This blog post is from the archives of Inner Life Portraits, my portrait business from 2015 – 2022. This story is central to my creative and spiritual journey proven, so I’m preserving it here at The Soulful Wedding.
~ Maureen
I photographed the Little Brothers of Saint Francis extensively between 2005 and 2008. I formed close friendships with the brothers, especially Brother James—the founder of the community—who I stayed in touch with after the community disbanded. I had the privilege to photograph Brother James’s inner life many times over.
As a hospital chaplain, I see the spark of divine in people until the last breath. As a photographer, I am compelled to photograph that spark. Yet, our culture doesn’t embrace photographs of the dying. Many people say, “I don’t want to remember them that way.”
As someone who photographs the inner life, I see the dying process—and the light and dignity still present—differently. Brother James knew this. I had photographed him in life’s intimate moments: in deep conversation, during prayer, and in meditation. When I asked him if I could take his photo during our last visit before his death, he nodded and seemed to smile too. There was great trust between us.
I don’t mean to imply there isn’t suffering at the end of life, and certainly Brother James struggled and had sadness. Yet, I remember years ago when Pope John Paul II suffered publicly with Parkinson’s disease. Brother James had Parkinson’s, and he remarked how much it meant to him that the Pope was willing to be seen in his pain. I knew Brother James, as a man who emulated Christ, would be willing to be seen at the end of his life—both the spark in his eyes and the sadness of feeling trapped in his body.
Brother James had many friends throughout the world who would not be able to visit. One former brother wrote to me and said, “Viewing [the photographs] gave me peace as I was unable to visit him in his last days and to attend his funeral. . . I’ve been struggling with guilt for not being there. As I viewed the photos I felt Bro. James’ presence. It was as though he was telling me, ‘It’s OK, you did what you had to do,’ and I felt peace.”
It was a risk to take these photos, and it’s a risk to share them here. But the brother’s comment reassures me of the healing power of photographs. So I am taking a deep breath and sharing who and what I saw on my last visit and during the funeral that followed. The sight of the plain pine box, ribbon that read “Brother,” and the souls that gathered said it all.
Let us look upon a deep and beautiful soul at the end of his life, lest we forget that we are alive even while we are dying.
Rest in peace, most noble Brother James.
A few photographs from my college project:
