-31) … The hand of the Lord is always there carrying us forward and beyond the door there is the party.”

In this year celebrating the virtue of Christian hope, may the words and example of Pope Francis in the midst of suffering encourage us to reflect on the reality of death, strengthening our assurance that the best is yet to come, because heaven is the goal.

Sister Constance Veit is the communications director for the Little Sisters of the Poor in the United States and an occupational therapist.