The Rev’d Ivica Gregurec

All Souls’ Day

Readings: Isaiah 25:6–9, 1 Peter 1:3–9, John 11:21–27

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today, on All Souls’ Day, we gather in the quiet presence of God to
remember. We remember those we have loved and see no longer. We
remember the great company of the departed, known, and unknown.
And we remember that God’s care is larger than we can imagine – it holds
every human being, in this life and the next.

This day, also called The Commemoration of all the faithful departed, began
in the monasteries of the early Middle Ages. Around the year 998, Abbot
Odilo of Cluny set aside a special day to pray for all who had died – not only
the saints in glory, but every human being who had gone before us. From
that monastic practice grew a tradition across the Western Church: a yearly
remembrance that no one is forgotten by God, and that divine love reaches
even beyond death.

All Saints’ Day, which we kept last Sunday, celebrates the saints – those
whose lives have clearly shown God’s light, canonised, uncanonised, known
and unknown. All Souls’ Day, today, is more personal and tender. It is for
everyone: for our family, our friends, and all who rest in God’s mercy.
Together, the two days remind us that we are one family in Christ – the
living and the departed – joined in the communion of love.

The prophet Isaiah gives us a beautiful picture: a feast prepared by God on
a mountain. “The Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food,
a feast of well-aged wines.”

It is a meal for all peoples, not only for a few. Here we see the generous
heart of God – a God who welcomes everyone to the table.

And Isaiah says, “He will swallow up death forever, and the Lord God will
wipe away tears from all faces.” Not some faces – all faces. This shows us
what God desires: not destruction, but healing; not separation, but
togetherness. God wants life, joy, and peace for every soul.

This vision fits well with our understanding of faith – that God’s world is full
of grace, that every person and every part of creation is touched by
holiness. Even those we pray for today, whose faith was known only to God,
are surrounded by that same mercy and love.

Saint Peter reminds us that hope is born in the middle of our pain: “Blessed
be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has
given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus
Christ from the dead.”

This is not a weak or uncertain hope – it is a living hope. Because Christ
rose from the dead, hope is alive and active in the world. It means that even
when we face death, loss, or grief, God’s life continues to rise within us.
We do not believe that heaven is only for a few chosen ones. The
resurrection of Christ is a promise for all creation – a sign that love will
always have the final word. Few weeks ago, at I funeral I officiated in
Remuera, a family member of the deceased asked me: “How do you imagine
heaven?” And while I could not describe every smallest detail of it, I said we
do not need to imagine it as a small, closed place, an elite club open just for
some, but as the great welcome of God’s eternal feast.

At every Eucharist we taste that promise. The altar becomes a meeting
point between heaven and earth. The bread and wine show us that life and
death, sorrow and joy, are all gathered together in Christ. When we come to
the altar, we stand in communion not only with those around us, but also
with the saints and souls of every time and place – “with angels and
archangels, and with all the company of heaven.”

In our Gospel reading, Martha speaks to Jesus with both faith and sadness:
“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

This is a very human cry. It is the voice of love that feels loss. Jesus does not
reject her pain. He shares it. He weeps with her. And then he says: “I am the
resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die,
will live.”

Notice he says I am, not: “I will be.” Resurrection is not only a future hope,
but a living reality in Jesus now. Wherever Christ is, there is life – deeper
than death, stronger than despair.

On All Souls’ Day, we stand with Martha – between grief and faith, between
what we see and what we hope for. And we listen for that same voice that
called Lazarus from the tomb: “Come out!” – the call of life, spoken to every
soul.

Saint Gregory of Nyssa, one of the 4th century saints of the Church, from
Asia Minor, which is Turkey today, wrote: “It is clear that God will truly be
‘all in all’ when there is no more evil, when every creature lives in
harmony…”(On the Soul and the Resurrection)

St Gregory believed that the final goal of God’s plan is complete communion – a world made whole, where every person is healed and at peace. This is
not sentimental; it is the deep truth that God is love, and love never gives
up.

As Anglicans, we can affirm that this love is truly for everyone. No one is
beyond the reach of grace. Christ stands at the doorway of every human
sorrow and calls each person by name. So, when we pray for the departed,
we are not trying to change God’s mind. We are joining our hearts to God’s
ongoing work of love. Our prayers are acts of trust, saying that life
continues in God, that mercy is larger than death. When we light candles or
speak the names of those who have died, we are shining a small light into
that great mystery of divine compassion.

In our tradition, we love this idea of the communion of saints – that the
Church is one body, joined across time and space. When we pray, we are
never alone. Our voices join with those of all who have gone before us, with
those who now see God face to face.

All Souls’ Day is therefore both sad and full of hope. It gives space for our
grief, but also reminds us that love continues. The pain of absence shows
the depth of our affection, and the promise of resurrection gives that
affection its eternal meaning.

At the Eucharist, memory and presence come together. When we hear the
words, “Do this in remembrance of me,” we are not only remembering the
past. We are meeting the living Christ, who holds both the living and the
dead in his hands. In that sacred moment, heaven and earth touch, and the
boundary between them grows thin.

So, as I conclude this reflection, we return to Isaiah’s feast, to Peter’s living
hope, and to Jesus’ words of life. They all speak the same truth: Love is
stronger than death. God’s mercy is for all people. And the promise of
resurrection belongs to every soul.

All Souls’ Day is not a dark day, but a day of gentle light – the light of
candles, of memory, of faith. It is the day when we say, with quiet
confidence, that no one is lost to God.

When we leave this place, after we have lit the candles, mentioned the
names of our dear ones and blessed our cemetery, may we carry that light
within us.

May it shape how we live and how we love.
For the God who raised Jesus from the dead is still at work, even now,
whispering to each of us: “See, I am making all things new.” Amen.