At some funerals I have celebrated, I have been struck by the thought of how little I know about the person who I am praying for. I may know only what I was told by a family member. Even if I had met them, or were friends with them, or even knew them as a family member, I could still say, “I knew so little about him.”
There is a significance to the fact that I and many others have thoughts like these most often around the time of someone’s death. I think this may be because during our lives, we give off the illusion of full self-revelation. People encounter us and think they know us or we think we know them just because we’ve shared a part of ourselves with them.
The amazing thing about a person, however, is just how deep he or she truly is. Human beings are like icebergs – there is far more under the surface than is apparent. No matter how deeply we come to know someone this side of eternity, we will still in so many ways be scratching the surface to a reality that is truly a mystery. There are depths we are unaware of.
One of those beautifully hidden elements of a life is generally a person’s prayer life. Yes, we may be able to see a person daily go to Mass, pray the rosary, or do some devotions, but what is happening at the depths of the soul is hidden to us. What intimate conversations with God went on as he mowed the grass, as she walked through the grocery store, as he played with his kids, or as she drove the car, as he sat in adoration – these things we will never know.
But they are known to God.
So, at a funeral, I listen to the memories shared, and I wonder – I wonder with a sense of awe at the depth of relationality with God over the course of a life that we will never know. I find this reality incredibly humbling and incredibly hopeful.
St. Francis was very much a man with such a hidden depth of soul. He was seen often by his brothers as someone wrapt up in prayer, even so deeply as to lose touch with his surroundings. He loved to experience the love of God through prayer, and would gratefully accept the consolations given him by God.
St. Bonaventure shares, “[Francis] had learned in prayer that the presence of the Holy Spirit for which he longed was granted more intimately to those who invoke him, the more the Holy Spirit found them withdrawn from the noise of worldly affairs. Therefore seeking out lonely places, he used to go to deserted areas and abandoned churches to pray at night” (The Life of St. Francis, 10.3). These hidden experiences of the life of the saint are a rich source of meditation – as are the night vigils of our Lord in the Gospels. What went on in their hearts in their communication with the Holy Trinity?
Each of us is called to a contemplative life. The degree of this call may not be to the same as that of a cloistered monk or nun, but it is a necessary part of our Christian life. We cannot content ourselves to simply rote prayers or to simply acts of charity. While both of those are good and necessary too, they will lose their fire and may be nearly lifeless unless they are grounded in a deep, intimate, personal prayer life.
May St. Francis’ prayers help us to give time in our lives to silence, resting in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, and sharing our hearts deeply with God. These moments may be known by no one but God, and may never be shared at a funeral, but they will be some of the most important moments of our lives.