Though I walk the valley of darkness.

Dying can be holy work, and facing our death helps us grow spiritually.

SOME THINGS YOU CAN NEVER KNOW ABOUT YOURself in advance. What would I do if I saw someone drowning in the Chicago River one morning as I walked from the train? Would I leap in to help? I don't know. How would I act if I won the Grand Prize in the state's Big Game Lottery? I hope I would be generous and wise in handling my newfound wealth. But who knows, I might head off to Vegas and blow the whole sum in an afternoon at the craps tables. And how would I act if I learned that I would soon be dead?

While I've spent time fantasizing about my possible heroism and generosity, I rarely, if ever, dwell too long on the reality of my own death. Which is funny. Odds are I will never need to leap into frigid and foul waters to save a fellow citizen, and if I continue my habit of not buying lottery tickets I won't likely come into unexpected wealth. But someday, for certain, I am going to die. Ouch.

Acknowledging our mortal end has been a cornerstone of Christian spiritual growth. Capuchin friars used to begin each day by rising from bed and saying, "Thank you God for bringing me another day closer to my death." Other monks regularly pray from scripture, "See how short your life is so that you might become wise." Thomas Lynch, poet and undertaker, writes, "Better than baptisms or marriages, funerals press the noses of the faithful against the windows of their faith."

But the culture we live in denies death. Though death--gory death--is all around us in our entertainment, the reality of our own death never registers. It doesn't fit into our plans for our chosen lifestyle. Surely marketers don't want us to think about death--it depresses sales. Even those selling "preneed" funeral services keep it vague, selling peace of mind you can enjoy, apparently forever, in a pre-need state.

Our faith has something important and compelling to say about death--both in the abstract and in the particular. We are, after all, a group that signs our own bodies with the symbol of death itself, a cross. You'd suspect we might have something to say about the subject.

First of all, we have been taught that mortal death isn't the enemy. In fact, the late Cardinal Joseph Bernardin came to share the view held by Saint Francis of Assisi that death is a friend. If it were the final answer, of course, death would not be so appealing. Second, facing our death can be important work toward spiritual growth. Until that reality is faced squarely, all other statements of faith are hedged bets and good wishes.

Dying can be holy work. And in recent years our church has been blessed by the emergence of many souls called into hospice work. Some are clergy, some religious, many of them are laypeople. Some are paid attendants who know enough to attend to more than bedpans and bedsores. Some are spiritual companions ready to accompany a fellow mortal on a journey that is more real than anything he or she has ever undertaken before. Those who assist in that process often become transformed by that work. Their holiness blesses us all.

My Aunt Nora died last October. She was a woman of great faith who quietly gave to others all her life. It was a half-hour visit from a hospice chaplain that helped her turn a major corner in her dying. That visit afforded her the opportunity to speak openly, honestly, and deeply about a looming truth in her life: her impending death and what it meant to her and those she loves. The chaplain wore the mantle of one authorized, and more important, willing and able to listen and be present to all the pain and mystery around that truth.

Science has dragged before us--like the cat bringing in prized results of the hunt--many end-of-life questions with no simple answers. Scientists and ethicists argue about the amount and type of care that should be offered terminal patients and the incursion of euthanasia and assisted suicide. All of these questions must be attended to. But none replace the moral obligation to accompany those who have heard the inner call to tend to their dying.

At the end of the funeral Mass, Catholics often pray the beautiful hymn, "May the Angels Lead You into Paradise." Some of those angels may be waiting in heaven. But some of them, thank God, move among us here on earth.

By TOM MCGRATH, executive editor of U.S. CATHOLIC magazine and author of Raising Faith-Filled Kids (Loyola Press, 2000).