November is the month in which the Church commemorates our loved ones who have died. Secular culture, drawing on Celtic pagan rituals, has given us Hallowe’en: the night that the spirits run wild, that ghosts and goblins are on the loose. The link with All Saints’ Day – Hallowe’en is, after all, a shortened form of “All Hallows’ Eve” – has largely been lost, even when we remember that the Church celebrates All Saints’ Day on November 1^st to symbolize the triumph of good over evil, of holiness over despair.

Why November? This was the insight underlying the pagan celebrations that became Hallowe’en: that in November, we meet the signs of death all around us in nature. We know them well by now: the fallen leaves, the bare branches, the cold and windswept days, the longer nights. We move our clocks backward this weekend, to try and squeeze an extra hour of daylight into the day, but it doesn’t make much difference. Winter is on the way, and we can feel it in the air!

We look around us, and see reminders of our mortality, finitude, and vulnerability. Our faith takes death seriously. Very seriously. So it’s no coincidence that the Church sets aside November to pray for the dead. Today is All Saints’ Day: celebrating the church triumphant, the innumerable throngs of those who now see God face to face, who share in the glory of Christ’s Resurrection. Tomorrow will be All Souls’ Day: a more sober and meditative day, often accompanied by visits to the cemetery, and prayers for those who await the fullness of their eternal reward.

Next week, we will mark “Remembrance Day”, in which we commemorate the bravery of all those who have given their lives in the service of their country, and pray for the end of all wars and the triumph of peace.

Today, we welcome the families and friends of over 30 parishioners whose funerals have taken place at (or through) St. Monica’s over the past twelve months. You are intimately aware with the grief and loss that experience the death of a loved one, but also of the consolation that comes from faith. The candles you lit at the beginning of Mass today remind us of Christ’s Easter promise: the triumph of life over death, light over darkness, hope over sorrow. Many of you have written the names of family members and friends in our “In Loving Memory” books. You who carry the memory of a deceased spouse, parent, child, or best friend deep in your hearts – you know the meaning of grief, the pain of loss. Hopefully, you have also tasted the consolation of knowing that in some mysterious way, your loved one is still present to you. In memories both fond and bittersweet; in the physical features, mannerisms, and values of those whose lives they touched; and especially, in the mystical connection which our faith calls “the communion of saints”, and which we profess in our faith every Sunday.

What does our Catholic faith teach us? That death is not the final answer. It is not the end, but a time of transition: a movement from the realm of time into the realm of eternity. We celebrate today not a “Mass for the dead”, but a “Mass of Resurrection”. We pray. We remember. We do what we do every Sunday, indeed every day: we celebrate the Eucharist. Why? Because Jesus asked us to do so. Because before passing over the great threshold which was his own Passion, Death, and Resurrection, Jesus asked us to do this “in memory of Him”. “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me, and I in them; and I will raise them up on the last day.”

As Christians, we trust – we believe – we know, in the dark knowledge of faith – that Jesus is faithful to his promise. That he is faithful to his promise: “I am going before you to prepare a place. Then I will return and take you with me, so that where I am, you also may be.”

Perhaps the best way to prepare for our final journey is to take a look at where the direction of our lives is going, right here and right now. None of us is immortal or invulnerable. The threshold over which our loved ones have passed is one that all of us must go through, sooner or later. We know that. But we don’t like to think about it. When we are young, healthy, our families intact and financially secure, we can forestall those thoughts. But eventually, these are realities we all have to confront, one way or another.

When we lose a loved one – especially when that loss comes suddenly, or when someone is taken from us at a relatively young age – we feel the finality of the separation. Yes, we know that we will see them in heaven – but we would much, much rather have them still here on earth, among us. Words that attempt to comfort and console often come across like pious platitudes – “he’s in a better place”, “at least she’s no longer suffering”, “God needed him more than we did.” Often the best thing we can say is nothing – just a squeeze of the hand, a hug, a sympathetic nod, a sincere promise to be there, a concrete gesture of kindness like a meal prepared or a lift offered. This usually speaks more what the person in grief needs to hear than any words we come up with.

In the readings today, we are given a sign of that hope. St John tells us that we are already God’s children, but that something even greater awaits us: the time when we see God “face to face”, when we will know and love God, as fully as God knows and loves us. Jesus shows us what a life rooted in love looks like in the beautiful Gospel of the Beatitudes – attitudes of being, an invitation to live poverty of spirit, purity of heart, humility, a commitment to work for justice, to be a peacemaker. And this feast of All Saints connects us with that cloud of witnesses – those who came before us, those who live now, and those who are still to come – who are models of faith and love for us, who intercede for us in heaven, who guide our footsteps here on earth. Some of these are canonized saints, officially recognized by the Church for their holiness; countless others are anonymous, their names known only to those who have been touched by their courage, their compassion, their love.

What does Jesus’ teaching about the centrality of love say to us? On the one hand, it reminds us that through love – the greatest of all the gifts, and the only one that “never ends” – we remain connected forever to our loved ones who have died. But just as importantly, it teaches us that the best way to express our love for God, to express our care for the loved one who has died, is by the gift of mutual love. It is very significant that in the funeral liturgy, there is no formal blessing at the end of Mass, but rather this invocation: “Dear friends, may every mark of affection and every gesture of friendship that you give to others be a sign of God’s peace for you.” It is through mutual love and affection, through forgiveness of grievances, through a hand outstretched in care and concern, that we best keep faith in our God and with our departed loved ones.

All Saints’ Day provides us with a precious opportunity: to remember all holy men and women of the past, as well as those who walk beside us today. We honour the officially canonized saints, the "famous" ones, but also those whose faith and deeds were only recognized by their friends and family, maybe even by God alone. We remember them not only to praise them, to seek their intercession, but also to remind ourselves of our own vocation to holiness. Each of us is called to be a good steward of the life God has entrusted to us, to live my call to holiness within the particular circumstances of my life, my work, my family, my place in history. So on this feast of All Saints, let us embrace the path of the Beatitudes, our vocation to be and to live as the “children of God” that we are. This is the foundation of our great hope: to be among the saints who see God “face to face”.  Amen.

So let us rejoice that our loved ones enjoy the reward of their labours, resting in the arms of their loving Creator. May they be welcome by the angels and saints into the glory of Christ, the crowning glory of all the saints, of all of our departed loved ones.