Finding God in death is such a great mystery & challenge

By Kevin Canessa Jr.
Publisher

JERSEY CITY —

You’ll forgive me for what I am about to say and write. But it happens to me every time someone is senselessly murdered. And like clockwork, it happened to me again, today, as I watched online the funeral for Jersey City Police Officer Melvin Santiago.

It was the homily (sermon) where it really hit me — as it often does. And it hit hard when I heard the Rev. Kevin Carter, chaplain to the Jersey City Police Department, say it.

The Rev. Kevin Carter, delivering Santiago’s homily.

Speaking to Santiago’s family, Carter said:

“The heart of  God is with you now and for years to come. The heart of the church is with you. The heart of the department is with you. Melvin is with God, now, in complete joy — and he’s alive and well with him.”

It’s that last part I struggle with so often. And it always happens in homilies from Catholic priests.

Now rightfully, Catholics see funerals as a celebration of the deceased’s life, not death. But I find it so hard to believe it when we’re asked to believe that a dead loved one is with God — and that God will be there and present for the family.

And you probably guessed where I am going now — and it begs the question every time: If God is with Melvin now that he’s dead — and God is with Melvin’s family in their most trying days, where, may I ask, was God when Melvin faced his executor … simply by exiting a radio car?

Where was God to keep Melvin safe when a man lay in wait to ambush him?

Where was God to keep the executioner the hell away from Melvin or any other forms of innocent life?

Where was God when this murderous thug decided to go to a Walgreens to lure cops there, only to kill one of them?

Steven Fulop, mayor of Jersey City, before the funeral Mass began.

Where was God when another life, the murderer, was taken away, as well?

I struggle with this so often. It reminds me of the time right after Sept. 11, 2001. So many people — including those who were lax — returned to church and to God after the attacks.

“While there will be many who ask, ‘Where was God on 9/11 while close to 3,000 people died,’ we say, instead, ‘God was right there to ensure 27,000 others escaped those buildings,’” priests would say in homilies in the days, weeks and even months after the attacks. “God was right there, extending his hand to those people — and to the first responders, to get them out of the building safely.”

At first, hearing those sobering words was comforting. Because it is indeed true that on Sept. 11, 2001, so many more people got out than were trapped inside the Twin Towers. But there also a comes a time — call it a crisis of faith, or whatever it is you wish to call it — where those words ring very hollow and very inefficiently.

Because there comes a time where I personally asked myself, “Oh really? God was there to get 27,000 people out? Well, how did he decide who the 3,000 were who didn’t get out? Why didn’t he extend his hands to all the people in the buildings? Why didn’t he use his loving kindness to ensure the terrorists didn’t do what they did in the first place?

Santiago’s immediate family leaving the church.

This is a crisis I am afraid I will face forever — especially when a 23-year-old police officer, in the prime of his young life — is taken away so violently.

I understand it was Carter’s job to offer comfort. I understand it’s important to SAY that God is there with the family.

But I can’t, even on days when my faith is at its highest levels, continue to listen to people say God is with you, family of Melvin Santiago, when God was absolutely nowhere to be found at 4 a.m. Sunday.

This is a crisis of faith, indeed, for me. And I often wonder how many others out there — including those reading this — feel the same way. How do we call upon the same God in times of grief and expect he’s listening, when we’re in moments of despair in the first place?

We’ll never quite know, that is, of course, unless we do get to some form of an after-life … heaven or wherever it is.

I so want to believe God is here with me right now as I write this, thinking, “There you go, again, Kevin, doubting me like an everyday Thomas.” I really do want to believe that.

I really do want to believe God is looking over Melvin’s mom, step-dad, brother and step-sister (whom I just found out yesterday, I know personally, as her former teacher).

But you see, the thing is, I can’t right now. Maybe you can’t either.

And it all leaves me with the most basic of questions, one we find ourselves asking so often at times like these.

Why?

A very touching moment

Officer Santiago was a Yankees fan, but he was also a fan of the Philadelphia Eagles. As the recessional commenced at St. Aloysius Church today, on West Side Avenue, the cantor sang “On Eagles Wings.”

It’s a common Catholic song for funerals, but it was ever poignant for the Eagles’ fan, Santiago, as he was taken to his final resting place.

As his step-dad recessed down the aisle at the beautiful church, someone (not sure who it was) extended his hands with a green and white jersey.

It was a Philadelphia Eagles jersey.

And the name on the back.

Santiago.

All while “On Eagles Wings” played magnificently.

Maybe God was there after all.

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