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All Souls
It is good for us to be together and to pray together on this Feast of All Souls. Each of us has had personal encounters with death this past year – a parent, a spouse, a child, a loved one, a friend, a neighbor. We have been saddened and diminished by our losses and we seek comfort and solace -- and a reminder that we are not alone in our grief. Our world and our nation have experienced death this past year, too – on a scale that is both chilling and sobering. Afghanistan and Iraq have been both battleground and burial ground for too many of our youngest and finest, and too many of their youngest and finest. And, sadly, those are not the only places in our world where warfare and violence have taken and continue to take their grim toll. Think of Libya, Syria, Somalia. And then there is the toll taken by natural disasters: hurricanes and tornadoes in this country, deadly earthquakes in Japan and Turkey, devastating typhoons in the Philippines, killer floods in Thailand – each of those cataclysms sweeping away innumerable lives with what can only be called a “preferential option” for the lives of the poor. Where was God in all of this, many ask. And it’s a fair question and it admits of no easy answer. In pondering it, I find myself taken by the idea of one thoughtful writer who suggested that perhaps our mistake in asking ‘the God question’ the way we always do is rooted in an error about what it means to say that God is all-powerful. The writer suggested that in choosing to create, God also chose to limit the divine power in significant ways, ways we fail to understand –- much as Jesus, who was God incarnate, completely let go of power when he ‘emptied himself, taking on our human condition, suffering crucifixion and death in solidarity with all those of all times who would suffer mysteriously and unjustly. I know this falls far short of solving the nagging problem of evil, but maybe it can give us a tiny window onto it. In reflecting on these things, I am also taken by another thought: alongside the problem of evil, there is the mystery of love which is so often evident at the time of death and disaster. Think, for instance, of the immense outpouring of love and pure human goodness that typically overflows whenever a great natural disaster strikes. Human nature is at is best as people unselfishly reach out, allowing sweet tears of love to dilute bitter tears of grief. And so, while believers are indeed faced with trying to explain the problem of evil, unbelievers have a whole different thing to explain: the mystery of love…. Among the three scriptural readings we just heard, the reading from the Book of Lamentations may best reflect our mood this night and the mood of our world. “My soul is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is; I tell myself that my future is lost, all that I hoped for from the Lord.” But the reading does not end there – and neither can our thoughts and struggles, because in the midst of incalculable loss the great lament dares to go on to speak of hope: “The favors of the Lord are not exhausted, God’s mercies are not spent; they are renewed each morning, so great is God’s faithfulness.” On this feast of All Souls, I like to speak about making friends with death. It’s not easy, is it? For me it’s especially difficult this year having just lost a friend of a lifetime – a very dear priest friend -- to cancer. Making friends with death is not easy but it’s what we must do, and St. Francis of Assisi leads the way with his talk of “Sister Death.” And so does St. Paul who “longed to be dissolved and to be with Christ,” and who eagerly looked forward to what “eye hath not seen nor ear heard.” These are powerful affirmations of faith that fly in the face of the way most people look at death. They are expressions of a wisdom that is completely at odds with the wisdom of this age or any age. Ultimately, they are God’s wisdom, not ours -- the only wisdom that can make sense of so much in our lives and in our world that are otherwise senseless. Tonight’s celebration of the Eucharist brings us face-to-face with this mysterious, divine wisdom. At the heart of the Eucharist is death: a body broken and blood poured out; but at the heart of the Eucharist is also life, God’s overflowing and abundant life that raised Jesus from the dead and will raise us also and all our loved ones, and all those whose lives were unfairly and unexpectedly taken from them whether by war, disease, or natural disaster. May Gabriel Faure’s gentle, confident, consoling, faith-filled meditation on death renew our faith and hope, and anoint our troubled, aching spirits. May its moments of serene calm bring us into a quiet harbor where we will know God’s peace and consolation. May its sublime hosannas draw back for us the veils that separate heaven from earth and give us a glimpse of the glory that, even now, is God’s great gift to our beloved dead. Father Michael G. Ryan |
