A Little Sermon for All Souls

This year we had a short sermon as part of our All Souls service when the choir sings Faure's setting of the Requiem at an actual requiem Eucharist. It is a really special service, and includes the opportunity for those present to light candles and remember those they have loved and lost.

This was the sermon I gave on that occasion. It was such a hard one to pitch, and I struggled over it whilst preparing. I am grateful to Katharine Smith for providing a sermon which unlocked some of the issues I was struggling with  and helped me crystallise an Anglican approach to All Souls. 

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All Souls is a beautiful commemoration, and yet one that historically has sat in an uncomfortable place within Anglican culture which has often forged a middle pathway between Catholicism and Evangelicalism. For Roman Catholics  and those who believe in Purgatory the reason for having a Mass for the Dead at All Souls is really clear: to release souls from their temporary stay in the realm of healing and purification, that place called Purgatory, into the eternal bliss of Heaven. Evangelicals have always been warier of praying for the dead, and often prefer to simply remember them.

But when the first world war caused such awful bloodshed and carnage, and when hardly a person in England existed who hadn’t lost a friend, a son, a brother, a sweetheart, the new 1928 version of the prayerbook wanted to help meet the pastoral need of that sea of grief and this prayer was written and approved by the church

FATHER of all, we pray to thee for those whom we love, but see no longer. Grant them thy peace; let light perpetual shine upon them; and in thy loving wisdom and almighty power work in them the good purpose of thy perfect will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

But it seems to me that the most natural thing to do when someone has died is pray for them. 

Psalm 139 says:

If I fly to the heavens you are there. If I make the grave my bed you are there also. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. 

God is there with them, even if we can’t be, and so we ask God to look after them, to take care of them, to help and heal them, just as we always have done when they were alive. 

Jesus called God, "The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob" and told us that "He is not the God of the dead but of the living." Jesus said this because although to us Abraham and Isaac and Jacob are long gone, to God they are alive, for God is the source of all life and all love. God doesn’t stop loving us when we die, and we don’t stop loving our dear-ones when they die. 

But another reason we might want to do this, is we may have unfinished business with those we love and miss: 

Perhaps there were things we wished we had said, or things we wished we hadn’t said. We might still be angry about things and feel we can’t share that anger with anyone or we may simply feel there is unfinished business...

that there was so much that could have been, which didn’t happen. Or perhaps we simply couldn’t mourn properly at the time for some reason and simply packed our grief away to deal with it later. 

So now is the time, if we are ready, to share that with God, who is simply waiting for us with arms outstretched. This is the same God, who in Jesus, stopped and wept outside the grave of his dear friend Lazarus, even though he knew he was about to raise him to life. Jesus holds out his hands (his wounded hands that went through death themselves) and invites us to place all those things, even if we find it hard to even describe them, into those hands. 

And then he invites us to join in communion - and when we share communion we don’t simply share communion with those present here: We share in communion and join ourselves to each and every Christian who has ever lived. 

In a mystical way we are united with those we loved and lost who are held safely in the arms of Christ. We are one within that wondrous thing called the Communion of Saints and nothing can ever separate us from that joining. 

As St Paul said: “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

So whatever you feel today, whatever you believe or don’t believe,I pray that you will experience this thing. That You are loved, and that love is stronger even than death. Amen. 

A Sermon for the Eve of the feast of St Thomas

Texts: Isaiah 35 Hebrews 10: 35 – 11: 1  Eve of St Thomas, Apostle 

Sometimes sermons don't get preached. Things happen,  especially in busy churches and cathedrals where the diaries have to be rescheduled, a visiting preacher needs to be moved, and the home team should always graciously step back on those occasions. I love the busy-ness of a place where prayers are prayed every day, and where you never know who is going to come on a visit, so I don't mind the complexity. Anyway, here is one of those sermons that never got preached; a sermon for the Eve of St Thomas the Apostle.

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Thomas, as an apostle has a hard time. He has forever gone down in history as doubting, and now the poor saint has me preaching on him not once this year, but twice. [Note to self: he escaped that particular trial in the end!]

However the context of the sermon is very different this afternoon from the one that I preached just after Easter , as I am preaching upon the readings for the eve of the feast. If you want to hear the famous gospel story of Thomas saying “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” and Jesus' famous invitation to do just that, then you will have to wait until tomorrow’s Eucharist. 

Whilst praying and pondering, I was particularly struck by today’s reading from Isaiah. There is an episode in the gospels when Jesus famously quotes from a different part of the book of Isaiah in a synagogue in Nazareth; The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives 
and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

But Jesus misses out part of that text. He does not read out “...and the day of vengeance of our God”. We have another reference to vengeance in today’s reading from Isaiah “Be strong, Do not fear. Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you. Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped." 

Todays first reading from Isaiah begins so hopefully, with the desert and parched land being glad, rejoicing and blossoming, reminding us that the gospel is good news not just for human beings, but for all of our broken creation which also longs to be restored and healed. We are told not to fear, but then we are also told that God is coming with vengeance and terrible recompense. Those lines almost have the effect of a slap in the face in the middle of a hopeful and comforting reading. Why are they there? And what exactly *is* God’s vengeance and terrible recompense? 

A while ago I was pondering that, and then something hit me. I believe that all these promises of Isaiah: the blind seeing once more and the captives being set free, the year of the Lord’s favour being announced,  the lame leaping like deer and the speechless singing for joy; these things, these wonderful subversive and beautiful things, ARE the vengeance of our God!


This is genuinely good news for the downtrodden and those held captive; this is good news for those who long for physical healing,  this is good news for those whose knees are feeling feeble and whose hearts are afraid of their oppressors. 

But this is very bad news indeed for those who hold others captive, who oppress others and bring misery to those with weak knees; bad news for those who exploit the disabled and trick others out of their money. Why?  Because liberation is coming and that liberation will take away the power of the oppressors forever. 

You may be wondering what does all this have to do with Thomas? I wonder if perhaps we are seeing this “vengeance” in action in the story of Thomas. 


When Thomas says that he will not believe without seeing and touching, Jesus does not give up on him. He does not say to the other disciples. “Thomas is no longer part of us because he does not yet believe.” 

Instead Jesus offers him an invitation full of justice and joy and an opportunity for restoration. It seems to me that Jesus does that a lot in the gospels. He did it with a dishonest tax collector who was hiding up a tree because nobody would let him get to the front of the crowd. Jesus invited himself to that man’s house for dinner. Jesus also did it with a woman at a well who had a complicated marriage history. He requested a drink and struck up a conversation. In all these cases he simply gave an opportunity for restoration and in Thomas’ case, beautiful, creative, poetic justice. 

I am reminded of our second reading today from the letter to the Hebrews which says “My soul takes no pleasure in anyone who shrinks back. But we are not among those who shrink back and so are lost, but among those who have faith and so are saved.”

Thomas did not shrink back from embarrassment or fear, but rather when he finally saw Jesus he stretched out his hand, touching and encountering the transformative power of the risen Christ.

So what are the lessons for us? Perhaps we need to ponder our lives to see if we have ever exploited or trapped anyone else in any way. Forgiveness and a new beginning is always there for us. 

But perhaps most importantly. We too need to stretch out our hands in an encounter with the One who made us and loves us, because that beautiful poetic restoration that the "Way of Jesus" offers is open to us too. All we have to do is ask.  Todays passage from Isaiah also refers to a highway of holiness. The highway analogy reminds us that we are on a journey. We haven’t become fully holy yet, but we are walking on that road towards goodness, compassion and love. 

So on this Eve of St Thomas, let us not be afraid to reach out. Let is never feel that we are ejected or thrown out of the community of Jesus-followers because of pst mistakes, but let us encounter the very same Christ who met Thomas and meets us too. Amen.