You remember that story of the siege of Toledo in the Spanish Civil war. The starving garrison inside the fortress was commanded by Colonel Moscardó. The besieging army telephoned the Colonel, ‘We have captured your son. We will shoot him unless you surrender'. Moscardó asked to speak to his son on the phone. When the boy came, his father spoke only two words, ‘Muere bien (Die well).' Of all we have to do in this life, here is the hardest task, to die well. The thousands of deaths we see on television do not prepare us to see it as a task at all. Death is often presented as the ultimate failure in dramas that flood our screens. But the most comforting memories of my years as a priest are of the people who showed me what it was to die well. In a New York hospital I was called to an old Irishman. He was worn out by a life of hard work on the docks, and he knew he was dying. Alone in the harsh city, he had drifted, rather than moved, away from the church. He was so overwhelmed by joy at finding an Irish priest, and receiving the last sacraments, that both of us were weeping. He could remember the Hail Mary, and as his strength ebbed away, he kept repeating with total contentment, ‘Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.' Many of his generation saw death in Ireland (‘bás in Éireann') as a blessing. He had the next best thing.
Dear Jesus, as I call on you today I realise that I often come asking for favours.Today I'd like just to be in your presence.Let my heart respond to Your Love.
