Six years ago, I could count myself among the legions of Catholics who knew nothing about the Church's teachings and traditions around death and dying. Like them, I had vague, mass-media-induced images of a priest rushing to the bedside of a dying person in the middle of a stormy night to administer "extreme unction" just as that person was (quite melodramatically) drawing her last breath. It seems many Catholics (and some Protestants!) have this image, too, as evidenced by panicked requests for a priest when a loved one is in danger of death.
The problem is, priests are not exactly falling out of the sky these days, and one is not always available in this time of great need. So, what's a lay Catholic chaplain--or any Catholic--to do in this case?
Take comfort. The last sacrament of Christian life does not require a priest (though the priest is the "ordinary" minister of the rite), nor do the beautiful Prayers for the Dying as set forth in Pastoral Care of the Sick: Rites of Anointing and Viaticum (PCS), a book of rites and prayers used by priests and lay ministers to care for the sick and the dying.
The last sacrament of Christian life is:
. . . the celebration of Eucharist as Viaticum, [which means] food for the passage through death to eternal life . . . [and which signifies] that the Christian follows the Lord to eternal glory and the banquet of the heavenly kingdom" (PCS, section 175).In case you don't believe me:
The sacrament of anointing of the sick should be celebrated at the beginning of an illness. Viaticum, celebrated when death is close, will then be better understood as the last sacrament of Christian life" (PCS, section 175).
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| The Descent from the Cross, Ivan Mestrovic |
Who Can Give Viaticum (or "The Last Rite")?
Priests, deacons, and lay ministers may all administer Viaticum. Just as lay people are "extraordinary ministers" of the Eucharist at mass, so can they be the extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist as Viaticum at the bedside of a dying person. The rubrics of the PCS clearly delineate which elements of the rite lay people can perform vs. the priest or the deacon. For example, a lay minister cannot give an apostolic pardon as part of the rite; this function is restricted to priests. However, a lay minister can lead the dying person and all who are assembled in a penitential rite. Obviously, some training is in order for any lay person called to provide this special ministry.
Lay ministers such as hospital chaplains may also lead those gathered around the bedside in the Commendation of the Dying, a series of short scripture texts, readings, litanies, and prayers recited for the dying person. These prayers may be said with or without Viaticum.
This all sounds well and good, but in the six years I've been a chaplain, I've given Viaticum only four times. When I am called to the bedside of a dying person, I typically recite only the Commendation of the Dying. Why? Most people are too far gone in their dying process to consciously participate in the prayers and receive the Eucharist as Viaticum. It seems very few people can acknowledge mortality soon enough to benefit from the emotional and spiritual preparation awaiting them in their faith tradition, be they Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist, Jewish, or something else. Without this acknowledgment (and the healthcare system totally colludes in this denial), the experience of dying cannot shift from "clinical pathway" to sacred process. It's really too bad because (speaking from a Catholic perspective) the rites for the dying are replete with our belief in and experience of the Paschal Mystery, which reminds and assures us that death is never the end of our story. It has purpose and meaning.
A Viaticum Story: Offering Bread for the Journey
The few times I've given Viaticum have been a deeply moving experience for me and for the patients and families to whom I've offered it. The following is a story of one such experience, and is an excerpt from the end of my master's thesis, whose central theme was Viaticum. It describes the first time I gave Viaticum after months of painstaking, heady research.
The rites for Viaticum within and outside Mass may include the sign of peace. The minister and all who are present embrace the dying Christian. In this and in other parts of the celebration the sense of leave-taking need not be concealed or denied, but the joy of Christian hope, which is the comfort and strength of one near death, should also be evident.
--"Celebration of Viaticum," Pastoral Care of the Sick: Rites of Anointing and Viaticum
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| The Widow of Zarephath, preparing bread for Elijah |
Perhaps it was a kind of “reward” from God to my labors over Viaticum that I was finally able to offer the sacrament to a patient a couple weeks ago.
I had met Mrs. Gomez, a ninety-six-year-old woman from El Salvador, several weeks prior, when she was admitted to the hospital for pneumonia and other respiratory problems. We couldn’t converse much with each other, as she spoke no English and I spoke little (and very bad) Spanish. However, we easily connected whenever I gave her communion, which she looked forward to receiving daily. It was clear to me that, despite her age and failing health, her mind was sharp and her spirit tenacious and wise.
A couple weeks later, she took a turn for the worse, and her children began preparing for her death. They sat at her bedside day and night, tending to her, keeping vigil. On the one hand, they accepted what was happening. They knew their mother was old and that she did not fear death. On the other hand, they found it difficult to make medical decisions that would allow her to die. One son said, “If she were totally out of it and unresponsive, it would be easier to withdraw treatments and let her go. But she's still alert and able to interact with us. It’s hard to know what to do.” Given that his mother was able to communicate, I asked him if he and his siblings had talked to her about her wishes. Not directly, he said, but he told me she had made some statements recently that indicated she was ready to go.
In the ensuing days, Mrs. Gomez’s condition see-sawed between slight improvement and rapid decline. She would be strong one day and weak the next, adding to her children’s confusion and grief. But finally, Mrs. Gomez herself spoke up, telling her children in no uncertain terms to “take all this stuff away” and let her die. At that point, Mrs. Gomez’s son grabbed me in the hallway as I was about to go home and asked if we had a Spanish-speaking priest who could come and give his mother last rites. Here I was, in the typical Catholic end-of-life scenario. I told the son that we did not have a Spanish-speaking priest, nor did we have any priest-chaplains available at that moment. However, I assured him that his mother had been anointed several times by our priest-chaplains, and that, theologically speaking, she did not need to be anointed again. But I could see that he still needed something to be done. I asked him if his mother was still alert and conscious and he said she was. My mind went straight to Viaticum. I told the son I that I would be happy to offer his mother communion, and that communion was, in fact, the last sacrament of Christian life. I didn't use the word “Viaticum," because I knew it would probably confuse him. He accepted my offer, and I went with him to his mother’s room.
Once there, I gathered Mrs. Gomez’s children around her, and explained that I would be leading them in a special communion rite for the dying called Viaticum. I talked about its meaning as food for the journey intended to strengthen their dying mother on her passage through death to eternal life. I told them that through this rite, their mother would be united with Christ and with them as she crossed this sacred threshold. They seemed reassured and moved.
I began the rite. I had to conduct it in English, which was not ideal, but the children understood it and Mrs. Gomez recognized it (not as Viaticum but definitely as Eucharist). Administering and engaging in the rite brought forth its immense depth and power. To feed Mrs. Gomez Viaticum and her children communion was to palpably experience the eternal bond of love between them and her and between all of them and God. It was an experience of solidarity that cut to the soul, as evidenced by the children’s tears of gratitude at being able to participate with their mother in this final sacrament. The sign of peace at the end was equally powerful, expressing a sense of leave-taking and good-bye, but also a sense of hope, peace, and strength. Mrs. Gomez seemed acutely aware that her children were sending her forth with all their love and gratitude, and that she was going forward on her journey strengthened by them and by Christ. She seemed utterly at peace and died two hours later.
To have this experience with Mrs. Gomez and her family at that moment in my own journey felt like a profound affirmation of my ministry and of all the thinking, analysis, synthesis, and reflection I had put into my thesis. It made clear that Viaticum is by far the more appropriate “last rite” than anointing. Viaticum invites and creates a level of participation and solidarity that anointing cannot even touch (based on my own observations). Loved ones too often perceive anointing as a kind of magical intervention that will guarantee their loved one’s entry into heaven and that without this magical rite, all hope is lost. Viaticum challenges this perception by inviting loved ones into an experience. They are not to stand by while the priest does his magic, but are to share deeply in their loved one’s paschal experience of death.
Another gift of this experience is that it seemed to resolve the issue that gave rise to my project in the first place: my struggle as a layperson to offer a sacramental response to the dying and their loved ones in the absence of a priest. I felt initiated in some way into my own priestly role as a layperson.
Another gift of this experience is that it seemed to resolve the issue that gave rise to my project in the first place: my struggle as a layperson to offer a sacramental response to the dying and their loved ones in the absence of a priest. I felt initiated in some way into my own priestly role as a layperson.
