Over 50 years ago, my husband and I were driving through France on our honeymoon. Our guidebook recommended seeing Bourges cathedral. And so, we stopped.

It was a sunny mid-morning in August, and when we opened the doors, the cathedral appeared to be empty. Upon looking closer, we saw there was a casket in the middle aisle in front of the main altar and several black-shawled women in the front pews. Suddenly, chant began for the Mass of the Dead.

We did not wish to intrude with sight-seeing on such a solemn occasion, so we found our way up somewhere in the choir lofts. And we marveled at the beauty of the occasion which was completely unexpected. This was why these cathedrals were constructed.

The chant of Dies irae dies illa filled the church, the incense slowly wafted upwards to the lofts, the sun majestically dressed the church with multi-colored lights from its windows. And I started to weep silently at the glory of such a blessing and then to have shared it with the unknown, bereaved family.

It is a memory that is forever green.