The Thief Who Got In: A Homily for All Souls

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

My dear Sisters and Brothers in Christ,

Today we do something the world considers foolish. We pray for the dead. We do not simply remember them. We do not simply honor them. We pray for them. And we do it because we believe something the world finds absurd: that death is not the end of our relationship with one another, and it is certainly not the end of God’s relationship with us.

The Book of Wisdom proclaims, “The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; but they are in peace.” The world looks at a grave and sees a period. A full stop. An ending. But the eyes of faith see a comma. A pause. A transition. The one who has passed through the door of death is not gone. They are in the hand of God. And no torment shall touch them.

Saint Paul, in his Letter to the Romans, gives us the foundation of this hope. “Hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.” Paul traces the logic of love: “But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” If God loved us when we were His enemies, how much more will He love us now that we are His friends? If He saved us by the death of His Son, how much more will He keep us safe in His life? The love of God is not a temporary contract. It is an eternal covenant. And death does not break it.

Then Jesus, hanging on the cross, reveals the heart of the Father. Two criminals hang beside Him. One mocks. One prays. “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus answers with words that should echo through every funeral, every cemetery, every grieving heart: “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Today. Not after a long purification. Not after years of waiting. Today. The thief had nothing to offer. No good works. No religious pedigree. No time to make amends. He had only a moment and a whisper. And that was enough. Because mercy is not earned. It is received.

The connection between the readings is the scandal of mercy. Wisdom tells us the just are in peace. Paul tells us hope does not disappoint. Jesus tells a dying criminal that he will be in Paradise that very day. This is the Gospel. And this is why we pray for our dead. We pray not because we doubt God’s mercy, but because we trust in it. We pray because the Church from the earliest centuries has prayed for the faithful departed. We pray because love does not stop at the grave.

Pope Benedict XVI, in his encyclical Spe Salvi, wrote beautifully of purgatory as the process by which we are made ready for the face of God—a cleansing fire of love, not a punishment of wrath. Pope Francis has said, “The Church invites us to pray for the dead, to remember them with affection, and to trust in the mercy of God.” And Saint Augustine, mourning the death of his mother Monica, wrote, “She asked only this of me, that I remember her at the altar of the Lord.”

What does this mean for us? We have loved ones who have passed. Parents. Grandparents. Spouses. Friends. Perhaps even children. Some died peacefully, surrounded by family. Others died alone, in pain, or unprepared. We do not know the state of their souls. But we know the heart of God. And we know that the love that saved a thief on a cross can save our loved ones too.

Today, let us pray for the dead. Not just today, but every day. Let us have Masses offered for them. Let us pray the Rosary for them. Let us visit their graves. Let us trust in the mercy that reaches even to the last breath. And let us live our own lives in such a way that we will one day hear the same words: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

For death is not the end. It is the beginning. And the souls of the just are in the hand of God. Amen. May God bless you all!