Requiescat in Pace

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

As macabre as it sounds, those consoling words of our Lord that we had just heard in the gospel is visualised in our cemeteries. On tombstones throughout the Christian world, carved in stone or etched in metal, we so often find those three solemn words: Requiescat in Pace — “May he (or she) rest in peace.” We see them in Latin, or in their familiar abbreviation, R.I.P. They are spoken softly at the graveside, whispered in the quiet of our hearts, and prayed at every funeral vigil and Requiem Mass. Yet how easily we can reduce them to a polite formula, a conventional closing to a life that has ended.

The abbreviation has been commonly and badly translated into English as “Rest in Peace.” As a statement of fact, it may sound quite presumptuous, underlying a popular belief that our departed loved ones are already in heaven, fully resting in peace. But note that the more accurate translation of the Latin is in the form of an invocation, a prayer: “MAY they rest in peace.” We can only pray and hope that our loved ones have found rest. It is not something which we can presume automatically as if our live decisions have no bearing to what happens to us after death. That is why at every funeral we should pray that the Lord shows His mercy to the deceased by pouring out His forgiveness on a sinner, which may sound insensitive to the modern ear, rather than canonise him or her with a moving eulogy that elevates them to the status of a saint. The Feast of All Saints is what we celebrated yesterday. But today we remember the dead, especially those among us who may have died without fully experiencing the perfection and freedom from sin that is required of divine beatitude and yet remain beneficiaries of our Lord’s mercy shown through the process we call purgatory.

Today the Church invites us to look deeper into these words. Requiescat in Pace is not merely a wish for the body to lie undisturbed in the earth. It is a prayer for the soul’s journey — that long, purifying pilgrimage from the incompleteness of this life into the fullness of eternal rest in God. Let’s be honest, deadly honest - We live, most of the time, with a myopic view of reality. We see only the small picture: the grief of separation, the silence of the grave, the ache of absence. We forget the larger truth proclaimed so beautifully in the Preface of the Masses for the Dead: “In him the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed, not ended.”

“Life is changed, not ended”. How many of us have missed this piece of simple but profound truth? Perhaps, we are too blinded by our grief to pay attention to what Mother Church speaks to us at this very hour of our need. The soul does not cease its journey when the body returns to dust. For the great majority of the faithful departed — those who have died in God’s grace and friendship, yet still imperfectly purified — there remains a final stage of the pilgrimage. The Church calls it Purgatory. It is not a midway point between heaven and hell, nor a temporary hell. It is the place, or rather the process, where souls already destined for heaven are prepared for the Beatific Vision. It is where the work of God, begun in their earthly lives, is brought to completion. It is the hospital where the last infections of self-love are burned away by the fire of divine love, so that the soul may love as God loves.

This is why we pray for the dead. If our loved ones were already in the full glory of heaven, they would have no need of our prayers. If they were lost forever, no prayer of ours could reach them. But because they are still on the way — still being purified, still journeying toward the eternal rest for which they were made — our prayers, our Masses, our sacrifices, our acts of charity offered on their behalf truly help them. As the Second Book of Maccabees reminds us, “It is a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they might be loosed from their sins.”

Requiescat in Pace, then, is not a passive hope. It is an active intercession. When we speak those words, we are joining our voices to the prayer of the whole Church — the Church Militant on earth, the Church Suffering in purification, and the Church Triumphant in glory — all bound together in the Communion of Saints. We are asking that the soul may complete its journey, that every remaining attachment to sin and self may be purified, that the last obstacles to perfect union with God may be removed, and that the soul may at last enter into the Sabbath rest of heaven.

And what of us who still walk this earth? The same journey awaits us. We too are pilgrims. We too carry the unfinished business of our lives — the habits of sin not yet fully uprooted, the loves still disordered, the hearts still only partially converted. We too are looking for rest. God knows how weary and tired we are and how much we desire relief. He hears us and He answers us: “Come to me, all you who labour and are overburdened, and I will give you rest.” Every Mass we offer for the dead, every prayer we say, every sacrifice we make on their behalf is also a preparation for our own journey. In helping them toward their eternal rest, we ourselves are being drawn more deeply into the same mercy. Our Lord is teaching us that the path to truly finding rest for our souls is when we diligently shoulder His yoke, learn from Him, imitate Him and finally follow Him on the path to salvation. We won’t find rest when we turn our backs on Him. If Christ is absent from our lives and our hearts, we would only find “unrest.” Only in Him, can we truly find rest as St Augustine once prayed: “Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.”

So today, let us not merely remember. Let us pray. Let us offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass for those who have no one to pray for them, for our parents and grandparents, for spouses and children, for friends and benefactors, for the forgotten and the abandoned. Let us visit their graves not only to place flowers, but to place our hearts in intercession. And as we do so, may we hear again those ancient words, not as a farewell, but as a prayer of hope:

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed,
through the mercy of God,
rest in peace.

Amen.

Console my people

Second Sunday of Advent Year B

When you are grieving, feeling lost and confused, you would most likely look to others for comfort and consolation - a word of affirmation, a reassurance of friendship and support, a warm hug or gentle touch to remind us that we are not alone. St Ignatius of Loyola also used the movements of consolation and desolation as the foundational tools for his primary spiritual exercise, which is the discernment of spirits. But Ignatius defines these terms in a very specific way, that is different to their common usage.

You may find it surprising that both consolation and its antonym, desolation, share a common root in Latin - “Sol” which means the Sun. So, consolation is literally with or towards the Sunlight, whereas desolation means away from the Sun - darkness. The latter makes more sense as we often equate our experience of desolation with darkness, the feeling where all light in our lives have been put out. So, consolation is facing or turning to the light and desolation is facing or turning away from the light. This makes so much sense with Ignatius’ definitions of these words.

Looking towards God’s light, the effect on the person’s spirit is ‘warming’, uplifting, positive. Looking away from the light, one is in one’s own shadow, the pitch-black darkness staring back at us when we attempt to look into the depths of our souls. To Ignatius, the task in desolation is not to try and find the way and chart a new course of direction, but to turn towards the light.

This is how we should consider the prophetic words of Isaiah, our Advent prophet, in the first reading. The reading begins with God’s instruction to Isaiah: “console my people, console them.” God is not just asking Isaiah to give His people some cheap form of consolation - a spiritual bear hug, nor is He asking Isaiah to provide them with some empty assurance -“don’t worry. Things will get better.” Many of us have been guilty of doing this when we are faced with people in pain who are hurting.

God, instead, is asking Isaiah to remind the people that their sentence for their sins, which is the 70 years of humiliating exile in Babylon, has come to an end. Their “prison term” is over and they will be released soon because their sins have been atoned and forgiven. This prolonged period of desolation, a period where they have been deprived of the light of God which shone on their land and the Temple, would soon be replaced by a period of consolation. The light is returning, the dark night would soon be over, they will be able to bask in the sunlight of God’s graces and mercy. The Lord is returning as a victorious King and a loving Shepherd who will hold His people tightly to His breast in a loving embrace.

The prophecy of Isaiah would only be partially fulfilled during the time of the return of the people from exile. Instead of a lush and rich land, they would encounter a barren wilderness where all traces of their glorious past civilisation had been erased by their enemies. Instead of the imposing Temple of Jerusalem, God’s seat and foothold on earth, they would only see ruins and rubble, mirroring their own lives which had to be rebuilt from scratch. Many would have wondered how the words of Isaiah’s prophecy, the promises of God, could have applied to them. Would they need to wait longer? How long?

This too is the experience of many of us. When faced with one setback or another, we often pray for and look for a break. Many lose faith when God seems slow in acting and answering their prayer. This is why the words of St Peter in the second reading, provide us with a clue as to the reason why God sometimes appears to delay in acting: “The Lord is not being slow to carry out his promises, as anybody else might be called slow; but he is being patient with you all, wanting nobody to be lost and everybody to be brought to change his ways.” What seems to be a delay is not caused by God being slow! It is because He is patient with us, waiting for us to repent and change our ways.

Israel had to wait in twilight and darkness for many centuries. And finally, the gospel announces the first hint of dawn, and it comes in the mysterious figure of this wild like character crying out in the wilderness. Just as heralds in ancient times would go before their liege to announce the imminent arrival of the king, St John the Baptist prepares the way of the Lord by announcing a message of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. This is it! The true secret of attaining consolation is found in repentance. Repentance is the door that leads from darkness to light, from despondency to hope, from tragedy to opportunity, from the pit of despair to the heights of joy.

Despite knowing this to be true, many of us continue to wait and this is where Advent is a season for us who experience the darkness of desolation. What must we do? What can we do as we await for the sun to break through the clouds? Once again, we turn to St Paul for guidance. He writes: “So then, my friends, while you are waiting, do your best to live lives without spot or stain so that he will find you at peace.”

Even as God wishes to console us with the message of hope and peace, He continues to permit moments of darkness in our lives. Why would He do this? The truth is that God works deep in our lives to transform our deepest sorrow into an abiding joy. Suffering, sorrow, pain and grieving may seem like an eternity. Those who have lost their loved ones will cringe whenever they are told by well-intentioned friends and family, to “get over it” or “find closure” or just “move on.” But it only takes a moment alone, or a memory, or a memorabilia to trigger a torrent of heart-breaking tears. As much as it is difficult to believe, we are assured that this will only “last a moment.” The flip side is grace, God’s favour. This, however, will not just last a lifetime but for eternity. What are months and years of mourning and grieving in comparison to an incalculable eternity of joy. Juxtaposed, we realise that our moments of anguish and darkness are fleeting in the light of God’s eternal favour and grace.

Sometimes we need to view our lives through a mirror. In our sorrow, we learn to appreciate joy. In our loss, we discover how much we have gained. Death reflects the sacredness and fragility of life. In the night of tears, we come to long for the dawn of joy. C. S. Lewis was right. Joy often comes as a surprise. It invades the most sorrowful spaces. It reminds us that beauty and goodness and life can grow, even in the most unpromising soil. Joy does not mean the absence of pain or sorrow. Rather, joy is often begotten in the purifying fire of the crucible of love, especially the love of God which is boundless and eternal. That my friends, is our true consolation.