In the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen

As we gather this evening we are very conscious of the days growing shorter, the darkness gathering round us, the cold drawing in. In recent weeks there has been golden autumn sunshine, this year an especially stunning display of all the richest colours of turning leaves, nature in one last glorious golden flourish preparing for the pulling back, the letting go, the little death that is winter, when much goes into hibernation, creatures and plants alike, as it were, holding their breath through the cold and dark days that lie ahead.

As all this happens, our thoughts too, turn to our own letting go, and to those we have come here to remember tonight. In this season of remembering we have already celebrated at All Saints the heroes of our faith, and soon we will recall the heroes of our nation – all those who have died in the conflicts of the past and still ongoing.

This week too has seen the fun and games of Hallowe’en – one way of trying to confront and deal with the inevitability of death and the threat of evil. But tonight, we have come to lay claim to a promise, full of hope, which doesn’t ignore the reality of death, but takes hold of a confident belief that its lasting power has been taken away.

In the light of the mystery and wonder of the resurrection on Easter Day, we sing ‘Thine be the Glory, risen conquering Son, endless is the victory thou o’er death hast won! We will sing that tonight as a fitting reminder of that Easter promise – the light we lit at the beginning of this service. But there is an inevitable complexity and ambiguity caught up in the memories of those we have loved and lost – we come most often with deep gratitude for all that we have shared – and yet also with the continuing pain of separation, however long ago the loss, and there is often a consciousness of loose ends, the things left unsaid or undone – let alone the fragility of our faith. It’s all very well to sing of the victory over death won by Jesus, but even if we do believe that death has indeed lost its sting – the sharp pain of grief is ongoing and at times overwhelming.

So tonight we come with all this, here, to lay all this down before the God of love who leads us like a s hepherd, through all the days of our lives, who walkswith us even through the valley of the shadow of death, and keeps us safe, promising us that we will dwell in his house for evermore, where there is room for all, and where there is found the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a garland instead of ashes, a heart of joy and praise instead of a faint spirit.

And so we read aloud and present again before God the names of those loved ones we remember, we lay them on the altar – our dearest and our best – and we light candles to acknowledge the light of life, the light that darkness cannot overcome, the life that death cannot extinguish – that resurrection life of Christ whose victory over death opens a pathway of hope for all who dare to trust in him and walk his way. This is the glorious hope that can never be ended!

We feel the deep, dark pain of grief, of course we do, but those who have died, and we who are left, are all transformed by the new life of Jesus and one day, as he promised his friends, and as he promises us, we will be gathered together again, in our Father’s house, where there are many dwelling places, and where there is joy for evermore.

Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid – all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well. Amen.

Service: Reverend Michelle Dalliston 3rd November 2024. (St John The Baptist Church Peterborough UK)