By PAIGE BYRNE SHORTAL

A favorite line from my favorite novel so far this year, Peace Like a River, by Leif Enger:

“Drat, thought dying Lazarus -- this part again.”

For, Lazarus was not resurrected, but only brought back to life -- this life. And so he had to die again. All of us suffer so many deaths, so many rehearsals for the final death.

Drat, thought the physician, as he studied the x-rays of a favorite patient -- this part again.

Drat, thought the mother, who hid her tears as she sent another child off into the world -- this part again.

Drat, thought the husband, as he came home to find his wife weeping over another lump in her breast -- this part again.

Drat, thought the student, as he stared at his report card -- this part again.

Drat, thought the writer, as she stared at the blank screen -- this part again.

Drat, thought the man, as he opened the letter from the bank -- this part again.

Drat, thought the parents, as they paced the floor at 2:00 a.m. -- this part again.

Drat, thought the yo-yo-dieting woman, as she stepped on to the scale -- this part again.

Drat, thought the bishop and the priests and the deacons and the lay people, as they read the morning headlines -- this part again.

Drat, thought the preacher, as the worshipers looked hopeful or challenging or bored -- this part again.

Drat, thought the sinner, who stared into reddened eyes in the morning-after-mirror -- this part again.

Drat, thought the teacher, as she tallied the poor grades of a struggling student -- this part again.

Drat, thought the woman, as she came home to find her husband with a bottle -- this part again.

Drat, thought the couple, as their harsh words came unbidden and the evening was lost to cold and loneliness -- this part again.

Drat, thought the weeping woman, who thought she was finally finished with depression -- this part again.

Drat, thought the president and the generals and the soldiers and the loved ones of the soldiers, as the alarms sounded -- this part again.

Drat, thought the parents, as they gazed into the feverish eyes of their beloved child -- this part again.

Drat, thought Jesus, as he fell for the third time -- this part again.

So many deaths along the way. Some too petty to even pray about. Some so overwhelming that there are no words.

And in the midst of these deaths we hear these comforting words from the prophet Ezekiel, who speaks in the name of the Lord God:

O my people, I will open your graves and have you rise from them … I will put my spirit in you that you may live. I have promised and I will do it, says the Lord.

I have promised and I will do it!

And what has God promised? In Jesus we are promised that from death -- little deaths and Death itself -- comes Life. That from Lent will come Easter. From winter will come the spring. I’m ready for spring.

Paige Byrne Shortal is a pastoral associate in a parish in rural Missouri.

National Catholic Reporter, March 29, 2002

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