November 4, 2016
Editor’s note: Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily for a special Mass of the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed (All Souls) on November 2, 2016, at St. Austin Parish, in which the St. Austin Choir sang Gabriel Fauré’s Requiem Mass.
Video: The first movement of Fauré’s Requim Mass, the Introit and Kyrie, was sung as the prelude and the procession
Fr. Rich made the following remarks during the opening rites of the Mass:
Many of the greatest choral works in the classical repertoire are Requiem Masses – masses in commemoration of the faithful departed. Of all the requiems I know, the one composed by Gabriel Faure is by far the best suited to be sung at a Mass rather than in a concert hall. I think there are three reasons for this. First, some composers had written requiems to scare the living into behaving themselves, but Faure was among the first to focus on providing consolation to the grieving. Second, Faure’s pure sound and melodic line make this an easy piece of music to pray with! Third and perhaps most importantly, as someone who had provided music for so many funerals as church organist, Faure had a great sense of what was appropriate for the occasion.
Many of us who gather tonight mourn loved ones who have died in the past year. In the mix of emotions we experience tonight, may we remember Jesus Christ’s promises to us who believe. Faure himself described the goal of his requiem as “an aspiration to happiness above.”
We pause in silence to remember all of our beloved dead for whom we offer this Mass.
There are many options for the Scripture readings at the Mass For All Souls. At this particular Mass, the community proclaimed the following passages: Wisdom 3:1-9; Psalm 23; 1 Corinthians 15:51-57; John 14:1-6. Fr. Rich then preached the first part of his homily:
On the night before he died, Jesus gathered his disciples to share a final meal with them. The Gospel of John regards this event as being essential to the salvation of the world. And its main focus is a beautiful discourse by Jesus that covers three whole chapters. We have just listened to the opening verses of that discourse.
It is a special moment, a sacred time set apart, when the past and the future come together with the present. The Greeks understood this concept. They called regular time, the counted time, kronos. But they called this sacred time, this time set apart, kairos. The Last Supper is kairos time: Jesus lives in the past, the present, and the future at that moment. He is trying to sum up all that he has taught his disciples in the past three years. He wants to help them understand the significance of what is happening now and in the next three days. And he is instructing them how to carry out God’s mission after he is gone.
As many of our loved ones approached the last hours of their lives – or their last days, weeks, months, or even years – we entered with them into kairos. Whether or not our loved ones could speak to us or hear us, it was a special time to recall all that has been. Even in our culture when our last days are filled with medical devices and technologies, it was a moment of profound connection between those who are dying and those who love them. It was a time to speculate about how we will eventually be reunited with them in some inexplicable, mysterious way.
Our time here together is also kairos. We recall the impact our loved ones had on our lives. We grieve that they no longer walk among us. But most of all, tonight, let us rejoice in what marvels await them and all of us. Their victory over death has already been won.
Gabriel Faure understood the importance of consoling the living in this requiem that has been called “a lullaby.” Nevertheless, he also understood our need to pray continually for God’s mercy.
The choir then sang the Offertoire of the Faure Requiem:
Lyrics:
O Lord Jesus Christ, King of Glory,
Free the souls of the dead from infernal punishment,
And from the deep abyss.
Free them from the mouth of the lion,
Do not let hell swallow them up,
Do not let them fall into the darkness.
Sacrifices and prayers of praise we offer to you, O Lord.
Receive them for the souls of those whom we commemorate today.
Lord, make them pass from death to life,
As once you promised to Abraham, and to his seed.
There is a phrase that we use a lot in the funeral prayers of the Church: “the sure and certain hope.” We have the sure and certain hope that our deceased loved ones were led throughout their lifetimes by the Good Shepherd. We have the sure and certain hope that the LORD will now reward them with the crown of righteousness. Their lives have not ended; they have merely changed.
The theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote some of the best advice to those of us who grieve: “There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us, and one should not even attempt to do so. One must simply hold out and endure it. At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort. For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled one remains connected to the other person through it. It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness. God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve — even in pain — the authentic relationship. Further more, the more beautiful and full the remembrances, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy. One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain.”
When we speak of the Last Supper, we usually speak about what Jesus does. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, he institutes the Eucharist. In John, he washes the feet of his disciples. Or we talk about what he says. But perhaps that’s missing the most important point. Whatever happened at the Last Supper, the earliest Christians celebrated their faith by gathering for a meal that was somehow based on it. Why?
The Last Supper isn’t primarily about what Jesus said. And as the apostles demonstrate in their misunderstandings of what happens in the moment, it’s not about what Jesus did, where he went, or what he showed them. It’s about relationships. Jesus revealed to the disciples – and to all of us – that we have an intimate relationship with God. Jesus’ preparing a dwelling place for us is not about Jesus securing a good spot for each of us in heaven. It’s about Jesus bringing us into a more intimate relationship with the Father.
How appropriate that we commemorate our loved ones with a Mass. When we gather for the Eucharist, we enter in kairos time. Our Eucharist deepens our relationship with everyone gathered here, our relationship with our beloved dead who have gone before us, and our relationship with those who will grieve for us after we have died. Our Eucharist deepens our relationship with Jesus Christ, yesterday, today, and for ever. And through that deepening of our relationship with Jesus Christ, we come to better know the Father.
Beloved, do not let your hearts be troubled. Have faith in God; have faith also in the resurrection of Jesus Christ and of all who belong to him. By dying with Christ, our beloved dead have permanently entered kairos, a sacred time, a time set apart. They may already be dwelling in the Father’s house, but as members of the mystical Body of Christ, they will always be present to us who love them.
The St. Austin Choir then sang the third movement of the Faure Requiem.