Dear, Dear Friends in Christ,

Perhaps some of you are a little surprised to be at a Solemn High Mass in our Cathedral here today. Perhaps your second surprise is that the family wishes to make a statement to you in the service. Then your third surprise will be that that statement is definitely not going to be a eulogy, but a testimonial of faith.

We have had so many people, both through Sean's illness & death in Fredericton & Halifax, and during the wake in Gagetown, remark to us how strong we are. Not at all. As the children's hymn says, "we are weak, but He is strong"!

During the last week and a half we have truly entered into God's timeless existence in which minutes are hours, hours are minutes, "one day is as a thousand years, & a thousand years are but as a day". And in that struggle of inches and seconds we have all been wonderfully enfolded in the Father's care, supported by the Christian Family, & literally carried -- physically, emotionally & spiritually -- every step of that path; & we continue to be carried. That doesn't mean that the pain is any less real or that we haven't cried rivers of tears -- because we have. As someone who commits bodies of loved ones to the earth on a regular basis, I am always very sensitive about how I say the graveside prayer that exhorts us, "Not to be sorry, as men without hope, for them that sleep in Jesus". The emphasis is definitively on the second part. We are to be sorry -- but always in the perspective of that greater Christian hope. A priest friend at Sean's death-bed uttered the Scripture, "And Jesus wept", as a final benediction. The people seeing that act of compassion knew how much Jesus loved -- & therefore grieved -- his friend. When we love deeply, it hurts deeply. Jesus knows.

From the time we arrived at IWK early last Tuesday a.m., 2 Scriptures & a prayer kept coming into my mind - I kept trying to put them out of my thoughts. The Scriptures were Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac & King David's lamentation of the death of his rebellious but still-beloved son, Absalom. Abraham's faith that, "God himself will provide the ram for the sacrifice, my son" and David's cry of mourning, "O my son Absolom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!" I told God, "Don't ask me to do this Lord, I don't have that kind of faith!" And the prayer that I could not bring myself to add to the many prayers that I said in Sean's room with others & alone, was the prayer, For submission to the will of God in the office to the sick that says, "Grant to this thy servant grace to desire only thy most holy will; that whether living or dying, he may be thine." It was only at morning prayer on St. George's Day, Sean's last day with us here on Earth, that I could say that prayer at Morning Prayer at his bedside & tearfully, but truthfully say, AMEN, so be it.

Many times in praying the Psalms at Sean's bedside and during his wake, I would choke up at the words for a moment. Not because I didn't believe them anymore, but because they were so powerfully true! The Psalms, as Our Lord well knows, truly plumb the depths of the human heart & soul and encounter the Living God in the midst of all our troubles, even when He seems to have abandoned us.

We have shared with those who are mourning with us that our Faith in Christ has sustained us as He promises, but that the pain is no less real for the believer. In fact, perhaps it is even sharper, because we do not have to pretend or run away from it. We have found that the usual statements, "Why?" and "It's so unfair", just don't make any sense to us as Christians. We can, confident in our Saviour's mercy and compassion face it head on, because he bears it with us -- and for us. As we wept I discovered that I was crying as much for the overwhelming and truly humbling sense of gratitude for all the love and support God was showering upon us through His people; and all that He had given us in every second of Sean's brief life; and in the love our whole family has for each other, as for the very real hurt and pain. Phrases like, "cry your eyes out," and, "it tears the heart right out of you," became much more than cliches.

But always, the pain and the joy were co-mingled. Isaac Watts' hymn verses, "Did e'er such love and sorrow meet?" echoed in our minds. We were truly beginning to enter on a new and even more profound level into the Mystery, the Paschal Mystery we celebrate in this Most Holy Season, the Mystery of Our Lord's Passion for us and of the Father's love in giving His only-begotten Son for us. How many times I either thought or said in prayer, "if only I could take this on myself, if only I could trade places with you Sean." We begin to catch a glimpse of Christ's love for us. I melted when I heard my eldest daughter say those same words, which she spoke for all of us, "I just wish I could have taken his place." I told her that that was what loving someone was all about. That we love them so much, we suffer so much with them -- com-passion. We wish we could suffer for them, in their place. We have seen that same compassion in every face we've seen over this week and a half, we have seen the face of Christ. We know even more surely than we did before, that Jesus loves each and every one of us so much, that He really DID take our place, that He really DID suffer and die in our place; and that now He lives, & has gone to prepare a place for us to be with Him. We await with eager longing our joyous reunion with Sean (waiting for those hugs and "love pats") & with all who have died in Christ.

We are eternally grateful to Almighty God for all of you who have accompanied us, both in person and in prayer, on this journey of pain and joy into the wounded, loving, Sacred Heart of Jesus, our Saviour.

ALLELUIA! CHRIST IS RISEN!