Called Home Early - Funeral Homily (Wisdom 4:7-14; 1 John 3:1-2; Matthew 11:25-30)

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,

We gather here today with hearts weighed down by grief. There are moments in life that defy understanding, that break our hearts and test our faith to its very limits. The death of a child is surely one of these moments.

Today, we stand before a tiny coffin, and everything within us cries out that this is not how the story should end. Parents should not bury their children. A life so new, so full of promise, should not be cut short. And yet, here we are.

In the Book of Wisdom, we hear these words: "The one who pleased God was loved; living among sinners, was transported... snatched away so that evil might not alter their understanding or deceit beguile their souls" (Wisdom 4:10-11). These ancient words, written thousands of years ago, acknowledge the profound mystery we face today—that sometimes, for reasons beyond our comprehension, God calls home the youngest and most innocent among us.

I will not stand before you today and attempt to explain away this pain with easy platitudes or simple answers. There are none. Even Jesus, who knew the mind of God more intimately than any other, wept at the tomb of his friend. God does not ask us not to grieve—God grieves with us.

When we lose a child, we lose not only who they were but all they might have become—first steps never taken, words never spoken, graduations never celebrated, dreams never fulfilled. This absence of future memories compounds our present grief.

Yet in the midst of this darkness, our faith speaks a truth that seems almost too audacious to believe: that death does not have the final word.

St. John tells us, "Beloved, we are God's children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is" (1 John 3:1-2). This child, baptized into Christ, has now experienced the fullness of this promise—seeing God not through the dim glass of our earthly understanding but face to face, in perfect love.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus says something remarkable: "I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to the childlike" (Matthew 11:25). There is a wisdom in childhood that often eludes us as adults—an openness to wonder, a capacity for unconditional love, a talent for living fully in the present moment. Perhaps this is why Jesus repeatedly held up children as examples of faith.

This child, in their brief time with us, taught us how to love more deeply, how to find joy in small moments, how to see the world with fresh eyes. These lessons remain with us, even as we say goodbye.

To the parents: Your acts of love towards your child was not in vain. Nothing—not even death—can sever the bond of love you share. The care you gave, the tears you wiped away, the lullabies you sang—these were not in vain. Each moment of love you shared was eternal in significance, forming this child's understanding of what it means to be loved, preparing them for the ultimate embrace of God's love.

In the darkest nights of grief that lie ahead, when doubt and anger threaten to overwhelm you, remember that Jesus himself knows the cost of such love. The same Lord who welcomed children into his arms on earth now welcomes your child in heaven. And this same Lord stands beside you in your grief, saying, "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest" (Matthew 11:28).

Our Catholic faith assures us that this is not a final goodbye. We are all connected in the Communion of Saints—that great family of God that transcends the boundary between heaven and earth. Your child now dwells in light, free from pain and limitation, held in God's eternal love until that day when, as we profess in our Creed, we shall experience "the resurrection of the body and life everlasting."

In that day, as the prophet Isaiah tells us, "The Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces" (Isaiah 25:8). Until then, we carry this grief together as a community of faith, supporting one another, praying for one another, and keeping alive the precious memory of this beloved child.

We now entrust this little one to God's tender care, confident in the words of Jesus: "Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these" (Matthew 19:14).

May the soul of [Name], and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.