Both Holy and Serene: The Benedictine Prayer for a Happy Death

By Seth Galemore

The monks of St. Benedict’s Abbey bring to mind their mortality in a beautiful hymn known as The Ultima. A staff member of the Abbey ponders how this hymn from the Benedictine tradition reflects our understanding of a faith-filled life, a good death, and what comes after.

This article was originally published in our November 2024 Kansas Monks newsletter. Read the whole newsletter at www.kansasmonks.org/newsletter/november2024

I joined the staff of St. Benedict’s Abbey a little more than a year ago. Despite years of working in Catholic faith-based settings, I still find myself pleasantly surprised at discovering new parts of the vast riches of Catholic devotional practice. The Benedictine tradition has opened my eyes to many prayers, rituals, and perspectives that have deepened my faith.

One of the more meaningful discoveries for me during the past year was hearing the Ultima hymn for the first time. The monks chant this hymn at the conclusion of their community meetings, as well as at burial services, invoking the Blessed Virgin’s intercession for the departed.

Here is the text of the hymn in Latin alongside a poetic translation into English:

“Ultima in mortis hora
Filium pro nobis ora
Bonam mortem impetra
Virgo, Mater Domina.”

“When death’s hour is then upon us,
To your Son pray that he grant us,
Death, both holy and serene,
Virgin Mary, Mother, Queen.”

The Ultima is a simple yet powerful prayer, asking the Mother of God to guide souls to a peaceful death and to care for them afterward. Its words, though not ancient, draw from longstanding Christian devotion to Mary and reflect a deep trust in her intercession at the hour of death. The text is drawn from several lines in a sequence written around the time of the proclamation of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception in 1854. While its composition is relatively recent, it’s message for us is timeless.

The brevity of the text belies the deep theological themes it explores: the immortality of the soul, the intercession of the saints, and the hope of a holy death. It serves as a prayerful reminder that death is not an end, but a transition into eternal life with God.

The hymn embodies the Catholic understanding that Mary, whose life brought her so close to God, continues to care for all of us as a loving mother. She intercedes for those in need, guiding them toward the fullness of life in heaven.

Reflecting on this hymn relates to my own experience of maturing in my faith. I wasn’t raised Catholic; I was baptized into a Protestant church at the age of eight, and when my grandmother passed away shortly after my eleventh birthday, I began to seriously question what I believed about my Christian faith, or whether I believed it at all.

After that loss, my mother arranged for me to meet with our Baptist pastor. I expressed my worries for my grandmother’s soul, admitting that I didn’t know if she had gone to heaven.

“I think she was a good woman,” I confided, “but I know she was a sinner, too. What if her sins held her back from being with God?” I asked him whether I should pray for her soul.

I admit I was surprised by his response: “If we believe in the saving power of Jesus, we should never pray for the dead. Your grandmother was a Christian, so she’s in heaven. Stop worrying about it.”

While he meant to comfort me, his dismissive tone toward the idea of praying for the dead left an impression. In reflecting on it now, I see that the frustration in his voice was targeted at longstanding disagreements among Christians about the nature of grace, salvation, and the afterlife. But in that moment, I felt hurt and confused. What I felt I needed to do was to pray for my grandmother. I wanted to help her in some way, to feel connected to her even after she was gone.

As I continued to study scripture and Christian history, I came to appreciate the Catholic belief in the communion of saints and the practice of praying for the dead. In Catholic tradition, death is not a hard break between this life and the next—where God instantly transforms us into something better and more glorious than we had been in our earthly life. Death is a transition into a different stage of our formation as children of God, if we choose to accept his grace. We don’t just “start over” as perfect beings—we grow in holiness even after death. God reshapes us, purges us of our sins and worldly attachments, and prepares us to fully enter into his presence.

This belief is beautifully expressed in the Ultima hymn. We ask Mary, who is alive in heaven and intimately united with God, to intercede for us and help guide souls toward a holy death. Through her intercession, like the prayers of all the saints, we trust that the departed are cared for and that we, too, are readying ourselves for eternal life. The veil between life and death still lets us engage with the full communion of saints: the Church on earth striving towards salvation, the holy souls in purgatory yearning to be at one with God, and those saints already perfectly adoring the face of God in the glory of heaven.

In hearing the monks chant this hymn, I feel connected to a faith that spans millennia and to a tradition that teaches us how to live well and die well. At this time of year, especially, I take comfort in such thoughts.