Memories of Josephine

Some extracts from my homily during my sister's funeral this morning:

There was a great coincidence between my mother and my sister’s death. Both happened in April through cancer. My mother happened on Sunday morning 12 years ago, and I was praying the Breviary next to her after giving her the Last Rites, and an hour later I had to say Mass at the St. Julian’s church. It was exactly one week after Pope Benedict’s visit. In my sister’s case, I was praying the Breviary as I do daily before my 4:30 PM Mass, and at one moment I felt an overwhelming glow through my body, and I cried for a few seconds, something which I do not often do. They told me afterwards that it was at exactly 4:05 PM when Josephine left the earth for heaven to be united with our parents and her brother Paul. I knew that God talked to me at that moment, as if to tell me ‘she here’s safely with me.’ Then I garnered enough courage to celebrate Mass. Like my mother, Josephine died a week after Pope Francis’s visit. 

Then just yesterday, as I was waiting for the bus to go and say Mass as I do daily at my chapel at Hilltop Gardens, two white doves descended next to me and were pacing around me for a few minutes until the bus arrived. I felt they were sent by God to tell me everything will be fine for tomorrow's funeral, as I was concerned - but they represented my sister and my mother assuring me that everything will be fine, and that they are together in heaven with my father. (Now we have plenty of pigeons, which make a mess everywhere, but white doves are not that common.)

St. Teresa of Calcutta used to say that the ideal Christian does not do extraordinary things in life, but rather ordinary things with a great heart, with lots of love. And Josephine did this throughout her entire life – with sincere love, towards us, and everyone who knew her.

Josephine was one of those people who would follow a strict routine once she learned something. The way she washed clothes, cleans, how she prepares things, how she makes sure there are enough Twistees, candy and biscuits for nephews Julian and Peter when they were younger, heading to the secret cupboard where she stored all her goodies. And when she called me in my American parishes, every Saturday, exactly at 5:45 AM (Malta time in the afternoon) and I would keep my hands on the phone, because she never missed by more than a few seconds, 5:45 AM on the button.

All of us siblings saw her suffer during the last few years and we did everything we could to alleviate the pain she endured so bravely. The last 2 days especially were traumatic hours, and we know that the doctors and nurses, and our two nephews doctors Julian and Peter did all they could, but the Lord wanted her with him for this Holy Week. And myself, with the articles that I write and the thousands of homilies that I preached, I probably have not influenced other people as much as my sister did with her silence and prudence and simplicity. She taught me that I can do so much more good in life by what I don’t say, rather with what I say, often without thinking first.

And one final thing I learned from my sister over the last few months. Let us learn never to judge those who are suffering, because we cannot really enter their bodies and experience even a tiny bit of what they are going through. Instead of criticizing them and ignoring them or minimizing their discomfort, let us show compassion and help them the best way we can. As Pope Francis said recently in an interview, all we can offer in the midst of pain and suffering, is silence, as my sister did. And let us never take each other for granted. I Thank you Lord that you gave us a person who through her patience and simplicity, obeyed you faithfully, served us humbly, and spoke with her prudent silence, pregnant with love. Her eloquent silence endeared her to many friends who admired her for her humility, meekness and gentleness – and that is why everybody loved her.