On Monday, I learned that our 90-something parish sacristan had been found dead in his armchair.
It was my two eldest children who informed me of the fact. They'd heard it from the nuns at their school, who appear to act, among other things, as a parish news transmission service. (Seriously, it's something to behold. I would not be at all surprised to learn that the world is, in fact, entirely governed by nuns. But I digress.)
The first thought which popped into my head was rather unexpected, and to be honest, somewhat unsettling:
"Oh. How lovely".
A strange reaction, by anybody's standards - even mine. So I got to thinking about what it could mean.
This was a gentleman who lived alone, who was independent to the end. A regular at daily Mass, and a regular visitor to the residents of our local care home - most younger than himself. Despite evident difficulty walking, he'd insist on unlocking the organ for me on Sunday mornings, among many other things. He'll be missed.
So why did I react the way I did on hearing of his passing?
Just now, a second thought came, unbidden, to my mind:
He'll be celebrating Christmas in Heaven.
But of course. Jesus invited him to His birthday party, and you don't say no to that. What greater joy could there possibly be?
Say a prayer for Mr. Saison, if you have a moment - and if I'm not much mistaken, he'll be up there praying for us.
