Those who avail themselves of the liturgies that celebrate and solemnise these key moments of our Christian existence are often called cradle-to-grave Catholics.

And if you believe the Vatican's statistical office, we are growing in number. Its latest figures claim that the global Catholic population increased by 16 million new members between 2019 and 2020.

But I'll let you in on a secret: the papal mathematicians are very good at addition, but they have an extremely hard time subtracting.

They only remove dead people, not those who have been baptised but no longer claim to be Catholic.

Of course, that's not the statisticians' fault, because it's nearly impossible to know the exact number of people who have opted out or have just quietly walked away — unless, of course, they've formally quit by signing a legal declaration, as is possible in places like Germany.

In any case, there is more than just anecdotal evidence to show that the numbers of baptisms, church weddings and even funeral Masses are on the decline in most parts of the world.

I'm especially interested in focusing on the decline in church funerals, given that November — which begins with the Feast of All Saints and is followed next day by the Feast of All Souls — has traditionally been a special month for us Catholics to remember our dead.

I'm thinking especially of what appears to be a growing number of life-long Catholic who are deprived of a proper church funeral after they've died.

One of the greatest regrets in my life is that I allowed that to happen to my paternal grandfather when he died back in early 2004.

"Honey, we don't want to have a funeral"

"Papa", as we called my grandfather, became a Catholic in 1940 when he married the daughter of a Hungarian (Catholic) couple that had immigrated to the United States.

Like many so-called "converts", he became a very "devout Catholic".

He and my grandmother, "Nanny", never missed Mass on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation.

They religiously said grace before every meal, which included a Hail Mary and the Lord's Prayer for extra measure!

I also discovered something else about Papa's devotional life when I shared a hotel room with him and Nanny during a 1994 visit to Budapest.

Each night before going to sleep, he would kneel at his bed and spend nearly a half-hour whispering prayers of petition for the very specific needs of family members and friends.

He would also give thanks for the blessings of the day and ask forgiveness for any offences he knowingly or unwittingly committed.

On a cold Sunday afternoon in late January, some ten years after that memorable visit to Hungary, I was in Switzerland, when I got a phone call from a relative to inform me that Papa had died that morning.

He had spent the last several weeks in hospital and then a nursing home infirmary following a bad fall.

He was 87 years old.

I immediately called Nanny to tell her I was "coming home" on the earliest flight the next day and would be there in time to help plan the funeral.

"Honey," she said, "We don't want to have a funeral."

Since she was a Mass-going Catholic, I was really stunned to hear this.

I said nothing more about it over the phone, thinking this was just her grief speaking.

My grandparents had been inseparable and they doted on each other throughout more than 63 years of marriage.

Obviously, Nanny was devastated at losing Papa.

Plus, my father, their only child, had died five years earlier. She felt alone and vulnerable.

Role reversal

When I finally got to her home a couple days later, I again brought up funeral arrangements.

But she repeated what she'd said on the phone: "We don't want to have a funeral."

And this is where I made the mistake that I regret to this day. I quietly just accepted her choice, failing to realize that Nanny was probably not in the right frame of mind to be able to make such a decision.

The fact that she was 83 was not the issue. She lived to nearly 99 and, until the last year or so of her life, was sharp as a tack.

No, the real reason was that Papa had always taken care of such arrangements as paying the bills, making the major purchases, and so forth.

She was not psychologically equipped or prepared to do so.

A number of other incidents occurred in the months afterwards that finally made me realise that our roles had been reversed.

Nanny, who had become like a mother to me after my dad's death in 1999, now needed someone to be something like a parent or a protective son for her.

That someone was me.

Nanny lived on for over 15 more years.

She died on Holy Thursday (April 18) in 2019, just three days after the blaze that almost destroyed Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris.

Such details one does not forget.

This time I picked up my phone in Rome and immediately began making arrangements for a funeral that would include a Mass for Christian Burial.

A lasting legacy

We had the celebration at St Stephen's Church in Toledo (Ohio), which was the immigrant parish where she had been baptised in 1920.

There were only a few dozen people at the Mass.

Most of them were not Catholic.

The liturgy was carefully planned, and family members were assigned to place the pall on the casket, do the readings and present the offertory gifts.

The priest, a longtime friend of the family, gave a homily that highlighted aspects of Nanny's life and challenged us to think hard about the one lasting legacy - just one thing - that she gave to each of us.

Although most of my family is no longer Catholic, all seemed moved by the ritual.

When we do funerals right, they are powerful.

One of my nieces even told me she was interested in becoming a Catholic.

I'd like to think that her great-grandma's funeral helped in some way to confirm her desire to do so.

I scan the obituaries each day in the Toledo Blade and read of many people who grew up Catholic, went to the parish grade school and diocesan high school.

They were married in the Church. Some are even touted as being devout Catholics and active in their parishes when younger. But so often, they are never given a public funeral Mass, especially if they are elderly. I suspect that's because their heirs are no longer practicing.

Sadly, the faith is not being passed on.

So I will be giving thanks for Nanny and Papa during the month of November as we remember our beloved dead.

For I am grateful that, among the many ways they influenced my life, inspiring me to hold on to the Catholic faith is the most important gift and lasting legacy they left to me.

• Robert Mickens is LCI Editor in Chief.
• First published in La-Croix International. Republished with permission.

But they're on the brink of a mental-health crisis.

One day last summer, around noon, I called Athena, a 13-year-old who lives in Houston, Texas.

She answered her phone - she's had an iPhone since she was 11 - sounding as if she'd just woken up. We chatted about her

We chatted about her favourite songs and TV shows, and I asked her what she likes to do with her friends. "We go to the mall," she said.

"Do your parents drop you off?," I asked, recalling my own middle-school days, in the 1980s, when I'd enjoy a few parent-free hours shopping with my friends.

"No - I go with my family," she replied.

"We'll go with my mom and brothers and walk a little behind them. I just have to tell my mom where we're going. I have to check in every hour or every 30 minutes."

Those mall trips are infrequent - about once a month.

More often, Athena and her friends spend time together on their phones, unchaperoned.

Unlike the teens of my generation, who might have spent an evening tying up the family landline with gossip, they talk on Snapchat, the smartphone app that allows users to send pictures and videos that quickly disappear.

They make sure to keep up their Snapstreaks, which show how many days in a row they have Snapchatted with each other.

Sometimes they save screenshots of particularly ridiculous pictures of friends.

"It's good blackmail," Athena said. (Because she's a minor, I'm not using her real name.)

She told me she'd spent most of the summer hanging out alone in her room with her phone.

That's just the way her generation is, she said.

"We didn't have a choice to know any life without iPads or iPhones. I think we like our phones more than we like actual people."

I've been researching generational differences for 25 years, starting when I was a 22-year-old doctoral student in psychology.

Typically, the characteristics that come to define a generation appear gradually, and along a continuum.

Beliefs and behaviours that were already rising simply continue to do so.

Millennials, for instance, are a highly individualistic generation, but individualism had been increasing since the Baby Boomers turned on, tuned in, and dropped out.

I had grown accustomed to line graphs of trends that looked like modest hills and valleys.

Then I began studying Athena's generation.

Around 2012, I noticed abrupt shifts in teen behaviours and emotional states.

The gentle slopes of the line graphs became steep mountains and sheer cliffs, and many of the distinctive characteristics of the Millennial generation began to disappear.

In all my analyses of generational data—some reaching back to the 1930s - I had never seen anything like it. Continue reading

• Image: Periodis Moecuador