St Polycarp (c. 69—155) is one of my heroes. We have only one letter of his extant, plus sundry references in St Ignatius and St Ireneaus which emphasize Polycarp’s importance as a link with the apostolic past. Irenaeus asserts that Polycarp had been taught by St John himself and knew many who had known Jesus Christ in the flesh. He mentions his martyrdom, but our chief source of information comes from a Letter of the Smyrneans. It is one of the most exciting narratives ever penned and provides a clear and beautiful picture of fidelity and courage in old age. Indeed, it is for his glorious martyrdom that Polycarp is chiefly remembered today.
It is tempting to think of old age as a time when our life’s work is done, when we slip gradually into Shakepseare’s sixth and seventh ages and are, as far as this world goes, no longer of any account. Some of us, of course, have never been of much account anyway, and as we grow older we merely face this truth with more and more frankness. I myself believe that old age is very far from being of no account. We may not be called to martyrdom like Polycarp; but it is quite likely that when we are at our weakest and most vulnerable we shall be called upon to perform the most heroic act of our life: to die. Just as Polycarp’s death showed how he had lived, so will ours; and it will require just as much courage, though ours may — I hope will — be expressed differently.
We pray for the grace of a good death, but perhaps we shrink from thinking what that might mean. So often the business of dying is a bit bleak, a bit laboured, messy even. A good death does not necessarily mean to die ‘bravely,’ with sobbing family gathered round an immaculately sheeted bed and all the paraphanalia of a text-book ‘holy death’. Rather, it means to die trusting, however imperfectly, in the God who made us, surrendering ourselves into his hands, returning our spirit to him who gave it. It means uttering the great Amen to the gift of life; and it doesn’t really matter whether we proclaim it firmly or whisper it feebly. All that matters is that we say it.
Today, let us give thanks for Polycarp and all who have shown us the way.
Since I first read the account of Polycarp’s martyrdom in the New Eusebius in 1976 he has been a tremendous influence on my life and thinking. Now as the years creep ever onwards I pray that I may remain as strong as he did in the face of increasing weakness
My mother died alone in hospital a day after I drove the 140 mile journey home. I have since wondered why God allowed that but your post today helped me accept that her death was a good one and she didn’t need us all ‘sobbing around the bed’. Thankyou
May God bless you. The death of someone we love is always hard.
There is the cultural aspect of death to consider, as well. Where the presence of sobbing and wailing family members may be viewed by some as histrionic, they in turn often view the stiff upper lip composure of others as distant and disrespectful. These differences cease to exist for the one who is dying when at their last breath their soul is entrusted to God’s mercy. I hope to receive the last Sacraments, having witnessed the comfort they bring to the dying. If not, I pray to surrender, as you say, Sister, returning my imperfect soul to God. When I was a child I was taught the bedtime prayer “Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep”. As a senior adult I pray the Act of Contrition as I sink into my pillow. With each passing birthday I sense my life coming closer to completion and am far less afraid than I thought I would be.
I seem, as so often, to have failed to make myself clear. When I wrote ‘A good death does not necessarily mean to die “bravely,” with sobbing family gathered round an immaculately-sheeted bed and all the paraphanalia of a text-book “holy death”,’ I was not intending to single out any particular element, still less to criticize it. I was merely contrasting what one might call ‘dying as portrayed in literature and art’ with the reality of most of the deaths I’ve attended, and consequently mintaining that the attendant circumstances of our dying are not the most important thing.
I understood you, Sister and wasn’t disagreeing with you, nor did I think you were singling out or criticizing, not sure where that came from? Having worked in palliative care nursing I’ve also experienced that the reality of a good death is seldom as portrayed in literature and art, as you say. My poorly expressed point had to do with the stripping away of what normally constitutes the whole package of family and cultural experience of a loved one’s death and the ease with which an individual may offer the great “Amen” of which you speak. I hope and pray we are all so blessed!