A homily for the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed:
All Souls, November 2, 2025
Wisdom 3:1-9, Romans 5:5-11, John 6:37-40
Please forgive me if I’ve recounted this before…
When I was 12, three of my classmates’ fathers died in a fairly rapid sequence, including the dad of my best friend. Mr. M was in his mid-30s, a rugged National Guard officer, and his abrupt death seemed to come as far more of a shock than the other two. Those gents were older and ill, though all losses are sad.
The three deaths terrified me, but I wasn’t afraid that my father would be next. No: I was convinced that my time was almost up.
I started having trouble falling asleep because I was certain I wouldn’t wake up.
I worried about tiny things.
And then there was the St. Rose morning.
Whenever our Scout troop went on a weekend campout, one of the leaders would locate a nearby Catholic church to haul us to. Anywhere from a dozen to 20-plus smoke-smudged boys would squeeze into pews as close to the back door as possible (we reeked).
On the Sunday of a trip to Quail Hill in Manalapan, we were ferried to St. Rose in Freehold. Mass progressed; we mumbled the prayers and elbowed each other as our pubescent voices cracked during the hymns.
Then came the Eucharistic prayer and the words of consecration. The house lights clicked off and a spotlight — fwoomp! — silhouetted the priest at the altar. Enveloped him in a halo of brilliance.
I shrieked.
It was my time! The angel is coming for me!
I wasn’t ready to be taken to the next life, to be led into the divine light.
I was taken someplace — out of the church and onto the steps. At some point, I must have stopped hyperventilating.
We all approach the concepts of our passage to the next life in unique ways, and our attitudes and comfort levels morph throughout our lives. Our maturing faith shapes how we embrace our inevitable deaths, or not. Our maturing faith shapes whether we believe in an afterlife. Or not.
We all recognize that, as Jesus reminds us many times throughout the Gospels, we know neither the time nor the place when our lives on Earth will end. And most of us do our best to live fully, honestly, lovingly, gratefully, with care for humankind and all of Creation.
And as believers, we learn from Jesus in those same Gospels that God has prepared a place for us, all of us, in the best possible place, in the eternal place, if we journey through our lives on the righteous path.
We believe that Father, Son and Holy Spirit keep every promise they make.
But the dark of night can be frightening. The dark of uncertainty can be scary. The dark of just not knowing for sure — because we don’t, not really — the dark of not knowing for sure can be absolutely terrifying.
So we may worry for ourselves.
And we may worry about our loved ones whom we pray for today. How are they? Where are they?
Many, many questions.
So we rely on faith.
Faith, the “friend of reason” that goes beyond the material world to believe in truths not seen.
Belief.
Truth.
That’s what we commemorate today.
We commemorate every vacation on which we repeatedly asked, “Are we there yet?”
We commemorate every moment we shared with every person who has passed on.
We commemorate the road trip of life.
Because while we’re still on it, that road trip of life, we aren’t there yet.
But we will be.
If we are believers, believers in God’s Truth, as Christ wants us to be, then the destination is Heaven.
If we are believers, believers in God’s Truth, as Christ wants us to be, then we’ll be ready. No matter when. No matter where.
Because we follow the Light of Christ. Because we know in our hearts and souls where the light leads us.
