Given for the Requiem Mass for Deceased Clergy on 18 November 2025 at Westminster Cathedral.
This evening we have just heard a sobering passage from the Gospel of St Matthew. It reminds us, vividly, as we pray for our deceased brethren, that a firm judgement awaits us all, as it awaited them. This, I trust, adds a seriousness to our prayers for them, that the mercy of God will be showered upon them, for who cannot be troubled by the high standards by which we shall be judged.
The Gospel passage makes clear that we will be judged by our actions, not by our words, nor by our best intentions. The verbs are clear: you gave, you welcomed, you clothed, you visited, you came to me when I was in prison. And what lies behind each of those verbs is a pattern of life characterised by love and self-sacrifice. By those qualities shall we be judged.
Fortunately, it is not our place to make that judgement, although we are often tempted to do so. But only the one who sees into our hearts is able to make that judgement. We see only in part; the Son of Man, sitting on his glorious throne, knows not only the reality of our fragile humanity but also the richness of the gifts and talents we have been given. And he is merciful and just.
The lives of the priests for whom we pray this evening are a rich tapestry of those gifts and talents. I reflect on them for a few moments, so that we may give thanks for their lives and ministry as well as pray for a merciful judgement for each.
In doing so I am reminded of a well-known American priest-sociologist who was a prolific writer. In fact, it was said of him that he never had an unpublished thought! He wrote a book about American bishops, each of whom he placed in one of these categories: Hero – who thought he could do everything; Nero – who said 'No' to everything; and Zero – who cherished inactivity. Now I would never use such categories for our priests. No, let me be far more nuanced in these remarks. In naming some of the qualities that they showed, I am leaving it to each of you, if you wish, to attribute what I say to the particular priest among those we remember today: Joe Carter, David Barnes, Seán Carroll, John Buckley, Bernard Scholes, Aidan Sharratt, Francis Press, John Wiley, Michael Stewart and, one not on our list, Jim Kennedy, who lived and ministered for so long in Cyprus, where he died.
They came from north and south, from Wales, Ireland and England, to Westminster by such a variety of routes, each finding their vocation in unique ways.
There are those who brought to their priesthood prior experience in professional trades and careers: retail work, social work, members of the legal profession, teachers, accountants, one who tried religious life, and even a football referee!
Among them are such a variety of characters: some who were shy and introverted, some of a very independent spirit, some who were the heart and soul of the party, those who seemed utterly inscrutable (except when they got on the stage to entertain), some who much preferred the stage of public action to any cloistered arena, those who simply kept to themselves, self-contained and self-motivated.
To their pastoral ministry they brought different gifts: the highest levels of academic ability and intelligence, the capacity to form and sustain faithful friendship, a most gentle and compassionate presence, a deep understanding of human vulnerability, a devotion to the importance of confession and spiritual guidance, the call of social action especially for the poorest, and the gift of being a ready author and muse, even if in a thoroughly idiosyncratic manner.
Yet they were all part of this one body of our presbyterate, cherished members of this body of priestly ministry and fraternity, in which, thankfully, there is room for every personality and gift. We priests come in all shapes and sizes and cannot be pressed into some uniform figure or expected to respond in a uniform way. We don’t! And I thank God that is so!
Yet we do walk to the same beat, we do have the same profound faith, we do sing and work together with joy in our hearts, for the most part.
St Paul tells us how this miracle of unity in diversity comes about: because we are one in our beloved Lord Jesus the Christ. In him we have been baptised. In him we have entered the tomb, 'joined him in death', and in, through and with him every day we seek new life, new vision, new enthusiasm, new hope and, ultimately, the same glory. In him we have been promised victory over death, for, as we read, 'Death has no more power over him any more', and therefore not over us either.
It is for this victory that we beseech our Heavenly Father for our brethren, who have made the journey that awaits us all.
I have been pondering this journey in recent times. Death is so often described in the context of declining health, waning capacities, the loss of purpose and roles. Death does indeed often come with increasing dependencies and longer times of waiting which are trying and difficult to support. But it strikes me more recently that through this process of so much being stripped away, we are, in fact, being enabled to travel to death unencumbered, without so many burdens, whether of body or character. This only makes sense when we remember that death is properly understood to be a pathway of rising into light. It is an upward journey, not a falling into darkness. It is an ascent in which, as we rise, we give ourselves in surrender to the One who is life and light itself, the only One to whom we should ever surrender, and totally so.
And when we enter the light, what awaits us?
There is a lovely fictional autobiography of Julian of Norwich called ‘I, Julian.’ I believe it carries great credibility. In it, one of her 'showings' is to see heaven, a vast hall of a grand banquet, with Jesus moving from table to table, from person to person, saying simply: 'I thank thee for thy striving!' 'I thank thee for thy striving!'
What consolation there is for us in those words. We know so well that every one of these our brethren, for whom we pray, did strive for the Lord, did love the Lord, did their best for love of him alone.
And so, we can pray with great confidence:
Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May they rest in peace.
Amen.
✠ Cardinal Vincent Nichols
Archbishop of Westminster