Third Sunday of Easter
Fr. Anthony Brankin
Every so often we are called to MacNeal Hospital or even County Hospital to anoint someone—to give them the Last Rites—as people sometimes call it. Now the majority of those whom we anoint at two in the morning or at eight in the evening are from parishes far away—maybe from Chicago. Maybe they live near Midway airport; and the reason that we are called at Saint Odilo is because the family and the hospital cannot reach their proper priest. Now often, the sick person and their children and the grandchildren do not belong to a parish. It is very common that the person to whose bedside we are called has not been to church for many years. But the family knows—in the deepest recesses of their hearts—that their grandma or grandpa needs the Last Rites. And so they beg the nurses and doctors or the chaplains to get a priest for their loved one. And the hospital phones, and we come. It sounds pretty routine, but I think there is something else that is happening here—and something a bit mysterious.
If you are old enough you remember the Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus—particularly as it centered around the Nine First Fridays. This was a beautiful part of Catholic life—another thing tossed away by the modernists once they took over. But Jesus revealed Himself to Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque as the Sacred Heart of Jesus who burned with love for His people. And Jesus told Sister Margaret Mary that if Catholics went to Mass and received Communion (and perhaps confession) on the First Friday of each month for nine months in a row—for the honor and glory of the Sacred of Jesus—they would receive beautiful graces in their lives. These graces, Jesus promised us, would convert the hardest of hearts, keep families close to God, and convert the most bitter of sinners. And the most dramatic promise was this—that at the end of a person’s life, God would make sure that they had a priest at their side—who would give them the last sacraments. That is why I wonder about all the times we are called to MacNeal for people who have no parish and no priest. Is this not perhaps the Sacred Heart of Jesus—from His throne in heaven—trying to fulfill His Promises of Mercy to a dying person who a long time ago made the Nine First Fridays. Is this not Jesus being faithful to a person who trusted in God’s promise to be with them at the end. Is this not Our Lord using the nurses and chaplains and priests—and even telephone company—to show forth His Divine Mercy to a family—maybe none of whom have been in church in thirty years. What an example of how the Sacrament of the Sick is an extension of the Divine Mercy of the Sacred Heart of Jesus!
Grace so deep
Ok—so how does the Sacrament of the sick—Extreme Unction—the last Rites show us God’s Mercy? Firstly—If the person who is dying is conscious, I will hear their confession, absolve them, and anoint them with the oils for the Sick. This anointing is the actual sacrament and it infuses grace so deeply that when the moment of death comes and the soul leaves the body, that person is not afraid. At the exact moment that they should have been terrified—“What is happening? Where am I going?” They enjoy a profound peace—an indescribable tranquility. They know exactly what is happening and where they are going—home to God—home to the family and friends who went before—home to Jesus and Mary and the Saints and Angels.
Now, if the person I am to anoint is unconscious, the Anointing of the Sick nonetheless forgives those sins— even without the person confessing those sins—in other words if the dying person—at the moment before they went unconscious—was sorry for their sins at least because they were afraid of going to hell—those sins are forgiven. This is called “imperfect contrition”—and “imperfect contrition” is enough for the Sacrament of the sick to take away sin—even the most heinous of sins—even if the person is unconscious. And that person goes home to God in heaven to give thanks to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, who was so merciful that He would not let this child of His die in sin.
So when I am called to the hospital at three in the morning and I throw some water on my face and I stumble into my shoes and coat—(I don’t even put on my socks)—and squeeze myself into the car and out of the garage (and I am wishing the phone had rung at St. Leonard’s), I console myself that I am simply helping Jesus to fulfill His First Friday Promise to a poor soul who needs so desperately the Divine Mercy. It is not MacNeal Hospital calling—but Jesus—who one more time wants to get the last sacraments to one of his children—before Satan can get to them. Even if it means Him calling up some crabby priest in the middle of the night, He will fulfill His promises. He is merciful by being faithful and He is faithful by being merciful. This is the Divine Mercy of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.