The will of the Father

In Mexican tradition (Dia de los Muertos) there’s a saying that people die three deaths.  We experience the first death when our physical bodies die, the second death occurs when our bodies are lowered into the earth out of sight.  The third death occurs years later when there’s no one left on earth who remembers us.  In Catholic tradition, there is no third death.  The faithful dead, as members of the body of Christ, are seen as members of the communion of saints.  Therefore, the living and deceased are yet alive in Christ. 

So on All Souls Day we celebrate, reverence, and remember those who have gone before us.  We remember our loved ones – family, friends, colleagues, co-workers, neighbors, and significant strangers.  We remember those alive in our hearts, and those forgotten in history.  We remember all who have gone before.

As I meditated on this today I asked myself what I would do if I stood in a room with two exit doors – one marked ‘my past’ and leading to a room packed with all the events of my life to date, and the other door marked ‘my future’ and this room would be filled with my dreams and hopes for the future.  To make the choice hard, I imagined only being able to choose one of the doors – either to revisit the past or look ahead to the future.

Obviously, this is an artificial choice, but one that might just be hard to make.

For some people relishing and celebrating the past with all its achievements or memories of exciting or meaningful times might be a fulfilling and happy experience.  Perhaps too the past might just contain all those happy memories of loved ones who are not part of one’s life any longer and whose absence is deeply felt. 

For others, looking forward is their fundamental approach to life and they would draw energy from such a perspective.  In some cases, people allow the future to lead them onwards; inspiration, dreams and hopes are strong drivers in their life choices.

Neither the past or future reality – or indeed the present moment – is complete without the other dimensions.  Indeed, today’s feast of All Souls speaks to the dimensions of past, present and future.  We, the Church on Earth, in this moment honor and pray for those who have gone before us into the future life of heaven.  We celebrate and place our trust in the promise of God that eternal life is not only their gift now but is also an inheritance that awaits us also.

The image of the Church on Earth praying for the Faithful departed, and in turn them praying for us is a comforting one.  Today is one day where that reality is not only imagined but celebrated.

We offer our prayers to God today – prayers of gratitude or intercession for our dear departed precisely because we want to share their memory with God and because we believe that they pray for us too. 

As I sit in silence and prayerfully reflect on my family – as far back as I can go – I experience a deep sense of connectedness.  I experience a rich fullness.  I delight in the stories of my adventurous great and grandfathers who left home and family to sail the high seas, or travel across country in search of – what?  I’m amazed at the courage of my great and grandmothers who with children left their families and accompanied their husbands across oceans, fields, and the Great Plains.  I’m fascinated by the unknowns that drew them on and dictated when they had arrived.  What kept them going in the face of overwhelming hardships?  I’m inspired by the rich diversity of religions, faith traditions and beliefs that color my story.  I’m in awe of the accomplishments, of the endless giving, and selflessness of friends, family, and significant strangers.  I embrace those whose lives were filled with pain, anger, tragedy, and apparent failure.  I’m filled with gratitude for this ever-expanding community of blessed and redeemed humanity, the community of saints.  And I’m equally grateful for the gift of the pain, suffering, and vulnerability they’ve shared and passed down via oral stories, diaries (like my mom’s blog) and letters.

We’re created with an intrinsic emptiness, an unquenchable thirst, a driving hunger, a holy longing which only God can satisfy.  This holy longing speaks to my innermost being and draws me to God.  The path may be slippery, rocky, and convoluted, but the attraction is more than of tidal proportion.  The path of my vocation (husband, father, grandfather, pseudo-evangelist), of my gospel story, like that of all who have gone before, is embedded in the holy yearning within.  It’s the will of the Father that I, we, none of us be lost.  It’s the Will that we have eternal life.  This holy longing, holy yearning for The Other connects us and keeps us moving singly, in family and in community toward the source of our longing – God.

The Good News is that it’s the desire of the Father that we, that all souls, rest in the eternal peace of the Father in the community of All Souls.