Hope Beyond the Veil

Voice over by Esther Han

Wis 3:1-9; Psalm: 22; Rom 5:5-11; Lk 23:33.39-43

Dear Sisters and Brothers in Christ, on this solemn Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, the Church, in her maternal wisdom, does not leave us to grieve as those who have no hope. Instead, she draws back the curtain of eternity and bathes our sorrow in the radiant light of God’s promises. Today, we are invited to look upon death not with a shudder of finality, but with the steady gaze of faith, hope, and charity.

The Book of Wisdom provides our first anchor in the storm of grief: “The souls of the just are in the hand of God.” To our eyes, burdened by loss, death may seem like an affliction, a destruction. But the sacred author reveals the truth: “They are in peace.” What the world sees as punishment, God sees as a refining fire. The “trials” of their earthly life were a process of purification, and now, they are with God, who has found them worthy of Himself. They are in His hand, the most secure and loving place in all of existence. This is not a naive denial of suffering, but a profound affirmation that God’s fidelity transcends the grave.

This hope is not a fragile human wish, but a certainty grounded in the historical event of the Cross. Saint Paul proclaims the stunning logic of divine love to the Romans: “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” Our hope for our departed loved ones does not rest on their perfect moral record, but on the sacrificial love of Jesus. If Christ died for us when we were His enemies, how much more, now that we are reconciled by His Blood, will He save us? Our confidence for the dead is, therefore, a confidence in the relentless, justifying love of God poured out through Jesus Christ.

This love finds its most poignant and powerful expression on Calvary. In the Gospel of Luke, we see two thieves, both facing the same brutal end. One, trapped in his despair, hurls insults. But the other, the “Good Thief,” does something extraordinary. In his final moments, surrounded by the darkness of sin and death, he sees a glimmer of light. He turns to the innocent man suffering beside him and makes a plea that is the essence of Christian hope: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He asks not for a rescue from death, but for a remembrance in life—eternal life. And Jesus, from the throne of His Cross, gives a promise that echoes through the ages and into every grieving heart: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

This is the Catholic faith in action. We are not bound by a grim fatalism. We live in the tension between the “already” of Christ’s victory and the “not yet” of our full purification. The Church calls this state Purgatory—not a place of punishment, but a process of merciful purification, of being made fully ready to enter the all-consuming fire of God’s love. As the Catechism teaches, it is a final purification for those “who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified” (CCC 1030).

This is why our prayers matter. Our suffrages—the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, our prayers, alms, and works of penance—are acts of charity that can aid the Holy Souls in this final journey into light. We are not merely remembering them; we are actively helping them, fulfilling the law of Christ by bearing one another’s burdens. As Saint Augustine said, “Let us not hesitate to help those who have died and to offer our prayers for them.”

So, how do we apply this today? We are called to a threefold response: First, to hope. To confront our grief with the defiant, joyful hope of the Gospel. Second, to pray. To entrust our beloved dead by name to the mercy of God, especially through the offering of the Mass. Third, to live. To live in such a way that we ourselves become more ready for Paradise, by receiving God’s mercy and extending it to others.

Let us take comfort. The same Jesus who promised Paradise to a repentant thief today remembers our loved ones. And He remembers us. Let us go forth from this place, our sorrow transformed by hope, and our love reaching beyond the veil, until the day we are all united in the everlasting peace of the Father’s house. Amen.

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.