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Console, Don't Canonize
Before he died, Bishop Robert Morlino asked Msgr. James Bartylla to preach his funeral homily. He gave these brief instructions: “Don’t canonize me!” No doubt this guidance was inspired by a profound faith as well as realistic self-knowledge, but maybe even more so by a familiarity with current tendencies at funerals.
The Catholic faith teaches that it is a spiritual work of mercy to pray for the dead. This presupposes that those living in this world can assist those who are on the far side of death.
We know that the saints, enjoying the fullness of the beatific vision, don’t need our prayers. Rather, we ask for theirs. And those who have chosen to alienate themselves definitively from God are in hell, and also cannot benefit from our prayers.
Our prayers for the dead benefit those in purgatory. Purgatory is the purification that prepares us for heaven. The whole month of November is especially dedicated to praying for the dead, meaning praying for those in purgatory.
Self-knowledge also supports a “Don’t canonize me” request. Most of us know ourselves not to be so blameless as to expect immediate entry to heaven at our death. We strive to respond to the grace given us, to do good and avoid evil. But whether out of weakness, or imperfectly formed character, or temptation, we find ourselves in need of a good confession now and again. Bishop Hying suggests confession monthly is a good frequency for lay people.
Even so, we know that in all likelihood at the end of our lives we will have some residual imperfections. Purgatory is God’s perfecting of us ahead of entry into the eternal wedding feast of the Lamb.
The third reason the bishop might say, “Don’t canonize me” is that he surely saw it done at other funerals. Comforting the sorrowful is a spiritual work of mercy, like praying for the dead. And what could be more comforting than knowing that our beloved is at this moment experiencing the fullness of the glory of God? So the impulse to canonize the departed at their funeral is understandable. But canonizations usually happen years after the funeral, after careful deliberation.
The assumption that everyone goes to heaven is not rooted in truth. After death comes judgment. That judgment is reserved to God alone, and He usually only shares the results with us after this life. Deciding whether someone is in heaven or hell is what Jesus is talking about when he says “judge not” (Mt. 7:1). It’s not our job.
So if we can’t know the eternal destiny of a particular soul this side of heaven, what comfort does the Church offer the grieving? The comfort available to us in this life is true Christian hope.
Christian hope
What is the difference between hope and Christian hope?
Unfortunately, I’ve sometimes seen it explained as though heaven is guaranteed:
With Christian hope it's a question of when my soul goes to heaven – not if – when my body will be raised from its resting place at the end of time and glorified like the risen body of Jesus and joined again with my soul.
This emphasis on the certainty of Christian hope strikes me as wrong. St. Paul observes, “Hope that is seen is not hope” (Rom 8:24). Christian “hope” is a type of hope, not some other thing. It is a hope for eternal happiness. Hope can be directed at all sorts of things: I hope my son catches the fly ball headed his way, I hope she accepts my marriage proposal, I hope I get the job.
Christian hope is distinguished by its object, namely, eternal happiness. Only Christians have a solid foundation for our hope of eternal happiness: God’s love for us demonstrated in the Incarnation and Resurrection of Christ.
Strictly speaking, hope is directed toward the arduous good. Heaven is hard to obtain, which is why Our Lord encourages us to "Strive to enter by the narrow door” (Lk 13:24). But all our striving is inadequate – we need God’s help to obtain so great a goal: "With men [salvation] is impossible, but with God all things are possible" (Mt 26:19).
We can get Christian hope wrong in two ways: Too little hope? That is despair. Too much hope? That is presumption. And professing certainty of the destination of our soul after death sounds a lot like presumption. Christian hope avoids the excesses of despair and presumption. We are certain that God is merciful, and that the omnipotent God can save us. We pray in hope that He will do so.
As we seek to comfort the sorrowful, let’s remember St. Paul’s exhortation (in 1 Thes 4):
But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. … Therefore comfort one another with these words.
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About the author
Damian Lenshek is Director of Cemeteries for the Diocese of Madison.
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