On a recent late September day, I was walking down County Line Road to pick up dry cleaning near Bryn Mawr Hospital. I was feeling particularly nervous about an event later that day. I was lonely and vulnerable. I offered up a prayer to God, and then as I passed Bryn Mawr Hospital, I remembered that my former spiritual director, who died within the past year, had been born in that very hospital. And so, I asked him to pray for me, too. In that moment, I was feeling quite alone, and I knew that what I had to face later in the day would need more than my own stamina or courage. I needed, first, God’s help. And I needed the prayers of the saints and of those beloved of us who have gone before us. I’m sure that my late spiritual director heard my prayer and offered one for me as well.
This may sound strange to you if you are not familiar with either praying for the dead or with asking for their prayers. But it’s not strange at all, and it certainly is not strange within the Anglo-Catholic tradition. While it’s true that Anglo-Catholics have long made a habit of praying for the dead, it’s also true that that practice is solidly within our prayer book tradition. Consider, for instance, this prayer from our funeral liturgy: “Grant that, increasing in knowledge and love of thee, he may go from strength to strength in the life of perfect service in thy heavenly kingdom” (The Book of Common Prayer 1979, p. 481). Or note the following from prayers for the dead: “Into thy hands, O Lord, we commend thy servant N., our dear brother, as into the hands of a faithful Creator and most merciful Savior, beseeching thee that he may be precious in thy sight. Wash him, we pray thee, in the blood of that immaculate Lamb that was slain to take away the sins of the world; that, whatsoever defilements he may have contracted in the midst of this earthly life being purged and done away, he may be presented pure and without spot before thee; through the merits of Jesus Christ thine only Son our Lord. Amen” (BCP 1979, p. 488). These prayers certainly suggest that one’s life in Christ and spiritual journey continue beyond the grave. This latter prayer implies a purgation or cleansing by which God’s beloved children are drawn, over time and in eternal time, into God’s loving arms.
If, as we profess, we believe in the communion of saints, then when we pray, we never pray alone, although we might be alone in our room. At Mass, we are rejoicing in the fellowship of a whole company of holy men and women who are in the nearer presence of God. They pray, just as we pray. The Good Shepherd parishioner who died in 1896 prays with us still in 2023. We pray for one another. We are united in bonds of fellowship and are bound together by baptism, and we share in that same hope of the resurrection from the dead in which have access to eternal life. In the collect for All Saints’ Day, we are reminded that we are “knit together. . . in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of. . . Christ our Lord” (p. 194).
Next week, we will celebrate, first, All Saints’ Day, on Wednesday, November 1, with a Procession and Sung Mass at 7 p.m. All Saints’ Day is a principal feast of the Church year, so if at all possible, I strongly encourage you to attend Mass on that day. On All Saints’ Day, we rejoice in the great company of holy men and women who have died but now live in Christ and who continue to pray for us and with us, just as we pray for and with them. On All Saints’ Day, we think especially of those people recognized as “saints” by the Church, although many unnamed individuals are in that heavenly company. On the following day, Thursday, November 2, All Souls’ Day, we pray by name for the particular souls of those beloved of us. We also acknowledge liturgically on All Souls’ Day that the Christian journey of sanctification and purification continues into the next life, and that is why we can rightly and effectively pray for the dead. As is our custom and with the permission of our bishop, the Mass will be a Requiem Mass from the American Missal, with a choral setting by Josef Rheinberger (1839 - 1901) sung by our wonderful choir. The Requiem Mass is poignantly beautiful, in my opinion, because it doesn’t feel self-conscious; its focus is purely on the saving grace of God in Christ, by which the souls of the departed are assisted in drawing nearer to God’s presence in heaven. The vestments for a Requiem Mass are black. A catafalque is set up in the crossing and covered by a black pall, to stand in for those souls for whom we will pray. Rather than finding All Souls’ Day depressing, I find it deeply encouraging. It reminds me that even though I will mess many things up in this earthly life, when I die, I can still have the benefit of the prayers of those still living on earth to aid me in my continuing journey. In other words, when I die, the story will not be finished. This doesn’t mean we don’t feel the wrenching loss of those loved ones who die, but it means that we can always rejoice in our bonds of ongoing communion with them.
This time of year, as we draw near to All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, feels like a thin time of year. We have those moments throughout our lives, where the presence of the dead is palpably with us, and when we might even sense the prayers the dead are offering for us. All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day are important for us to embrace the unchanging reality of death, as well as the glorious hope that we have for spiritual purification and perfection in the life to come, as God draws us and the whole world to himself in boundless love.
Yours in Christ,
Father Kyle