Among the books of the Old Testament, the Book of Wisdom is not universally recognised as a part of the Canon of Scripture. It's not part of the Hebrew tradition, rather it is written in Greek, comes much later than the books of the prophets, and borrows from the authority and the reputation of Solomon. For these reasons it was removed from the bible by the protestant reformers of the 16th century. Yet in the Catholic tradition it not only remains in the bible but is used in the liturgy as a text that informs and is affirmed by the Gospel.
This week the book of Wisdom presents us with the image of the righteous man whose adherence to his beliefs so offends the enemies of God that they plan to torture and kill him, hoping that in doing so his faith may be proved false.
We don't get to hear the result of their campaign, but the next chapter does present us with the consoling message that the souls of the righteous are in the hands of God. To the eyes of the foolish their passing seems like a disaster, but those who have faith know that they are beyond suffering now and are at peace with God.
It was the latter text that we chose for the funeral Mass of my grandmother who, having been diagnosed with late-stage cancer, would have suffered long before we knew she was dying.
That was in 1986. And although I would be lying if I said, as so many people do of their loved ones, that I think of her every day, I still miss her terribly. I like to think that the seeds of my own vocation were planted as I sat by her side in my pre-school years, as she prepared her lessons as a volunteer catechist.
I also remember clearly the utter devastation of my grandfather when she died. Of how terribly he missed her. Of how her passing seemed like a disaster. And I try to reconcile the 'foolishness' that this suggests with the faith that he embodied. Was his faith being tested, as the godless men in our reading suggest? Or is God's faithfulness to us so deep that it endures beyond the inevitable pain of death?
Last week we reached a turning point in Mark's account of the Gospel. Jesus was revealed as the Messiah, began His journey towards Jerusalem and the cross, and would spend a considerable portion of His time from now on trying to help his disciples understand the reality of what His love for the world will mean - total self-giving, even unto death. And they will mourn Him. These few who will become the great teachers and propagators of our faith.
They didn't know Him any less, love Him any less, or ever fully understand the mystery of the resurrection. But they were completely, hopelessly, irrevocably transformed by having known Him.
They were foolish in their own way, but faithful still. And reflecting on the extraordinary example of love that I witnessed in my grandparents' relationship, I can begin to reconcile that. Pa loved her, even into death, and in time, into eternal life.

Mick and Kath (my Nana and Pa)
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