Why Remembering Death Helps Us Live

 33 Sunday OT, Year C

Remembering our mortality is meant to bring clarity, not fear, helping us focus on what truly matters. Jesus’ reminder of the end calls us to make meaningful choices now rather than delaying the good we are called to do. When we face our limits with Christ, we discover hope and learn to live each day ready to meet him.

Listen to homily here:

 

The other day, I had a burial at the cemetery across the street from St. Peter’s. As I waited, I looked at some of the gravestones there. Many had interesting inscriptions, and a few caught my eye. One marker read, “What I am, you soon will be.” Another said, “I was once like you, you will one day be like me.” And one, in Latin, simply read, memento mori—remember death. Remembering our mortality is not pleasant. We often try not to think about it because it can leave us feeling gloomy or unsettled. Yet in the gospel, Jesus asks us to remember the end, the reality that one day we will die. He does this for a very important reason.

As we approach the end of the liturgical year, the Gospels turn our attention to the end of time and the coming judgment. Jesus stands firmly within the prophetic tradition, like the prophet Malachi in the first reading, which speaks of the Day of the Lord when God will restore justice. Jesus speaks in that same prophetic and apocalyptic tone, using vivid symbols and images to remind us that he will return, whether at the end of history or at the end of our personal lives. Because of this, Jesus calls us to make a choice. We do not know when Christ will return, so we are to live in such a way that we are always ready to meet him.

Those markers in the cemetery make the same point. The people who placed them there wanted passersby not only to remember them and pray for them, but also to reflect on the brevity and gift of life. Remembering death is not meant to paralyze us. When we remember it with Christ, it gives clarity and hope. It helps us live better.

There are at least two helpful effects that come from remembering our mortality. First, it helps clarify how we should live. St. Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Jesuits, offered a powerful meditation in his Spiritual Exercises. He encouraged people, when facing major decisions, to imagine themselves at the end of their life and ask: from that vantage point, which choice would I wish I had made? This imaginary moment at the end helps cut through confusion and reveals what truly matters. We want to reach the end without regret, and remembering death helps us choose wisely now.

A second benefit is that it helps us overcome procrastination. Jesus reminds us how easily we become absorbed in the daily routines of life and lose sight of deeper calls. Today, we have even more distractions. It is easy to scroll endlessly or stream another show instead of facing what we know God is urging us to do. A friend recently told me about a birthday celebration for someone who was seriously ill. Guests offered moving speeches of gratitude and love, saying things that are often only spoken after someone has died. He said how beautiful it was that they said those words while the person could still hear them. We do not want to delay the good we ought to do: healing a relationship, serving more generously, or following Christ more fully. Remembering that our time is limited helps us act now.

Jesus does not speak about the end to discourage us. As Christians, we always view our mortality through the lens of hope because Christ has risen from the dead. At the same time, Jesus wants us to know that our choices matter. As we near the end of this liturgical year, let us listen to his words and ask ourselves honestly: am I ready to meet Jesus? And what changes might he be inviting me to make today?

The Church That Rose Again

Feast of Dedication of St. John Lateran

The Basilica of St. John Lateran, the Pope’s cathedral and the “mother of all churches,” reminds us that the heart of the Church is not stone but Christ Himself. Its long history of fires, earthquakes, and rebuilding mirrors our own call to rise from hardship through faith. As the first church dedicated to Christ the Saviour, it teaches that we, the baptized, are now His living temple, bringing His grace into the world.

Listen to Homily Here

 If I were to ask you the following question, how would you respond: What is the most important church building in our Catholic Church around the world?

Most of us, and I’d probably do the same, would answer, “St. Peter’s Basilica.” That’s what we see on the news; that’s where the Pope lives, gives his addresses, and where popes are elected. St. Peter’s is indeed ancient and deeply significant.

However, the church we celebrate today has a very strong case for being the most important church for Catholics worldwide — the Basilica of St. John Lateran. St. John Lateran is actually the cathedral of the Pope. Every bishop throughout the world has a cathedral church. In the Archdiocese of Vancouver, for example, the cathedral is Holy Rosary Cathedral downtown. When we celebrate its dedication, it’s a feast for the whole diocese, because in every cathedral you find a cathedra — Latin for “chair.” It symbolizes the bishop’s teaching authority and his role of pastoral leadership.

Now, the Pope is both Bishop of Rome and the one who, in a special way, shepherds the universal Church. His cathedra, his chair, is not in St. Peter’s Basilica, but in St. John Lateran. This means St. John Lateran is the cathedral of the Bishop of Rome — the Pope — and therefore has a unique place in the entire world. Across the globe today, Catholics celebrate this feast: the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, the cathedral of the Pope, the visible sign of his ministry to the universal Church.

Over the great façade of St. John Lateran, just a couple of kilometres from St. Peter’s, is an inscription in Latin that reads in English:

“The mother and head of all the churches of the city and of the world.”

And so, St. John Lateran Basilica — whose dedication we celebrate today — is the Mother Church of the entire Catholic world.

This church building itself tells a story that mirrors our own story as the Church, the Body of Christ. Its history is one of transformation, suffering, and rebirth — much like the life of faith itself.

The name Lateran comes not from a saint but from a Roman family — the Laterani — who once owned the land. They were wealthy, pagan nobles who had a palace there during Nero’s reign in the first century. Eventually, they fell out of favour with Nero, who confiscated their property. For several centuries, it remained imperial land until Emperor Constantine, after his conversion to Christianity, gave it to the Church in 324 A.D.

What had been a pagan palace — a place for the powerful few — was transformed into one of the first public Christian churches in the world, open to all for prayer and worship. The Gospel always does this: it transforms what once served self-interest into a space that serves grace and communion.

Over time, the basilica endured immense trials. In 455, it was sacked by the Vandals and rebuilt. In 896, a massive earthquake nearly destroyed it, and again it was rebuilt. In the 14th century, devastating fires left it in ruins. During that time, the popes even moved their residence to Avignon, France. Yet, each time the basilica was rebuilt — most beautifully in the 17th century in the Baroque style we see today.

The Lateran stands as a witness to resurrection: though it has fallen many times, it has never ceased to rise again. Like the basilica, the Church — and each of us as members of it — experiences trials, storms, and moments of ruin. Yet, with Christ’s help, we rise renewed.

Even its name teaches us something about who we are. The basilica was originally dedicated not to St. John, but to Christ the Saviour — Christo Salvatori. It was the first church in history dedicated solely to Jesus Christ Himself, reminding us that Christ is the true foundation and centre of the Church.

Later, the name St. John was added — first referring to St. John the Baptist because of the ancient baptistery beside the church, and later also associated with St. John the Evangelist. The baptistery, one of the oldest in the Christian world, recalls the heart of our Christian identity: through baptism, we become the living temple of God.

As St. Paul says in today’s second reading, “You are God’s building… you are God’s temple.” Just as Jesus, in the Gospel, fulfills and replaces the temple of stone, so now He dwells within His people. Through baptism, we continue His mission of bringing grace, healing, and peace into the world.

And so, this great feast is not only about a magnificent church in Rome. It is about us — the living Church. The Lateran Basilica teaches us that Christ is the Saviour at the centre, and we, the baptized, are His dwelling place.

As we celebrate the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, let us pray in a special way for Pope Francis, whose cathedral this basilica is. May he continue to guide the Church in unity around Christ our Saviour. And may we, the baptized, truly become the temple of God — bringing the life-giving waters of grace to the world around us.

The City of the Dead and the Sleep of the Living

 All Souls Day

Every culture has its own way of honouring the dead, but Christians see death not as an ending, but as rest—our cemeteries are “sleeping places,” not “cities of the dead.” In Jesus, life conquers death; the one who raised the widow’s son will awaken all who rest in him. All Souls Day reminds us that our love and communion with those who have died endures, because in Christ, death is only temporary.

Listen to homily here

I remember that when I was in high school, I had the opportunity to visit Rome. A highlight of that trip was visiting St. Peter’s Basilica. Of course, the basilica itself was incredible, but what made the experience truly special was visiting the excavations beneath it. It’s an archaeological site that must be booked well in advance—a climate-controlled maze of ancient tombs beneath the great church.

The site of St. Peter’s in Rome was once a Roman burial ground. That’s why St. Peter was buried there. As we toured the necropolis—the “city of the dead”—I remember one detail vividly. The guide showed us a little courtyard inside one of the tombs that had a small hole in the ground. He explained that it was used during ceremonies in which people shared meals with their deceased loved ones, pouring drink offerings through the hole into the earth below. Even as a teenager, that image stuck with me.

Every culture has its own ways of honoring the dead, and these customs reveal what people believe about what happens after death. The very word necropolis—“city of the dead”—captures the Roman view that death was permanent. The dead had their own city outside the limits of the living.

Christians, however, have a different word for such places: cemetery. The word comes from the Greek koimētērion, meaning “a sleeping place.” A cemetery is not a city of the dead—it’s a dormitory for those who sleep in Christ. This word expresses our belief that death is not permanent. Those who have died are at rest, awaiting the day when God will awaken them to new life. Even the familiar inscription “R.I.P.”—Rest in Peace—reflects this same hope.

In today’s Gospel, we see that hope embodied in Jesus himself. He encounters a grieving mother whose only son has died. The whole town mourns with her. We can all relate to that scene—the sorrow, the emptiness, the questions. But Jesus steps into that moment of loss and brings life. He raises the young man from the dead, showing that he has power even over death.

In the Book of Revelation, we hear Jesus described as “the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.” We see those same Greek letters on our Easter candle. They remind us that because of Christ’s resurrection, the story doesn’t end with death. As we pray in the Preface for the Dead: “For your faithful, Lord, life is changed, not ended.” Death is not the end of the story; it’s a passage—a path that every one of us must take.

J.R.R. Tolkien, a devout Catholic, expressed this beautifully in The Lord of the Rings. In one scene, the hobbit Pippin is terrified in the midst of battle, thinking the end has come. But Gandalf, a Christ-like figure, says to him, “No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path—one that we all must take.”

As Christians, we believe that our loved ones who have died are not gone. They are with God. The Book of Wisdom tells us, “The souls of the just are in the hands of God.” When we remain close to God, we remain close to them too. The bonds of love, friendship, and faith that we shared in this life continue beyond death.

That’s why we keep traditions like visiting cemeteries, keeping photos of loved ones, or writing their names in our Book of Remembrance here at St. Peter’s. These are ways of maintaining that living connection with them. This weekend, we also gather at St. Peter’s Cemetery for a special blessing and prayers for the departed. These customs are not just about memory—they are about hope.

Today, as we celebrate All Souls Day, we do so as people of hope. We affirm that death is not the end—it is temporary. Because of Christ, life triumphs. As we pray together:

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