Father Michael Joncas is a theology professor at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minn., and a visiting professor at the University of Notre Dame. He is probably best known for his liturgical compositions, including "No Greater Love," "We Come to Your Feast," "A Voice Cries Out" and "On Eagle’s Wings," which was identified in a recent survey as the most popular song featured in worship.

I think I have a deeper appreciation for what it means to live "on the other side" of death.  Being almost completely paralyzed, unable to breathe, and sedated for a couple of weeks, I think I got pretty close to dying. Surprisingly I find that if what I experienced then is anything like the dying process, I don’t have any fear of it.  I still fear pain and would mourn letting go once again of my abilities, but I now live with a profound sense of just how deeply I’m loved, both by God and by my family and friends, and I REALLY believe now that that love conquers death.  So Easter seems to me about much more than the resuscitation of Jesus’ corpse; it’s about breaking through to a new way of living: that love, rather than pain, suffering, death, and oblivion, has the final word.

What are the lingering consequences or symptoms of the disease?
I have constant nerve pain in my fingertips and from my ankles to my toe tips, but it’s pretty much controlled by drugs.  I have odd muscular weaknesses in my hands legs. I get unpredictable waves of fatigue.  But I have NOTHING to complain about: considering that I’m not on a ventilator, that I can walk without a wheel chair, walker, four-point-cane, or one-point-cane (all of which I had to use as I was recuperating), that I can speak and sing again, I’m in great shape (although I’m trying to exercise more and eat less).

What about that experience has stayed with you or haunts you most?
I can think of three things. First, how incredibly kind my family and friends were during this ordeal.  I’m convinced that it was a LOT harder on them than it was on me.  I rejoice that we grew closer during my illness and that that closeness has maintained itself now that I’ve pretty much recovered.  Second, I have a permanent deep respect for members of the medical professions (doctors, nurses, staff members, chaplains) who, to a person, were both competent and compassionate in caring for me.  Probably the most lingering memory in this category was the ministry of a group of Mennonites who would visit me on Sunday and Wednesday evenings and sing their hymns in four-part a capella harmony; that touch of beauty made much of the ugliness of my illness so much easier to bear. Third, my prayer-life REALLY changed.  I couldn’t say Mass because I couldn’t move my muscles.  I couldn’t pray the Liturgy of the Hours because my eyes wouldn’t focus on the pages of my Breviary.  I found myself praying much more simply: in the morning taking an inventory of what worked in my body, asking "can I live with this if I don’t get any better?", and getting a great reassurance from God: "You can."  (Of course, I got in the habit of asking God "What are you trying to teach me through this?", but I never got a good answer to that!) In the evening I’d fall asleep while calling to mind the visitors I’d had during the day, the medical personnel who had stopped in, the other patients on my ward, the other sick people in the hospital, their families and friends, etc., holding them all up to God and asking God to keep them in his loving care.  I’d fall asleep before getting to the end of the list. 

Our community sings many of your pieces.  Are you still composing?  If so, can you explain a bit of what motivates or inspires you in that process?
I’m honored that you’d use my compositions to help you pray in song. I am still composing (although my friends say that I sometimes appear to be de-composing).  What motivates or inspires me in the process is pretty mysterious to me, but when I’m writing church music I try to keep two things in mind: how can this composition help a community to enact the ritual the Church prescribes in its liturgy and how can this composition help worshippers to more deeply engage the scriptural or liturgical text that’s being adorned with music.

If you were to give one bit of encouragement to people gathering for Lord’s Day worship what would it be?
Wow, this is a tough question. I think I’d say: no matter how bad or painful a mood you might be in, no matter how tough your life, no matter how badly performed the music, no matter how unintelligibly proclaimed the readings, no matter how uninspiring the homily may seem, you can still encounter the living God in the taking, blessing, breaking and sharing of the elements of holy communion and you can still take encouragement from other believers who encounter that living God along with you. And, in the end, what is more important than to encounter God the Father through Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit, the only God in whom our hungry hearts find fulfillment?