Those Who Fall Asleep in the Lord

Homily for Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

There are certain passages in the New Testament that reveal both the humanity of the first Christians and the enduring power of the Gospel, and Saint Paul's words to the Thessalonians are surely among them, for they arise from a concern that has echoed in every Christian generation since the Resurrection. Members of this young community had begun to die, and in particular, the eye witnesses to the life and resurrection of Jesus. Those left behind wondered what would become of the community once all the eye witnesses were gone. Didn’t Jesus promise to come back? Had the deceased somehow missed the Lord's coming? Had death placed them at a disadvantage? Had the promises made by Christ been interrupted by the grave?

Paul's answer is remarkable and tender. "We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope."

Paul knows that death of a loved one can plunge us into grief. He does not suggest that faith exempts us from sorrow. The death of someone we love creates an absence that cannot simply be dismissed by pious phrases. The chair sits empty; the familiar voice is no longer heard in the house; the stories that once filled our days now return only in memory. Grief is the price we pay for love; and the deeper the love, the deeper the grief. Paul's point is that Christian mourning is transformed by hope in the empty tomb.

That distinction changes everything. For Paul, the resurrection of Jesus is the revelation of what God intends for all who belong to Christ. This has been a recurring theme in the last few Sundays. We belong to Christ. If death could not hold Jesus, then death cannot ultimately hold those who are joined to him. Because he entered our mortality and emerged victorious, those who have died in him remain within the embrace of the God who raises the dead.

Perhaps that is why Paul speaks of the departed as those who have "fallen asleep." Death remains painful and often mysterious. Yet for the Christian, death becomes a doorway through which Christ has already passed. The language of sleep expresses confidence that those who rest in the Lord will one day awaken to a life more real than anything we have yet known.

When we hear these words, we think of the many people whose lives have shaped our own journey of faith. As the years pass, the number grows larger and includes all those whose faith nourished ours and whose love reflected something of God's own love. Our loved ones now belong to that great company whom Paul places securely in God's keeping. We miss them deeply, and we entrust them to the Lord who conquered death and promised to prepare a place for all who love him.

This confidence sheds light on the Gospel's parable of the wise and foolish virgins. At first hearing, the emphasis seems to fall upon readiness, and rightly so; yet readiness is not the whole story. The wise virgins keep watch because they know a bridegroom is coming. Their vigilance is sustained by expectation, not by fear or anxiety. They are waiting for a wedding feast.

That image is important, because the Gospel repeatedly describes the fulfillment of God's kingdom as a celebration to be anticipated. The Christian life is lived in the interval between promise and fulfillment, between the Resurrection of Christ and the day when that Resurrection will embrace all creation. Like the ten virgins, we wait through the night, lamps in hand, trusting that darkness is not the final reality.

That conviction lies at the heart of Paul's message to the Thessalonians. The future rests upon God's determination never to lose those who belong to him. The same Lord who called us into life, who sustained us through every joy and sorrow, and who raised Jesus from the dead will not abandon us at our final hour.

For that reason, Christian hope is our trust in the faithfulness of God. It is the conviction that the love revealed in Christ is stronger than death, deeper than the grave, and more enduring than all the losses of this world.

As we gather around this Eucharistic table, we are surrounded by the unseen communion of saints and all those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith. St. Paul assures us:  "We shall always be with the Lord." Those words have comforted Christians for nearly two thousand years because they proclaim the promise upon which every other promise depends. In life and in death, in this world and in the world to come, we belong to the Lord, and nothing, not even death itself, can separate us from his love.