On Friday we had a very moving celebration as a Parish Community. The relatives of those people who died during this past year, and whose funeral had been celebrated in our Church, were invited for a Mass offered for their loved ones. Memories were re-kindled, the pain of separation was re-lived. As Fr Ivano slowly called out the names of the deceased in the beginning of the Mass, a member from their family came up to light a candle at the foot of the altar. Many brought a photo or a significant prayer to be placed there. Being there to help these sisters and brothers as they lived out this powerful moment, I could witness this pain on their faces, often with a tear or two running down a cheek. As Fr Ivano rightly said in his homily, often the first year is the hardest one after someone’s death.

And yet, the whole liturgy emanated hope. Each small candle was lit from the Easter Candle - a powerful reminder of the Risen Christ. He, too, suffered the consequences of death. He knew what it means to lose a loved one, and He Himself went through the experience of death. But the Easter story tells us that death does not have the last word. While not denying the pain of separation and the whole process of grief, the Resurrection of Jesus tells us that there is something greater beyond the coffin and the grave.

All this comes to mind as we move into the month of November, the last month of the liturgical year of the Church. Traditionally, November is known as the month during which we remember in a special way our departed loved ones. As Christians, we do not deny the reality of death, we do not pretend that nothing happened and everything is OK when someone dies. After all, Jesus’ death was not fake. But we journey on with hope. We know that those who died before us continue to live, albeit in a different way. And it makes, therefore, sense that we continue to pray for them as we believe that they pray for us.

This Sunday’s liturgy helps us further in this reflection on death and life. In the first reading we have the story of the seven brothers killed by the cruel king Antiochus. “You dismiss us from this present life,” says one of the dying brothers to the king, “but the King of the universe will raise us up to an everlasting renewal of life.” The theme is picked up by the gospel reading presented to us. Upon interrogation by the Sadducees who, incidentally, did not believe in the resurrection, Jesus grasps the opportunity to teach his followers something about eternal life. Quoting the scriptures, which they knew very well, Jesus reminds them that God is referred to as “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living.”

A beautiful and very important point is introduced by Jesus here. Our God is not a generic God, or a God of some theory or ideology. He is God of persons, of real human beings. The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, the God of Jesus Christ is the God of Jane and Peter and Mary and Paul. God is God of each one of us. He longs to enter into a personal relationship with each one of us. And this, my friends, is the source of our joys and our hopes. This is where eternal life comes from.

The tears I saw during our Friday celebration, the pain re-lived during our Mass at the cemetery on Sunday, finds light, comfort and hope in our God who is Life. 

He wanted to see Jesus. God knows what he had heard about this popular Rabbi. A huge crowd was following him as he journeyed towards Jerusalem. Many had been witnesses to his miracles, heard his beautiful teachings, found joy, and maybe peace, in journeying with him. Indeed, there was something special, something magnetic about this man.

Zaccheus was no exception. He, too, wanted to see Jesus. The story does not tell us why. After all, he had everything a man could have. He had power: being a taxcollector he was protected by the state-oppressor of Rome. Moreover, St Luke tells us that he was a “chief tax collector”. He was one of the top ones. He had riches. Luke specifically tells us that he was rich. Now, never had it been heard that there was a tax-collector who was not rich! So, this Zaccheus must have been exceptionally so! Still, he desperately wanted to see Jesus. In spite of everything, he probably felt something was lacking, something that perhaps this travelling Rabbi could provide.

Had Zaccheus been a normal man like so many others, he could have probably just mingle with the crowd, and gently ease himself to get as close as possible to Jesus. But Zaccheus’ story was very different to that of everybody else. Like each one of us, he was carrying a huge, and in his case heavy baggage. Different things hindered him from seeing Jesus.

First of all there was his smallness. He was short. This made it difficult, or rather outright impossible, for him to see Jesus from behind everybody else.

And there was the crowd, that was against him! For obvious reasons, they would not let him pass. They hated him. He definitely knew this, and did not even bother to try. So, he opted for another solution: tree-climbing.

In a way, Zaccheus’ story can be the story of each and everyone of us. Who of us can say that we have not been hindered at some stage in our lives by our smallness in our journey with the Lord? We are painfully aware of our smallness, of our unworthiness, of our not being up to standard. Somehow, the truth of what we pray before communion. “Lord, I am not worthy”, becomes an obstacle rather than a spring-board to thrust ourselves into God’s merciful arms.

Then there is the crowd. When following Jesus implies having to go against the current, we immediately feel the pressure of the fact that everyone else does or acts differently. We feel we cannot go against the crowd. We feel that we have to conform, to join, to not be different. The fear that we might be ridiculed or having to stand out is very real. It’s worth noting that, in that crowd there was a good number of people who were actually following Jesus - followers and disciples. This prompts me to ask the question: have I ever, being a follower of Jesus, been an obstacle to others in their desire to follow Jesus? Perhaps by my actions, my judgements, the way I relate to them?

Due to all this, Zaccheus climbs the sycamore tree. In the thick foliage of that tree, he can see without being seen. But Jesus does see him, orders him to immediately come down, and invites himself into this sinner’s house. This reaching out from the part of Jesus prompts the conversion of that sinner. Jesus did not ask Zaccheus to change his life-style so that he could go into his house. It works the other way round.

​Do not be afraid of your littleness, of your unworthiness. Unlike the other “good” people who started grumbling against Jesus for going to the sinner, Jesus is not scandalized by our unworthiness. Just accept Jesus’ invitation to come and visit you, and allow the rest to happen.