Commentary: Last week was a banner week for death. Later today, I'm to captain & altar-serve at my third funeral Mass this week. The faithful departed have been Mike Whiskey, the wife of a pal & brother Knight; Mike Lima, a brother Knight the pleasure of whose acquaintance I did not have, but who was only five years older than your humble narrator; & Mike Papa, a pal & brother Knight from a large, friendly clan, cornerstones of the parish. News & rumors have also been swirling around of other deaths within the broader circle of friends, acquaintances, & fellow parishioners.
For my part, I blow a raspberry at death, offering as a Bronx cheer the words of Saint Paul (25 January, 29 June) from his First Letter to the Corinthians (chapter fifteen, himself quoting the prophet Hosea):
54 And when this which is corruptible clothes itself with incorruptibility & this which is mortal clothes itself with immortality, then the word that is written shall come about:
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
55 Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"