Theme: “The Souls of the Just are in the Hands of God”
Today we remember with affection and prayer those who have gone before us. It is a day when grief and faith meet, when silence and hope hold hands. The Scripture readings (with options) remind us that death is not the end, but a passage. The first reading from the Book of Wisdom says: “The souls of the just are in the hands of God, and no torment shall touch them.”
This conviction did not come easily in Israel’s history. Earlier generations thought that the dead simply went down to Sheol, a shadowy place of silence – in Greek, was referred as Hades. But in the later books, especially Wisdom and Maccabees, there was a breakthrough of faith. People began to trust that the love of God is stronger than death.
Jesus confirms this truth when he says, “God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.” To believe this is to see life differently. Death is real, but it is not final. Love endures beyond the grave.
The Journey to Nain
Today’s Gospel (Lk 7:11-17) offers a moving picture of this truth. Saint Luke tells us that Jesus “went to a town called Nain.” Nain was a small, forgotten village, about forty kilometres from Capernaum. Jesus leaves the comfort of a busy city to walk toward the margins. Nain, whose name means “pleasant” or “beautiful,” is about to become a place of hope.
At the gate of the town, two processions meet. One is led by Jesus — a procession of life. The other is led by death — a widow carrying her only son to the grave. The widow has already lost her husband; now she loses her only child. She is alone, vulnerable, and powerless.
This meeting at the gate of Nain is a meeting between life and death, between despair and hope. It is also the meeting we experience every time we stand by a coffin, visit a cemetery, or remember a loved one who has died. Like the widow, we walk in sorrow. Like Jesus, God walks toward us.
The Compassion of Christ
Luke says: “When the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her.” This is the heart of the story. Compassion begins with seeing — Jesus notices her. It moves to feeling — his heart is moved. And it leads to action — he speaks and touches.
He tells her, “Do not weep,” and then he touches the bier, saying, “Young man, I say to you, rise.” Compassion always involves movement — from comfort to discomfort, from distance to closeness, from observing to acting.
At Nain, Jesus does not only raise a dead man; he restores a mother’s hope. The son sits up and speaks. Life returns. The community rejoices. Jesus gives the young man back to his mother.
This is the pattern of resurrection. God’s mercy reaches into our brokenness and gives life again.
Death, Where is Your Sting?
Saint Paul asks, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55). He is not denying the pain of loss; he is declaring the victory of love. The sting of death is real, but it does not last. The power of death is temporary; the promise of God is eternal.
When we face death — our own or that of those we love — we can look toward Nain and see what God does when He meets human sorrow. He does not explain it away; He transforms it.
Hope Beyond the Grave
The story of Nain is not only about one mother and one son. It is about all of us. Every act of compassion, every prayer for the dead, every memory kept alive, is a small echo of Jesus saying, “I say to you, rise.”
Our faith tells us that death is a transition, not an erasure. Those we have loved are not lost to nothingness; they are held in the hands of God. When we pray for the departed, we share in the same compassion that moved Jesus at Nain. We say, with faith, “Lord, remember them, bring them to light, and let them live in you.”
The souls of the just are in the hands of God. Those hands are the same hands that reached out to the widow, that touched the bier, that lifted the young man, and that were later nailed to the Cross.
A Call for the Living
This Gospel also challenges us who are still on the road. Jesus left his comfortable surroundings to walk to a small village in need. He crossed boundaries of geography and comfort. We too are invited to step beyond what is familiar — toward those who are forgotten, lonely, or in despair. The resurrection we proclaim must take flesh in compassion.
Where are the “Nains” in our lives? Who are the widows and sons that need our presence? Maybe it is an elderly neighbour who feels abandoned, a young person who has lost direction, or a family struggling in silence. To each of them, Christ wishes to say, “Rise.” And he sends us to speak those words on his behalf.
Conclusion
The souls of the just are in the hands of God.
That truth gives peace to the dead and purpose to the living.
We are not made for death but for life.
At Nain, death met the Lord of life — and lost.
At every altar, the same Lord meets us again, offering his compassion and his promise: “Whoever believes in me, even though he dies, will live.”
Let us entrust our loved ones to that promise.
And let us live so that, when our time comes, we too may hear those words:
“I say to you, rise.”