Browsing Homilies

The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed (All Souls' Day)

Wis 3:1-9 | Ps 25 | Rom 6:3-9 | Jn 6:37-40

Many individuals, I believe, have asked the question, “What wisdom have I gained?” They may respond that they haven’t gained a bundle of certainties, but only become all the more aware of just how mysterious almost everything about life (and death) is. All those “why” questions of two-year-olds return; maybe that’s what’s meant by second childhood?

But with age, we know enough not to demand clear-cut answers. Life seems like the astronomers’ probing of the universe: the more you look into it, the more mysterious and unendingly awesome it appears, the greater its depth and breadth.

Along with this has often come, thank God, a deeper trust in God’s care for us, a willingness to pray, and to trust God, without feeling I must tell God what to do about things or know what God should do. God knows what we need, what our deepest desires are, for ourselves and our loved ones, before it ever enters our minds and hearts.

Whenever you and I think of the deceased and death, as we respectfully do this evening, we face an example of that mystery that impacts many people in a profound way. The question that arises on so many lips is always, “why?” “Why so young? So sudden?”

The death of a family member or close friend, no matter when or how it happens, is always profoundly shaking even if we only fully realize it weeks, months, or years later. We all hold on to life ourselves until, perhaps, the circumstances of an illness and profound suffering make us actually wish for, or even pray for, death.

And we hold on to those we love. Why? Though human lives come and go, these people, created in God’s image and likeness, are irreplaceable in our lives. The love that we find in them is what makes it possible to live through the pains, the disappointments, the conflicts, and even the horrors of daily life. Even our youthful and lighthearted times are touched by tragedies, pain, and, ultimately, death. How does any one of live through such things, except with the love and help of family and friends?

For married couples and those in committed relationships, if you were told by God: “Hey, I’m going to place within your life, the perfect spouse or partner. I’m going to cooperate with you, the laws of science and nature, and of human sexuality; and together you’ll bring forth new life, unrepeatable souls made for eternity—but your spouse’s life, due to the brokenness and fallen state of this world, marked by disease and fragility, his or her life will be asked of them before their time. Would you still marry him or her, or commit your life to them?”

Or, to a mother: “In respecting the design of your bodies, male and female, the conditions will be perfect to bring forth new life between you and your husband. A child will be formed, perfectly healthy within your womb. You will take every care to ensure a safe pregnancy and delivery; however, you’ll only be able to share six months as a family before unfortunate circumstances of this fallen world unexpectedly take his or her little life. I will safeguard his or her soul, from your hands to mine, until your return to me. Would you still wish to meet them and love them into life?”

This life is a mystery. All that we have, and know, and love: it is borrowed for a time: pure gift, total grace: our parents, our spouse, our partner, our children, grandchildren, our health, our bodies, our sexuality, our faith: pure gift, total grace. Together with the whole of Creation, every aspect of our lives is gifted by God and returns to God.

The American poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, brings us back to the mystery of human life. He writes: “If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we would find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm hostility.”

In Christian life, all this comes under the heading of the Cross. By the Cross, I mean any serious tragedy, disappointment, misunderstanding, setback, or suffering life brings. We don’t ever have to look for such crosses; they are built into any good and conscientious life. As the life of our Savior shows us, it is through the Cross that we come to resurrection, to a newer and better life than the one we feel we possess now.

The Cross may not be apparent when we’re inquisitive, energetic, and bouncy two-year-olds, but it is always part of any growth in our life. To realize, or suspect, as Longfellow says, that everyone carries their own cross, can always lead us to a wider sympathy and understanding in every situation we encounter.

We are on a pilgrimage, my brothers and sisters. We are on a journey. This earth and the universe which contains it, in all its wonder, splendor, and beauty, isn’t exactly home: not since our first parents were deceived.

The loved one you’re here for this evening: they beat us to the finish line, and hinged with yesterday’s celebration of All Saints, together with the angels, they’re cheering us on! We remain in communion with them, in this life and in the next. They have fought the good fight, they have finished the race, they have kept the faith (2 Timothy 4:7).

As we will hear prayed in the Preface before the Eucharistic Prayer:

For your faithful Lord, life is changed, not ended.

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