Morris West is one of my favorite Catholic novelists. I vividly recall when I first read one of his novels. I was a seminarian recovering from the flu. The title of the novel was “The Devil’s Advocate.”
Several priests I knew were reading it, and a very popular interpretation of the main character’s “conversion” was being offered. I recall discussing the novel with three of the most intelligent priests I knew: George Deas and Charlie Breslin, both of whom taught English literature at one point in their ministry, and Martin Healy, who taught dogmatic theology at the seminary in Huntington. I think Marty was a genius. The novel eventually became the basis for an excellent Broadway play.
The main character in the novel, Msgr. Blaise Meredith, has spent his priesthood as a Vatican bureaucrat. His role at the Vatican was to present arguments on why a candidate for canonization should not be canonized. Hence the tag “Devil’s Advocate.” Through some dramatic changes in his life, Meredith becomes involved with a number of people who have serious pastoral problems. In every situation, he responds beautifully.
One interpretation of Meredith’s character was that through his pastoral work, he became a very holy priest. That was the interpretation I accepted, and I think George and Charlie also accepted. However, Marty offered another interpretation of Meredith’s relationship with God. Marty thought Meredith was very close to God throughout his priesthood, and when he became involved with people who had serious spiritual problems, Meredith’s deep relationship with God became evident. Marty was the only reader I knew who viewed Meredith as holy throughout his life. Recalling how interesting and well-written I found the novel when I read it more than 60 years ago, I am tempted to re-read at least parts of it.
In his book, “Insane for the Light: A Spirituality for Our Wisdom Years,” Father Ron Rolheiser writes the following:
“When he was in his 80s, the novelist Morris West wrote a short, though remarkable, memoir recounting many of his struggles during his life and how he eventually made peace with all that was wounded inside him. Writing as an old man still bearing the scars of some bitter fires he had been through, he offers us some advice. When you reach a certain age, he says, there should be only three phrases left in your vocabulary: Thank you, Thank you, and Thank you. If we reach our autumn years and these are not the dominant three phrases in our vocabulary, then we still have some major work to do.
“Indeed, the capacity to say thank you, to be grateful, is the ultimate virtue underlying all other virtues, including love. …
“All of us come to adulthood and to our autumn years carrying deep wounds that unless they are properly grieved and open to grace and healing, will leave us resentful and bitter. And ideally that is not how we want to live out our last years and say goodbye to our loved ones and our world. We want to die with a warm, grateful heart.
“The aging and dying process is designed to help us move from resentment to gratitude” (pp. 35-36).
Though Rolheiser writes beautifully about the importance of offering our death as a gift to others, he admits that it is not easy to make that gift. He writes the following:
“This is a challenge, perhaps the ultimate challenge for all of us. Life can be brutally unfair, and we can be sinfully unfaithful. It is hard to forgive others, and perhaps it is even harder to forgive ourselves. Hence, some time before we die, we need to forgive — forgive those who wounded or failed us, forgive ourselves for our own failures. … We need to do this so that we do not die angry, bitter people. That is the challenge of our lives.
“Ira Byock, a physician and author who works in palliative care, wrote a series of books about what ideally should happen during the process of aging and dying. He summarizes it all in a short series of phrases — namely, the four things that matter most. The four things that are most important to say on our deathbed (if we have not said them with sufficient heart before) are ‘Please forgive me,’ ‘I forgive you,’ ‘Thank you,’ and ’I love you’ ” (pp. 37- 38).
I have found writing this series of columns on Rolheiser’s book demanding but very fulfilling. Some of the passages in Rolheiser’s book, indeed many of them, have forced me not only to read slowly but also often to re-read.
I find the book inspiring. I hope that no reader of this series of columns finds all the reflections about our deaths depressing. I hope I have been successful in communicating Rolheiser’s trust and hope.
Father Lauder is a philosophy professor at St. John’s University, Jamaica. His new book, “The Cosmic Love Story: God and Us,” is available on Amazon.com and at Barnes & Noble.