Liturgy for Deceased Jubilarians 2025
Preaching by Sister Marilyn Winter, OP

Friday, June 20, 2025
2 Corinthians 5:1,6-10
John 17:24-26

Today we gather to celebrate, remember and pray for the sisters from our jubilee groups who are no longer with us in the body. It is a time to pause and reflect on where our journey has taken us, what we have seen and accomplished, with whom we have shared the journey, and where we are going.

Our two Scripture readings are trying to make sense of what it means to die, what comes after death. The theological ideas, the promises of unearthly dwellings and tents not made with hands are human ways of suggesting a difference to come. There are words to comfort us, in that we will be with Jesus and we will see the glory God has given to him. But we also note the transient nature of physical reality and that we need to aspire to lead good lives – to prepare to come before the judgment seat of God.

The words are comforting – as far as our understanding of them takes us. The promises spoken by Jesus give hope and we look forward to the rewards of a good life.

But as we gather at this Mass of Memorial for these Jubilarian Sisters of ours who left us over the years and acknowledge their new life and different sense of presence among us, I, for one, am left with a desire for more.

Perhaps it is a feeling rather than a rational response, a need of being together and supporting one another in this journey of faith we call life. I found a shadow of this longing in the writing of Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, who wrote:

Once people used to go to our cemeteries on Sundays
and walk between the graves, singing beautiful hymns
and spreading sweet-smelling incense. It set your heart at rest;
it allayed the painful fears of inevitable death.
It was almost as though the dead were smiling
from under their grey mounds: “It’s all right... Don’t be afraid.”

And it struck me that our rituals, religious and otherwise, are a great help to us as we reflect upon mysteries that are beyond us – whether joyful or sad, trivial or great.

A few weeks past I found myself, on Memorial Day, driving up our 25-mile peninsula, from one of the five cemeteries to another, joining in the small gathering that grew into a large one as we advanced from one to another to another.

The color guard hoisted the flags, the chaplain read the opening prayer, the speaker shared words of wisdom and comfort. The flowers were placed at the monument, a final prayer was offered, the gun salute was fired and Taps echoed off the distant hills.

There was quiet, and then the subdued voices of people scattered around and movement as they began lingering among the headstones. Names were being spoken, stories shared – of the veterans we were remembering as well as of the many others also resting under the trees and among the rocks and flowers.

This, then, is from whence comes understanding and hope.

They saw it in the lived witness of those who had gone before them to new life after death. They gained strength to continue their journey from the stories of past lives, not just those who gave the last full measure – their very lives – but in the witness of the mother raising six kids who turned out to be quite fine; the grandfather who labored on fishing boats in the cold hours of predawn, lifting nets that would feed his family and others; the teachers and coaches who mentored them; their own parents, siblings, pastors and friends.

For us today, here in chapel; later, as we walk campus and meander through our cemetery circles.

It is in the stories of our Dominican Sisters, teachers, mentors, housemates and travel companions. And in those who were only known to us by their quiet presence in the kitchens and chapels where they toiled; by co-workers in schools, offices, hospitals, art galleries, in music halls, choir or lectoring at Mass on Sundays; those working puzzles in the sunrooms of Maria and Regina, mowing the grass, cleaning the rooms, tending to the sick.

When we gather in celebration of a Funeral Vigil for a Sister, the Mass of Christian Burial, the welcoming of a new member into the community, the joy of a Jubilee Day, a Chapter Assembly or a Feast day celebration. It is in these times that we grow in our understanding of life’s meaning – and its final destination. This is where we see the Face of God, Where we witness a love that promises eternal life, where we know for certain that there is hope beyond this physical life, we rejoice in the witness and support of others, share our gratitude to our Great Spirit for all we have, knowing it is only a prelude to the happiness that is to come.

So, we re-commit each day to this life we have been given. We relish the time to share with those with whom we live and minister, and we take the time to remember those who shaped us, wore off our rough spots, kept us honest, and supported us through it all. And we value the precious times and spaces we have remaining to forgive injustices, to ask pardon for our failings and offenses, to build new memories, and to leave to others a witness of gratitude and blessing which they may follow.

Karl Rahner, SJ, wrote:

We do not see [our dear dead], but they see us. 
Their eyes radiant with glory, are fixed upon our eyes.
Though invisible to us, our dead are not absent.
They are living near us transfigured into light, power and love.

As Jesus told St. Catherine, “All the way to heaven is heaven, for I am the way, the truth and the life.”

We meet him in all of them. What a gift!!