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On a recent stormy night, dark had fallen when one of the rabbits that inhabit the neighborhood had crept under the chain-link fence that encloses my front yard and my dogs detected its presence.

Hell broke loose for 20 seconds as the rabbit zigzagged across the yard and the dogs wildly pursued, barking and yelping.

Twice the rabbit slammed into the chain-link fence as it tried to escape. The fence gave way slightly and then pushed the rabbit back to the dogs. The dogs pinned it on the ground, the larger dogs stepped back and the older terrier clamped down with its teeth on the rabbit’s body.

I arrived just as the rabbit took its last breath, its eyes open. After clearing the dogs away I slipped the rabbit’s limp body into a plastic grocery bag and placed it in the garbage toter.

I was not upset with the dogs. I understand that by nature they hunt, but I was saddened. I don’t hunt nor was I raised on a farm where the slaughter of animals for food is part of life. Hours later what remained with me was the sound of the rabbit hitting the chain-link fence as it tried to escape death.

Sunday, Aug. 28, the Church remembers Saint Augustine on the anniversary of his death, his birthday into heaven. Paintings of Augustine often portray him at a desk with a human skull before him.

I doubt that Augustine ever placed a skull in front of him. Rather the artist is showing that Augustine lived in the constant awareness of death.

One of my favorite movies is “Harold and Maude.” Harold is a young man who dresses in black, frequents funerals and cemeteries and stands on the fringes as family and friends bury a loved one. He notices an old woman who shows up at these burials as well.

Maude is Harold’s opposite: where he is cold, she is warm; where he never smiles, she wears a smile; where he is obsessed with death, she is full of life. Through the course of the movie Maude teaches Harold to see and savor the beauty of life.

I was Harold. As a young man I traveled hours to view the artwork of James Ensor, whose paintings focused on death. He was a man “obsessed with his own mortality.” At the time I was agnostic. For the agnostic death remains an open question, an unresolved mystery.

As I approach my 70s, I am more Maude. I know a God who has called me to serve as a priest, waited patiently for me to accept that call and has sustained me in that calling. I am grateful for the multitudes of people who have helped along the way. Many of them have died but remain a part of my life.

The dogs are happiest when they can get out and run, so we often go to the cemetery of a local country parish, where my family is buried and I also will be buried. We were there on a recent evening and as dusk was falling, I felt that we were halfway between life and death, on the verge of joining those buried there.

The thought of being separated from this life as I die and the dogs have all died does not sadden me. I believe that moment exists somewhere in eternity, and we will be together in that moment forever.

Perhaps the greatest gift I receive from being present with families as a family member is dying is that it extends my horizons beyond this life. I see their faith that while their spouse, parent or child has died, that person remains a part of their life. Their faith, their certainty that they will be with them again, strengthens my faith.

St. Paul addresses this question of what follows after death in chapter 15 of his first letter to the Corinthians. Somewhere he says: If we lived for this life only, we would be the most pitiful of all people. As chapter 15 progresses, the reader senses Paul’s excitement at the thought of leaving this life and entering heaven.

This past week I visited a man who returned from the hospital after a lengthy struggle with illness. As his daughter told him, “Dad, we’re going home now,” he responded: “For a little while.” “Home” was shifting from where he had lived his entire adult life and raised a family, to where his parents, brothers and adult daughter have gone ahead.

There are those moments in this life when heaven breaks in. The Mass is one of those moments for Catholics. At the Mass, we are present with Jesus and the Apostles in the Upper Room at the Last Supper, and at Calvary as Jesus sacrifices his life for us. All those in heaven are present with us as well.

My all-time favorite meal is when my mother would make cornbread in a large baking pan she had found somewhere. She added meat, vegetables or fruit to the cornbread so that it was the one dish for the meal. My mother, father, sisters and I ate the cornbread together as we talked and laughed.

I believe that moment exists in eternity. We shall be together again, by the grace of God, in heaven.

The Rev. Ray Clark is a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Owensboro. He may be reached at ray.clark@pastoral.org.

The Rev. Ray Clark is a Catholic priest of the Diocese of Owensboro. He may be reached at ray.clark@pastoral.org.

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