All Saints 2021
Apocalypse 7:2-4, 9-14; 1 John 3:1-3; Matt 5:1-12
Have you ever noticed what a powerful sensation memory can be? It probably comes second only to love as a subject for song: “Memories are made of this”; “Thanks for the memories”; “I remember you”; “Remember me to one who lives there” and so on. Then there are popular sayings: “Rosemary for remembrance”; “Remember, remember, the fifth of November”.
The slightest thing can trigger a memory: a glimpse, a scent, a snatch of song. I have what I call my laundry songs. From the beginning of February to the end of August 1968, I worked in the washhouse at the Lancaster and District Laundry, a very happy episode in my life, where Radio 1, then in its infancy, played all through the working day over the loudspeakers. Any song from that era takes me straight back to the steam and water of those days, as if no time had elapsed.
What does memory achieve? It can give us comfort, it can cause us pain, it can lead to regret, it can remind us of our mortality. Staying with the subject of songs, it can shock us when the idols of our younger days are seen as they are now.
You may remember Arthur Garfunkel, either as one half of the duo Simon and Garfunkel, or as a soloist, lending his glorious tones to such melodies as “Bright Eyes” (1979). He was particularly remarkable for his mass of blond curly hair, surrounding his head like a halo. Recently, I saw a video of him singing with his son: he is completely bald, and appears as a withered old man, his arms like sticks, a living reminder of the ravages of time.
Such emotions as memory calls forth are significant, and can play a softening role in hearts which are becoming cold and hard. Does memory serve any other purpose?
For the Christian, the answer is a resounding “Yes”. We believe in the Communion of Saints, an ongoing union and communion with all who have gone before us, whether their union with God is complete (the Saints) or they are still being perfected in ways that we cannot comprehend (the Holy Souls).
Although we separate these forerunners of ours into two categories, and give them two separate feasts, there is little to be gained by trying to decide who fits into which group. What matters is that all of them are “ours” united with us in the one Body of Christ, bound together by a bond of mutual support.
Some people still cling to the false notion propagated by some of the more fanatical Reformers, that the process of ongoing purification after death, which for convenience we call Purgatory, is some sort of mediaeval Catholic invention. Nothing could be further from the truth. Until the Reformation, belief in Purgatory (whether one uses the name or not) was universal among Christians and it is widely held, to a greater or lesser extent, by very many non-Catholic Christians today. CS Lewis, for instance, considered it to be self-evident.
In the Gospels, Jesus calls us to be perfect, in the literal meaning of “complete”. How many of us will be “complete” at the time of our death? Clearly, for almost all of us, there will still be work to be done. St. Paul reports a practice in the early Church of being baptised for the dead, to bring them into the Body of Christ, a clear indication of belief in the need and possibility of post mortem fulfilment. Frequently, the scriptures speak of our being judged on the basis of our actions in this life. That judgement, if it is to be in any way just—and we believe in a just God—will conclude that the vast majority of us are a mixture of the good, the bad, and the ugly, very definitely a work in progress.
To me, the most powerful of all scriptural “proofs” is today’s passage from the First Letter of St. John, which promises that we shall be “like God, because we shall see Him as He really is”. To become like God will entail an enormous change, and no change is ever painless. (There is a beautiful saying that Purgatory is seeing God and realising that we are not fit to be seen.)
It may, as St. Paul suggests, take place in the blink of an eye: it may be a slower process, but remember that these distinctions are meaningless, because we are dealing with eternity, and not time. However it happens, happen it will, and it is bound to be painful, but a joyful pain, as pain can be.
In conclusion, may I point out that if, in my case, anybody adopts the silly and essentially atheistic modern fad of “celebrating my life”, I shall come back and haunt them. They will pray for my soul, a loving duty within the Communion of Saints, or I will know the reason why.
