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Gospel: John 6:37-40
Jesus said to the crowds:
“Everything that the Father gives me will come to me,
and I will not reject anyone who comes to me,
because I came down from heaven not to do my own will
but the will of the one who sent me.
And this is the will of the one who sent me,
that I should not lose anything of what he gave me,
but that I should raise it on the last day.
For this is the will of my Father,
that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him
may have eternal life,
and I shall raise him on the last day.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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After the death of his wife, CS Lewis, a renowned Christian author, wrote, “Her absence was like the sky, spread over everything.”
Grief is something we’ve all experienced; it’s part of what brings us here tonight. The loss of a loved one – a parent, a spouse, a friend, even a child – can feel like the sky, spread over everything.
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Jesus himself likened death to a thief that comes in the night. It’s in the nature of a thief to steal, taking what does not belong to itself.
Still, we gather in defiance of death to say that there are a few precious things which death cannot take from us. Not without our permission.
Death cannot steal our faith in God. Not without our permission.
Death cannot steal our memories of our loved ones. Not unless we choose to forget.
And death cannot extinguish the flame of hope burning within us. Not unless we smother it. Rather, we are here to add oil to our lamps, to keep that precious flame burning bright.
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For some of us, it has been a year or more… for others, only a handful of days. But grief does not hit us all at once; it comes in stages.
There’s the first Thanksgiving. The first snowfall. The first Christmas. The first phone call that goes to voicemail. The empty chair at the table.
Weeks or months go by, and a letter arrives in the mail with their name on it. Suddenly, you pick up their scent in the house – an old t-shirt you found in the closet; or their pillow you still snuggle with at night.
Maybe you hear them walk down the hallway; see an old picture; remember the warmth of their hugs; or the sound of their laugh, a unique burst of joy flowing freely from their soul.
At first these memories can bring tears to our eyes as we fall back into days gone by, wishing they were still here.
But over time, that sadness can be transformed into the realization that death is not the end; rather, it is the beginning of something new – and beautiful.
Pope Benedict XVI said Christians can experience a “consoled sadness.” Yes, we grieve deeply because we loved deeply. Yet we also continue to believe – in defiance of death – that Christ is alive again.
And because of him, we shall live, as well.
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Tonight, as we pray for all souls who’ve gone before us, we remember in particular our loved ones. Their names will be spoken as a family member, friend, or member of our Lazarus Ministry brings forward a candle, placing it in front of the altar.
That candle not only symbolizes the life of our loved one; it also reminds us of the light and warmth they brought into our lives.
The candle’s wax represents our humanity, created from the elements of the earth. Tangible; vulnerable; fleeting.
The wick represents our soul united with Christ.
As that wick burns bright, its flickering flame reaches towards the heavens – pointing us to where our eternal homeland is – the kingdom of God.
Meanwhile, the wax slowly burns away, reminding us, “He must increase, and I must decrease.”
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Tonight you may find precious memories suddenly come rushing in. Welcome them. Embrace them. Allow them to let you smile, even laugh. Laughter is not only a healing balm; it can also be an act of faith.
Many years ago, when a priest preached his Easter sermon, he was expected to tell a joke, even if it had nothing to do with Jesus, Easter, or religion.
The goal was simple: to make people laugh so hard they shook the walls of the church.
After enduring the horror of Good Friday, when Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried, Christians gathered together on Easter to celebrate the glorious joy of Christ’s resurrection – and with that, their belief that death was no longer definitive.
In the words of Saint Paul, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
We will have our own chance to make the walls of this church tremor with love when we gather after Mass to share memories of our loved ones over coffee.
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“Her absence was like the sky, spread over everything,” CS Lewis wrote after the death of his wife.
But through the winding valley of grief, he learned that something new, even something beautiful, could be revealed at every turn.
May the Lord reveal himself to us in this bend of our journey, revealing a deeper understanding of the marvelous truth that all souls shall rest comfortably in the arms of Christ.
Eternal rest grant unto them, O LORD, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May they rest in peace.
May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
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Image credits: (1) sanctifycyrils.chuch (2) magiscenter.com (3) Pinterest