Homily
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Dear family and friends of [Name], brothers and sisters in Christ:
A long illness is a hard road for everyone who walks it. [Name] lived through diagnoses and treatments, hospital rooms and sleepless nights, good news that gave hope and bad news that took it away. Those who cared for [Name] know a particular kind of tiredness: driving to appointments, managing medicines, sitting at the bedside, trying to be strong. Now that road has ended. There is grief, and perhaps also a quiet relief that the suffering is over. Both can be true at the same time, and neither is wrong.
We gather today to commend [Name] to God, and to hear again how the Lord gives meaning even to suffering.
From my flesh I will see God
Job knew suffering intimately. His body was afflicted and his friends failed to understand him. Yet in the depth of his pain he cried out: "I know that my Vindicator lives... and from my flesh I will see God; my inmost being is consumed with longing."
Job did not deny his pain. He spoke honestly to God about it. But he also held on to hope, a hope that his body, so broken in this life, would one day see God. That is the Christian hope for [Name] today: that the body worn down by illness will be raised up in glory.
The sufferings of this present time
Saint Paul writes: "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us." He describes all creation "groaning in labor pains," and he says that "we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies."
Anyone who has watched a loved one suffer knows that groaning. Paul gives it a meaning: it is the groaning of birth, not only of death. Suffering is not the last word. The redemption of our bodies is coming.
Christ in our suffering
The Gospel takes us to Calvary. Jesus cries out: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He breathes his last. Then on the third day the women come to the tomb and hear: "Do not be amazed! You seek Jesus of Nazareth, the crucified. He has been raised; he is not here."
Christ did not stand outside of human suffering. He entered it completely, even to the feeling of being abandoned. Saint John Paul II, who himself suffered a long illness in public, taught that in the Cross human suffering is united to the suffering of Christ and can share in his redeeming work. [Name]'s suffering was not wasted. United to Christ, it was offered, and in Christ it is now answered with resurrection.
Today we pray that [Name], who shared in the cross, may share fully in the resurrection. We ask God to forgive whatever sin remained and to give [Name] the healing that no medicine could give.
For the caregivers
To the family and to all who cared for [Name]: thank you. Your love was visible in a thousand small acts of care. The Gospel tells us that the women who stayed near the cross were the first to receive the news of the resurrection. Those who stay with the suffering are close to the heart of Christ.
Now let yourselves rest. Accept help. Grief often arrives fully only after the caregiving ends. Be gentle with yourselves.
At this altar we will celebrate the Eucharist, the memorial of Christ's death and resurrection. Here we place [Name] into the hands of the risen Lord, who has conquered suffering and death.
Eternal rest grant unto [Name], O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
Sources Consulted
- Order of Christian Funerals, no. 27
- Catechism of the Catholic Church, nos. 1500-1510 and 1521
- Saint John Paul II, Salvifici Doloris, nos. 19-26
- Saint John Paul II, Evangelium Vitae, no. 67
- USCCB, Lectionary for Mass: Masses for the Dead