There hangs in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC a set of four oil paintings entitled �The Voyage of Life.��As their title might suggest, in each painting a man at four different stages of his life is depicted sailing along what we might call �the river of life.��In the first of the series, Childhood, a young boy dressed in white with a new sun rising ahead of him sails serenely through a lush backdrop, reminiscent of the Garden of Paradise, while two angels keep a watchful eye on his path.�The second painting, entitled Youth, shows us the same child in his adolescence; still sailing along, the sun a little higher in the sky, the scenery a little more adventurous, the waters�while not threatening�not quite as calm as before and, again, the angels watching from a distance.�Maturity, the third canvas, depicts a rather hearty man carefully making his way over a rough and stormy sea, steering away from the rocks with a noonday sun directly overhead and the angels guarding his way.�The last painting, Old Age, shows us a weatherworn man with a white beard sailing calmly along a serene sea towards the setting sun.�The landscape is once again peaceful and, from the clouds, one can see the vigilant angels beckoning the weary voyager home.

Would that it were that calm, that simple, that peaceful.�But, as we know from our personal experiences of life and from what researchers and experts tell us, the transition from one stage of life to another is not always that easy. Beginning with the traumas of childbirth right through our final breath, we struggle with the whole gamut of what we call the business of life.�And, as with most things, some of us come through it better than others for all of us meet the challenges of life in our own way.�Some go through life constantly grumbling and complaining�always asking for things�always looking for more�always ready to blame others for their lot in life.�Others meet life�s challenges with the optimism and hope that comes from a strong life of faith; hands outstretched in prayer and asking not so much that life may be made easy for them, but that they may be strong in the face of its inevitable hardships and challenges.�In many ways, I would suggest that our brother Alan was such a person.�Anyone who even spent even a few moments with Alan came away knowing that they were in the presence of a man of deep conviction and abiding faith.

He surely knew the bittersweet side of life that the poets write about, having lived with physical hardships and difficulties in this life that would have rendered a weaker person broken in spirit and filled with resentment.�But there was a quality of faith that characterized Alan�s life that was an inspiration to those who had the privilege of knowing him and a real source of strength to him as he dealt with ups and downs of his life and that helped him to meet Sister Death with the kind of peace that comes from knowing deep faith and trust in God.�

In the paintings I referred to a moment ago, there were constants that gave a sense of stability and security to the one on life�s journey.�Whether the passage was smooth or rough, there was always the angel watching over the traveler and the sun giving light to his path.�These constants helped him find his way at each moment of the journey.�Alan also had constants in his life�things that similarly provided him with a sense that he was not alone and that give light to path he trod.�After learning about Alan�s sudden death, I went to his file to see if he had any specific requests regarding his funeral.�In characteristic fashion, there was little detail; he entrusted the plans for his funeral to the community he loved and served so faithfully for over 53 years.�The only thing he requested was that three pieces of music be used�Panis Angelicus, Ave Maria, and the Peace Prayer of St. Francis.�At first, this did not strike me as anything remarkable�these pieces of music are familiar enough and are often used at funerals.�However, as I sat at my desk and kept looking at the paper, it struck me that for Alan, these were much more than three clich� piece of music; rather, they symbolized the things that meant most to him�the constants that gave light and direction to his life:�his fidelity to prayer, most especially the celebration of the Eucharist, his love and devotion to Mary, and his affection for Francis and the community to which he pledged his life.�These were the things that sustained him throughout his life, but most especially in these last years when a debilitating illness forced him to retire from active ministry.�These were the things that helped him never to succumb to self pity or bitterness, but gave him the strength and courage, like Mary, to speak a love-laden and faith-filled yes to all the moments of his life; and, like Francis, to rejoice to have a share in the sufferings of Christ.�