Rabbits, rocks and ressurrection
Sunday, Nov. 25, Belmont, NC -- Two elderly sisters sat silently at the back of the Sisters of Mercy convent chapel.
One thumbed through a prayer book. Another, hands folded gently in her lap wrapped in a handkerchief, just stared at the 10-foot-tall crucifix hanging at the far end of the chapel.
Both were oblivious to me watching them from the corner of the chapel's back door.
Within 30 minutes the chapel would begin filling, and it would fill and fill and fill until nearly 600 people crowded onto every seat, stepstool and piano bench both downstairs in the tiny balcony to witness and say a final farwell to Mary Thomas Burke.
But for the moment, there were no people. No tears, no hugs, just a huge chapel and two small, white-haired women sitting motionless in a mixture of prayer and sadness and joy for one of their own. The capacious chapel almost swallowed them, so big was it and so small were they. As I watched them, I could feel their silence grow, until it became so big it overtook the empty space in which they sat.
They communed in perfect silence with their sister, at final rest in her casket 15 feet from them. Mary Thomas was still teaching.
* * *
From "Sing with all the saints in glory":
Sing with all the saints in glory.
Sing the ressurrection song!
Death and sorrow, earth's dark story,
To the former days belong.
All around the clouds are breaking,
Soon the storms of time shall cease;
In God's likeness, we awaken,
Knowing everlasting peace.
* * *
The crowd was immense, the chapel and balcony filled to standing. The funeral Mass was very traditional Catholic. It was, after all, her religious tradition, with its ancient rituals and exacting procedures. Essentially the same service for more than 1,000 years. Such a mixture of faiths and cultures, belief and non-belief. Mary Thomas was still teaching.
When the priest spoke of Mary Thomas he mentioned her many gifts. And he quoted Dylan Thomas's poem to his father, noting that she did "not go gentle into that good night."
He also called her "a model nun," a compliment that would have made her blush.
Too soon, it felt, final words were spoken, a final song sung.
* * *
From "Song of farwell:"
May the choirs of angels come to greet you.
May they speed you to paradise.
May the Lord enfold you in his mercy.
May you find eternal life."
* * *
Lights glowed. Blinkers flashed. Traffic parted. The long procession inched out onto U.S. 74 and snaked down the road to the cemetery at Belmont Abbey.
There Stephanie Rauch searched frantically for a rock to place on the casket -- a sign of good fortune in Jewish tradition. Stephanie finally gave up. The manicured lawn at the cemetery was too pristine.
As soon as she gave up, as soon as she let go, she looked down. And there was her rock.
Mary Thomas was still teaching.
* * *
The final response to the graveside service:
May the mercy of God enfold her,
And the love of God surround her.
May she be our companion on our way,
Until we meet face to face in God.
* * *
The 150 people at the cemetery began drifting as the service ended. But the nuns were not ready to be done: they invited everyone to supper. For the Sisters of Mercy, service doesn't end when one of them dies, it is only reinforced and spread to the others.
Supper was filled with the pleasant chatter of new acquaintances and old friends. Mundane comments mingled with serious inquiries about the health of this person and that person. And always, the smiles.
The awkwardness of gathering for the Mass was gone; the sisters somehow had managed to open their arms and draw the remaining 100 people into a single embrace.
As I left, reflexively I pulled quickly down the drive, feeling the rush of the world, the need to get back, the need to do ... what?
A small, brown rabbit darted in front of me and I braked. The rabbit paused, as if to say, "Why the hurry?" and slowly hopped away. I smiled, tapped the gas lightly and eased out from the convent grounds.
Mary Thomas was still teaching.
-- Steve Snow
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