My daughter asked me this question a couple of years ago. I said I didn't really know, as I haven't really ever given it much thought, since my faith has never been the kind that relied on/needed promises of death not being the end, to exist. But then later that week I wrote this, and something in me said it was the answer to her question.
"Show me the world, his world and mine within it
Show me the reality and I still choose
I still want - it's what I want
what I choose
to go there, to leave this
and go there, to stay
amidst the disease, the blood, the danger,
under the starkest of kings
let me - let me see it
but it's not a choice I have
because it's gone.
For you Lord, anything is possible.
You could have me wake up on a straw pallet
to bells and prime and duties
to cold and hungry and obedient
Latin prayers
hours of copying
and perhaps just the smallest of smiles
if I pass a cup - if it were all I received
for a lifetime - short lifetime - of service
I'd be thankful, I'd rejoice and praise you
To be with them, whose faith I share
my people
to be there where the arches run in rounded rows
and miles in mud and cold are trudged
no horse for me, the little monk
with the smitten heart
I can't stop loving them; loving them I can't stop
wanting to see them, to be with them, to hear them
for our lives to overlap,
contemporary
our worlds and people one
I'd copy many hundreds of thousands of pages
keep my hand steady, my letters even and neat
I'd work so hard and alwayes obey
I'd cry at Mass, just to be there
to be home with the arches painted and candles lit and no benches
no sermons
for us the floor and sore knees
to gaze upon thy body
or to look down at our feet treading the earth
side by side
home
take me there, where I belong, or
Just let me see."