Praying for the deceased
Barry Cairns
Living in Japan has greatly influenced how I pray for my deceased parents, relatives, friends and benefactors. One woman's example, in particular, touched me deeply.
Twenty years ago Mrs Migaki was in my class preparing for baptism. Her husband, a Catholic, had died five years before. As Easter approached and the class was due for baptism, Mrs Migaki felt a great hesitancy about committing herself.
She went to her husband's grave and discussed the problem with him. She came away with peace and with the decision to request baptism. Mrs Migaki taped her baptism ceremony and that evening went to the gravesite and played the tape for her husband. She thanked him for being a caring husband.
I was intrigued by this Japanese way of connecting with the dead. Then I came to realise that this is what we call in the Creed, ‘The Communion of Saints.' That is, there remains a living bond between the living and the dead.
In Japan, Buddhism is regarded by most as the religion of funerals and the dead. Praying for them has been a long and strong tradition in Japan that probably precedes Buddhism which came to Japan from Korea in AD552.
When I go on home leave I always go and visit my parents' grave. I take a folding chair and sit and quietly reflect on them. Different incidents come to the surface at different times. I thank my mother for her care when I had scarlet fever, for the way she prepared our meals despite being numb with a migraine. I thank my father for hand making toys for us during the war years and for mending the punctures on my bike. I personally find that gratitude in general doesn't touch me.
By recalling specific incidents my prayer of gratitude becomes focussed. After thanking the deceased, it's so natural to thank God for giving me my parents and friends.
By being human, personalities tend to clash. As I said, ‘thank you' I can also say ‘sorry.' That, too, is praying for our dead. For example, when I was a young pre-Vatican II curate, I had a severe parish priest.
I returned that severity with interest. For years I was loaded with resentment. Eventually I made a special pilgrimage to his grave and spent time there. I could now say to him, "I'm sorry. I now understand the stress we were both under." I came out of that cemetery with a free heart, my resentment had dissolved. It was my former parish priest's (and God's) way of saying, ‘Peace be with you.'
At funerals and anniversary Masses I use a Japanese style incense-charcoal bowl and say out loud a prayer based on Psalm 141:2:
‘O Lord may our prayers for our deceased go up like incense before you.'
The incense smoke becomes a visible symbol of a generous, understanding God who accepts our prayer.
Gratitude and apology - try it this November when we especially pray for our deceased.
