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Whenever October rolls around, I find myself feeling strangely fearful, apprehensive at some unknown darkness lurking nearby. It’s not the fear of the onset of winter, nor even of the glorified evil that shows its face around Halloween. I discovered some years ago that October reminds me of the fear of losing what I have loved. My mother died in October 46 years ago, as did a close college friend that same October. Ever since, October reminds me of the fearful pain of losing what I once loved.

When someone we love deeply dies, something in us dies as well. Love creates a bond that, when it is broken, hurts. When death touches what we love, we can become afraid of going on. We can feel lost, aimless, without a purpose in living. We can be afraid of loving again. It’s a fearful thing to lose what we have loved.

A poem, attributed to Rabbi Chaim Stern (1930-2001), expresses this fear:

‘TIS A FEARFUL THING
‘Tis a fearful thing / to love what death can touch. / A fearful thing / to love, to hope, to dream, to be — /
to be, / And oh, to lose. / A thing for fools, this, / And a holy thing, / a holy thing / to love. / For your life has lived in me, / your laugh once lifted me, / your word was gift to me. / To remember this brings painful joy. / ‘Tis a human thing, love, / a holy thing, to love / what death has touched.

The scribe in today’s Gospel (Mk 12:28b-34) recognizes that the love of God and neighbor is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices. The end goal of love is worth the cost of the fear and pain that love engenders. Jesus commends his answer, and assures him that he is not far from the kingdom of God. When we love without fear, we are well on the way to that kingdom. As pilgrims on this earth, we know where we are going; our destination is the kingdom of God. In the kingdom of God, love casts out all fear.

To love God with all our being scatters the darkness and fear that come with losing what we have loved. Because when we love God with all our being, we discover that love never ends. The fear of loving what death can touch fades when the fullness of love grasps our heart. When we remember the eternity of love, even the loss of a loved one brings a painful joy. Like the scribe in the Gospel, we realize we are not far from the kingdom of God.

‘Tis a holy thing to love what death has touched.

Father Skluzá?ek is director of pastoral formation at The St. Paul Seminary and sacramental minister at St. Wenceslaus in New Prague. He can be reached at [email protected].

Sunday, Oct. 31
Thirty-first Sunday In Ordinary Time