The ringing of the telephone roused me from my afternoon siesta.
“Hi Mike, so good to talk to ya big fella.”
I knew it couldn’t be John Wayne but the cadence of the voice reminded me of a cowboy.
“Is that you Neil?” I mumbled.
“Not really but if you want, I’ll just keep talking ‘til ya figure it out,” came the reply.
Mercifully after a few more moments, my brain pulled out the name of the caller from the folksy voice shelf of my memory.
“Hi Father John. So good of you to call.” Father John Weber is the pastor of our church, Good Shepherd Parish in Thornhill.
“Well Mike, I’ve been thinking about ya and want to come for a visit today.”
“That would be great Father,” I replied. “I’d like that and I want you to know that I’m on the mend now. The doctor has given me some good news about my cancer.”
“I’d like to administer the Sacrament of the Sick when I come,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my last statement.
“Father, I’m not that sick so when you come, please just bring the light artillery.”
“No problem, Mike. The light stuff it is.” His hearing was back to 100%.
A few hours later, Father John arrived with his sacramental satchel. A Peter Graves look alike, Father John, at 6 feet 4 inches, is an imposing figure. His presence fills the room with a reassuring calm and reverence.
After giving Father a quick update on my condition, he reached into the satchel for a small container of holy oil. “The Sacrament of the Sick begins with my tracing a cross on your forehead with some oil here,” Father intoned formally.
“You’ll need more oil than that for my forehead, Father,” I replied, trying in vain to keep the mood light as I remembered that this sacrament used to be called Extreme Unction and was reserved for those who were dying. The prayers he recited over me were heartening and uplifting and renewed my confidence for the journey ahead. It also served to remind me that my struggles unite me with Christ’s salvific suffering.
“Now I’m going to absolve you from all your sins in life,” Father John continued.
“Wait a minute,” I interjected. “I’m prepared for confession if you like.”
“In the name of the Father, the Son…” Father’s selective hearing tuned out my mild protest.
“But I don’t believe in a free pass,” I thought to myself. I knew about plenary indulgences as a kid and compared them to magic tricks. My limited experience with natural and logical consequences precluded any notion of a free pass.
A few minutes later, when the complete rite of the Sacrament was finished, I felt foolish for my unspoken protestations. The Sacrament of the Sick is all about grace and God’s ability to give it freely, no strings attached. A free pass is God’s way of saying “I’m with you in your struggle. I’m all in.”
And so, I’ve had a change of heart. Sometimes, a free pass can be a wonderful thing. In the same way as a parent can give a child a free pass to the zoo or a movie theatre, God can give his children a free pass to forgiveness, a forgiveness that reveals His infinite mercy and love.
See how great a love the Father has bestowed upon us,
that we should be called children of God; and such we are.
1 John 3:1
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