The 3 p.m. Podcast | The Workbook of Life

By Michael J. Arvizu

This past weekend, I attended the funeral of a man whom I only knew as an acquaintance. He and his wife were close friends of my parents. The man was a great asset to our parish where he vonlunteered thousands of hours over the 40 years he and his wife were parishioners.

I last saw him reading the Sunday scriptures during the Spanish Mass about three weeks ago. His deep voice and slow pacing made him an excellent lector.

I did not know that would be the last time I would see him alive.

Funerals, or anything that has to do with them, always bring out the worst in me. Thoughts about mortality, our time here on Earth, the choices we make in life, and whether there really is a heaven or hell swam around in my head as I sat there listening to the eulogies. To bring some humor to the occasion, I thought about this Yogiism by catcher Yogi Berra: “You should always go to other people’s funerals. Otherwise they won’t come to yours.”

I thought about other friends whom I’ve lost, and I thought about other funerals I have witnessed.

My mind wandered to the funeral I attended of a young man who was shot and killed by the LAPD earlier this year after getting out of his car following a chase and pointing a weapon at police officers. The incident happened a few blocks away from my church. I remembered our pastor giving the young people gathered a talking to during his homily, saying that life is about making choices and facing the consequences. This young man clearly made a wrong choice. He didn’t need to go further than that to make his point. The casket lying at the foot of the altar was all the evidence he needed.

I thought about the funeral for a great teacher and friend of mine who succumbed to cancer four years ago and whose presence I miss every time I see someone play our church piano.

To worsen my melancholy, I went to our parish office and flipped through our death registry, which just happened to be open to the last page upon which the details of the most recent funeral had been written — that weekend’s funeral. I looked to see if I could find the details of other friends who had passed. They were there. The funeral of a young man who had recently been the victim of a homicide was also there. The book goes back five years, so every funeral or memory of every person I knew — Rene, Mercedes, Cenovia, Pete, Ricardo — who had passed was there at my fingertips in a sort of silent reminder.

Then I listened to the scripture readings that Sunday and heard the portion of the Gospel of Mark about the mute man who was made to hear again after Jesus puts his fingers into his ears, and made to speak again after Jesus spits and touches his tongue. (We would see this again in the Gospel of John Chapter 9 where Jesus makes a blind man see after Jesus makes clay out of mud and spit and rubs it in his eyes.)

Certainly, in contemporary times, the putting of fingers into ears and spitting and touching of toungues is not the most appealing visual. But the real message behind the Gospel was not so much that Jesus uses his fingers and tongue and spit to make mute men speak, but that he uses unexpected things to bring about change. Such was the case with the funeral. What can I learn from seeing friends pass away? Is God telling me to spend more time with my family and cherish the time I have with them? Is he telling me to reconcile with people who have hurt me?

What is God telling us about the recent fires? I doubt the answer to this question is to make sure our brush clearance is up to par. But maybe he’s telling us to appreciate nature more. Or maybe brush clearance could be a family project, where a dad and a son can talk about old times and reconnect while hacking away at the chaparral behind their hillside home. Maybe God is showing us a lesson in the people who lost their homes to the fire — possessions and homes can be replaced, and human lives cannot. Maybe we have too many possessions in our lives. Maybe we don’t give enough to the poor. Maybe we can give a dollar or two or three to the homeless man we pass every day on the way to work. Maybe I don’t need a closet full of shoes ... you get the idea.

Whatever the circumstance is, maybe we can learn something from it.

MICHAEL J. ARVIZU is regional coordinator of the San Fernando Region Ministry With Young Adults. Reach him at (866) 304-0341, or e-mail michael.arvizu@sfmya.org.